Not easy, huh? Maybe he was tired of easy. Something different sounded just fine to him, seeing as he’d gotten tired of the gold diggers, gotten tired of always being so instinctively cautious with all the “easy” women.
Miguel added, “I have no idea why she even came here. From what I know, she’s not exactly a barfly or... Well, just watch. You’ll see.”
A cowboy had sauntered up to the bar, cozying right next to Laurel Redmond. She didn’t even glance over at him. Uh-uh. She just sat there, cool and reserved, even as he pushed back the brim of his hat to blatantly check her out.
“Keep watching,” Miguel said, clearly entertained.
When the cowboy leaned over to say something, all she did was utter one short sentence. He drew back from her and was gone in a flash.
“That’s what I’ve heard about Laurel Redmond,” Miguel said. “I don’t know the woman myself—she’s been in Red Rock for nearly a year, I think, and I’ve mostly been in New York—but she’s got a reputation as big as yours.”
“She’s the girl about town?”
“The opposite. She’s as independent as they come. Enjoys her own company. Ambitious as hell. They say she’s got a real chip on her shoulder from her time as a pilot in the Air Force—she always wanted to prove herself as a woman there and rise above the standards they set. Cream of the crop, you know?”
“In short, she’s not just a pretty face.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t ever mention those last two words to her. My God, she might throw you across the room.”
Sawyer took another gander. Even if he wasn’t the most ambitious man around, a challenge sounded like just the thing.
“She doesn’t look like that much of a bully,” he said.
When another man—a silk-shirt-wearing, hair-slicked-back guy—approached her, all she did was mutter one sentence to him again, and he was off and away.
What was she saying that was so effective?
Sawyer couldn’t help himself. He took his beer in hand, hooking a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans. “Don’t mind if I do, Miguel. Thanks for the warnings, though.”
Miguel shook his head. “It’s your ego. But one last thing to remember—she’s Tanner Redmond’s little sister.”
Sawyer definitely knew Tanner—he was married to Sawyer’s cousin Jordana and was an ex-Air Force pilot, just like his little sis.
It hit Sawyer then. He’d actually seen Laurel at Jordana’s wedding, but she’d had her hair pulled into an upswept style that made her look more polished than she did tonight, and she’d seemed uncomfortable in her fancy dress. She’d also stayed far from the dance floor, and she might’ve even left early. Sawyer had been pretty distracted that night, so he wasn’t sure.
Tonight, though, she was relaxed, obviously not out to impress anyone, and Sawyer couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Miguel sighed. “If you know Tanner, then you realize he’s going to be on your case if you—”
“I’m not out to make trouble with her.” Family was everything to Sawyer. Even when James had told his sons that he felt betrayed by their defection, Sawyer had still felt a certain loyalty, defending him during the whole Jeanne Marie scandal.
Why? Well, he’d just have to see if Dad had been worth the effort when he got to Red Rock.
He brushed off his worries and shook Miguel’s hand, congratulating him again.
But down the bar, another man was already making his move on Laurel.
“Good luck,” Miguel said, staying on his stool at the bar.
A front-row seat?
Great. But Sawyer wasn’t planning on crashing and burning, as Miguel had predicted he would.
When it came to meeting women, Sawyer Fortune always flew pretty high.
* * *
Laurel could feel yet another guy sidling up to her, eyeing her.
This again.
She didn’t look at him as she said, “Not to be rude, but I’m not on the meat market, understand?”
The brush-off was milder than most, but just as to-the-point as always. Thank God the guy split. Good thing, too, because she wasn’t into preppy stuff like red-and-black checkered shirts and khakis—two elements of his wardrobe she’d seen from her peripheral vision.
Honestly, she wasn’t into cowboy hats or disco duds or...heck, just about everything she’d seen in this club tonight.
She’d had a long day at work, flying a businessman connected with one of the Fortune companies to Houston, then Dallas, then back here. But that’s what she did for a living now—charter flights, flying lessons—and she usually loved it.
Except when the client made what he thought were funny, subtle innuendos the entire day about her landing the plane and stopping at a hotel with him.
She’d held her tongue, but when she’d come back from the airport to the Redmond’s Flight School office, she’d told Tanner to strike this client from their customer list. No jerks allowed.
She was still the new girl at work, but she had no problem speaking up.
As she sipped her soda, she mellowed. She’d only come out here tonight to see what the fuss was about, not to find out how many guys she could shoot down. And maybe, just maybe, she’d wanted to get out of her apartment since it was the beginning of summer, and she’d always loved summers in the south with their long days and lazy sounds. And when you compared the heat to some of the places she’d been the past years, where the desert fried you through to the bone, summers here were to be treasured.
She looked up and watched the TV, which was playing a soccer match, totally drowned out by the start of a Tim McGraw song.
And that’s when she felt another guy coming in for a flyby.
Maybe her back wouldn’t have stiffened if she hadn’t spent her entire life fighting off the advances of men who thought she was just nice to look at and that’s it. Maybe it had something to do with a dad who’d taught her early and well that guys didn’t stay. Or maybe she was remembering how that lesson had been emphasized during the one and only time she’d fallen in love, only to be robbed of her heart as well as her bank account.
