It was all Jackson could do not to turn around and ask if Pritchett was hoping to make Laila jealous by being seen in public with another woman. But, then again, there had been rumors Jackson had heard lately about Pritchett—something about a girlfriend who had died pretty suddenly and how he had emotionally shut down afterward.
How much did that have to do with his philosophy?
Even more confusing, why had Rose decided to go out with Cade Pritchett in the first place? Because she really was tired of sitting home alone?
Even though the fine hairs were raised on his arms, Jackson told himself just to sit there and not say a word. Rose was no shrinking violet, and she would have everything under control. And as far as Laila went?
Hell, he was damn sure Cade Pritchett didn’t have a chance.
Pritchett offered one last comment. “I don’t want to risk a life without companionship and children, Rose, and if I have to settle to get it, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Wow,” she said. “To me, a loveless marriage would be a fate worse than death.”
And, with that, it seemed as if their date was over before it had even started.
Jackson peered over his shoulder to find Rose and Pritchett drinking their sodas, silent as could be. It reminded him of some of those long rides home that he had endured with Laila.
Jackson found himself smiling like a fool, just at the thought of her, and he cleared his throat.
The sound made Pritchett look back at Jackson, and from the expression on the other man’s face, it seemed as if he had known that Jackson was nearby the whole time and had merely been warning off his rival by being honest about his unchanged intentions when it came to Laila.
Jackson didn’t break gazes with him until the man turned back around to his drink. And when Jackson checked in with Rose, just to see if she was the one who needed rescuing from Cade Pritchett this time around, he noticed that his sister was watching the doorway, none the worse for wear.
A cute female whom Jackson knew to be one of Laila’s sisters had walked into the Hitching Post, but in spite of the family relationship, she didn’t resemble Laila all that much, with her long brown hair.
Was her name Abby?
Thing was, Abby had come to a standstill, her gaze smack-dab on a distracted Pritchett. She seemed to be realizing that he was on a date with Rose, and the look on her face…
Good God, was the girl head over heels for Cade Pritchett?
Jackson glanced at his sister, who had looked over at him, too, raising her eyebrow in a what-the-hell-is-going-on? gesture. She had recognized Abby’s lovelorn expression right off the bat as well.
It was also obvious that Rose had already cut loose from her date with Cade.
Jackson smiled at her, and she shrugged.
Across from the bar area, Abby had found a table and slipped into a chair. And not a few seconds later…
It was as if Jackson sensed Laila before she even entered. But when she did, the room seemed to go quiet, everything blocked out but Laila as she started to unbutton her long felt coat. She smiled at Abby and gave a little wave, tucked a wayward strand of blond hair that had escaped her barrette behind an ear and went to her sister’s table.
Jackson was a whirl of conflicting emotions—a foreign, enveloping warmth creeping through him, primal heat in the places that were always affected by Laila.
A war that was forcing him to choose a side.
When he glanced away from her, telling himself that he wasn’t going to cross the room to say hi—that he should stay away until he could make sense of what was happening to him—he saw that Rose had spied the look on his face, too, just as she had done with Abby.
She was wearing a wondering, surprised smile, and Jackson turned back to the bar before she could react to anything more on him.
Abby was the first person Laila had seen in the Hitching Post, and she didn’t even look around before embracing her little sister.
She must have hugged her too enthusiastically because Abby laughed, then patted Laila’s back as they both sat down.
“You’d think we haven’t seen each other in forever,” Abby said.
“I feel like we didn’t get to spend much time together on Sunday.” There—that was a good enough hint as to the main reason she had asked Abby here.
But as soon as Abby was in her chair again, Laila could tell that her sister was more unfocused than ever. She picked at her napkin, and there was a distance in her gaze.
“Is everything okay?” Laila asked.
“Sure.”
Their waitress arrived to take their order—breaded cheese sticks, buffalo wings and pink lemonade. As the ponytailed woman left, Laila took off her coat and rested it on the back of her chair.
That was when something curious happened.
Abby snuck a peek across the room, and it was such a furtive gesture that Laila just had to take a gander in the same direction.
Cade Pritchett was sitting at a table with a redhead whom Laila knew to be one of the Texas Traubs. Rose, Jackson’s sister.
Abby turned right back around, her face flushed.
Before Laila could think too much about it, her attention was snagged by a familiar sight behind Cade and Rose: broad shoulders under a brushed-twill coat she knew all too well, brown hair curling out from under a cowboy hat and over the coat’s collar…
Her heart gave a painful yet enticing leap.
Jackson.
As excitement swirled through her, Laila vowed to sit in her chair and not move a muscle. Dammit, after everything he had put her through, teasing her until she could barely see straight, she wasn’t about to go up to him.
The waitress brought their drinks and appetizers, but Abby only played with her straw.
“Abby…” Laila said.
Her sister interrupted. “Doesn’t it bother you to see him on a date?”
At first, Laila thought Abby was talking about Jackson, but when she took a second look over to where he was standing at the bar, it became obvious that he was there alone.
Alone and open for the taking, if Laila crept up behind him, slid her hands under his coat, over the muscles of his back, hearing him suck in a surprised breath as he recognized her…
Laila shook off the fantasy, determined to really listen to Abby. “Who are you talking about?”
“Cade.” Even though Abby didn’t say it with a lot of attitude, it somehow seemed as if Laila had offended her in some way.
“No, it doesn’t bother me to see him here with another woman.” Laila smiled, reaching out to touch her sister’s hand, which was balled next to her drinking glass. “I’m glad Cade is getting out there again.”
“It must’ve taken a lot for him to do it, after the way you treated him.”
Gobsmacked, Laila sat back in her chair. “I never expected him to propose to me, Abby, especially the way he did.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t a good thing that you turned him down.” She sighed, her brown eyes softening. “It’s just that I feel for his hurt pride.”
She said it in such a way that Laila blinked.
Did Abby…?
Was she…?
Abby had to know what was going through Laila’s head, because she made an “Oh, please, don’t even think it” gesture. “I’ve been like a little sister to him for years,” she said. “Of course I’m going to be concerned about him.”
Okay, that made sense. Abby and Cade did have a close relationship, so why wouldn’t she have looked at the proposal fiasco from his side?
Just as Laila took another glance at Cade’s table, Rose had finished her soda and stood up. She had put on her coat, and Cade had followed suit. They were now heading toward the door, but not before Rose squeezed Jackson’s shoulder in farewell.
He touched the brim of his hat, then watched them leave. And when he glanced over his shoulder, at Laila, she knew that he had been aware of her presence in the room for a while.
With a grin, he
turned back to the bar.
It was a replay of that other