Her tongue itched to say something preemptive to this pickup artist, too, but as she felt him coming close to her, she smelled leather—an expensive kind of scent—and she wasn’t sure if it was from a fancy saddle or an office chair.
Something about the scent of him piqued her curiosity, and she slyly glanced over.
As an unidentified feeling violently jumped in her chest, she almost looked away before he could read the sudden attraction on her face.
Almost. Because, damn, he had the bluest eyes. And thick, dark, sand-brown hair. Tall. Solid with muscle, dressed in his jeans and an untucked white Western shirt with faint embroidery.
The capper was a smile that melted the iceberg in her—just the tip, but there was a heat that she couldn’t deny, tossing and turning in her. It was the sexy smile that told her this one was too confident to be chased off.
“You look bored,” he said in a voice that reminded her of thick, rich cream. “You should be out there dancing.”
She was a creature of habit, and no matter how hot he was, her defenses were already up. “I don’t dance.”
He didn’t seem taken aback. It was actually the opposite—the guy was amused.
“We’re in a dance club,” he said over the music. “I don’t think it’s out of line to ask you to dance, especially when you’ve been tapping your boot since this song started.”
She hadn’t realized it, but he was right, and she stopped tapping, pronto.
But she felt like starting up again, out of a jumpy sort of adrenaline rush this time, because those baby blues were locking with her gaze so...
Um, hotly?
She blinked, then made sure she was still in the leave-me-to-my-drink posture she’d adapted since sitting down.
“Dancing’s really not my thing,” she said, hoping that would do it.
He laughed, low and nice. Nice for flipping
her traitor belly upside down, that is.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked.
She allowed herself to take a long look at him—even longer than she had before—and then shook her head. “Afraid I don’t.”
“We’re almost family.”
She kept shaking her head.
“Then here’s a hint,” he said. “Your brother’s wedding last year...?”
“Nope.” She hadn’t exactly been in a social mood at the wedding—imagine that—and she’d kept to herself most of the time. Even years after her breakup she’d still been smarting, especially at an event that was so full of hearts and flowers, which she didn’t believe in anymore. She’d been overjoyed for Tanner, but being totally dumped and worked over by Mr. Crappy Boyfriend had soured her on love for the rest of her life, and she’d just wanted to curl into a ball in her room, not facing anyone. She’d wanted to tell Tanner that even if he was happy now, it wouldn’t work out. Didn’t he remember what’d happened to Mom when their father had left?
No one needed That Girl at a wedding, so she’d gone home early. But she’d been wrong about Tanner’s marriage—he and Jordana were as happy as could be, with a baby who was as sweet as apple pie.
She smiled to herself, thinking of little Jack, and the hot man in front of her picked up on her improved disposition.
“You may not remember me,” he said, “but I remember spotting you at the wedding.”
“Sorry about that.” She took a sip of her drink.
Was he going to go away? Finally leave her in peace?
Fat chance. He’d set his beer on the bar, as if he’d claimed the area next to her.
And why did part of her not mind?
She sneaked another glance at him, and her heart tumbled. Yeah, her heart, doing gymnastics like it was on a balance beam, not quite falling off, but not quite stable, either.
But it felt...refreshing. She hadn’t experienced a reaction like this in such a long time. What if...?
Oh, no. No what-ifs. They’d gotten her into trouble with Steve Lucas, when she’d given him all her trust, all her emotions.
And access to her bank account.
The fast song that’d been playing melded into a slow one. Vintage Willie Nelson. Romantic, lazy—just like the summer days she’d always loved.
Hot Wedding Guy must’ve seen her loosen up, even just for a moment, because he bent a bit closer, warming her ear with his words.
“Last chance to dance.”
Who was he, and what was he doing to her?
She sent a lowered look his way. “You’re going to be on me all night about this, aren’t you?”
“Probably. But if you want me to bug off, all you have to do is say so.”
She thought of a hundred excuses to chase him away: she had a boyfriend. (Ha!) She had to get home to wash her hair. (Clean as a whistle.)
But...those blue eyes. That smile.
My God.
“See?” he said, all lethal charm. “You do want to dance.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you would’ve already zapped me, just like you’ve been doing to every other guy who dared to break through your force field.”
“How—?”
“I couldn’t help seeing you in action.” He jerked his chin toward a spot down the bar, where he’d probably been sitting.
He did it in such an assured, masculine way that another spike of attraction bolted through her, making her shift in her seat.
She melted a little more. Dammit. But she didn’t look where he’d gestured.
“Why were you at that wedding?” she asked instead.
“Jordana’s my cousin.”
He was a Fortune? And he seemed very pleased that she hadn’t noticed that fact right away.
How often did he go undetected by someone when the family was always in the papers? Had he been enjoying that she hadn’t known him from Adam just now?
The slow song was in full play, couples two-stepping around the dance floor.
Still, he stood there, smiling that smile, breaking her down second by second.
Okay. Would one dance do any harm? After all, it was fun to be flirting. She’d almost forgotten how liberating it was. Just because she was doing it didn’t mean they’d have to get engaged or anything.
“All right,” she said. “One song.”
He angled his head in acknowledgment. Teasingly? Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but bite back her own smile.
Flirting. Just a little. Just for a short time, then she’d go home.
She left her drink at the bar, and Blue Eyes did the same with his beer. The bartender nodded at them, silently promising he’d save her place.
Then, on the floor, the guy took her in his arms, and it felt...
Good God, it felt better than she’d remembered.
Being held, feeling a man’s strong arms around her, allowing him to guide her.
Hormones skittered through her, and she gave way to them. Why not? What was the harm for five damn minutes?
“Which cousin did you say you were?” she asked as they began to circle the floor.
“Jordana’s.”
“Stop teasing. I’m asking your name.”
He seemed to recognize that she’d given up a smidge of ground, and he grinned at her, twirling her stomach once again.
She held back another smile. Oh, but he was cute.
“I’m Sawyer,” he said.
As in Tom, she thought. Playful, clever Tom Sawyer, and now that she heard his name, she realized that she’d gotten wind of this man before, through reputation only. Her brother had warned her about his tomcat ways prior to the wedding, when Tanner had given her the rundown about their new in-laws.
But this wouldn’t go far enough to merit caution, she thought as Sawyer led her, firmly yet smoothly, in a dance he’d obviously danced many times before with other women.
Even so, when he swooped her into an unexpected spin and smiled that gorgeous smile down at her, her stomach twirled once again.
“See,” he said, “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
And, indeed, she couldn’t.
Chapter Two
The dancing had only just begun for Sawyer.
As he lifted Laurel Redmond back up and continued with the two-stepping, her blond hair brushed his chin. She was tall enough that he could smell the shampoo she used and the soap on her skin—something clean but not flowery. Something just right for a woman whose hand felt the tiniest bit rough from the work she did as a pilot.
Just right for a woman who had been keeping him guessing for the past fifteen minutes.
He led her around the floor, both of them not talking, just flowing to the music. He liked the way she moved. Liked that they were getting looks from others in the room, as if they’d been dancing together for a while.
Most of all, though, he liked that she’d clearly been interested in him before he’d told her that he was a Fortune.
He’d been able to see that she was drawn to him by the flush on her cheeks and the way she’d sassed him at the bar. Maybe she was a tough talker, but there was also a softness to her, another dimension to her that he wasn’t sure she liked to flaunt.
When the song ended, he didn’t let her go. At first, she didn’t make a move to release herself from him, either.
They just looked at each other.
Bluebonnet eyes, he thought, remembering the spring flowers he’d seen during rides across the property of the New Fortunes Ranch.
A second passed. Two. Heartbeats climbing on top of each other in his chest.
But when the DJ started yammering about another giveaway, Laurel pulled back from him. He could’ve sworn that she looked a bit disappointed—at the lack of music? That their dance was over?—as she headed for the few steps that raised the dance floor from ground level.
He wasn’t far behind her. No way was he letting her run off.
“I hear you’re p
retty new in town,” he said over the DJ’s voice.
“I’ve been here since last summer,” she responded over her shoulder.
“That’s new enough.”
“You’re new. At least relatively. I know because I read the papers.”
“How about I buy you a drink to mark our entry into Red Rock society?”
She didn’t answer until they wound through the crowd and got to the bar, where she snagged her drink from between two cowgirls who’d bellied up to her place and closed ranks over it, all but taking over her stool.
“No booze for me, thanks,” she finally said to him when she had her beverage in hand. She lifted it. “I’m sticking to soda tonight.”
Whether she realized it or not, she was having a conversation with him. From a shut-down to this, he thought. Not too bad.
“But you usually do drink?” he asked.
A Garth Brooks song started playing, and he had to bend closer to hear her.
“I’m flying tomorrow,” she said in his ear. “I never indulge the night before.”
The warmth of her breath against his cheek sent a whir spinning through him, like propellers ready to go.
He took a chance, inching even closer to her.
And miracle of miracles, she didn’t flinch away.
“Is it a charter flight or a lesson?” he asked.
She pulled back to give him a raised eyebrow. “Lessons. Hey, you do your homework on a girl, don’t you?”
“When it’s worth my time.”
The eyebrow stayed raised. A few beats of music passed, and he wondered if she’d come to a crossroads with him.
Was she about to tell him to get lost now that she’d given him his dance?
When she began moseying toward the back of the club, where a neon arrow pointed down over a sign that said Play Time, he lifted his own brow.
He grabbed his beer from the bar and went where she led. She still had him guessing, and it was working like a charm.
She glanced over her shoulder, just as if she’d expected him to follow her like a lovelorn pup.
A point to the lady.
When they got to the Play Time room, it was a breath of fresher, quieter air. The spot wasn’t populated yet—only with pool tables and dartboards and skee ball, plus old-model video games.
A CHANGE OF FORTUNE Page 2
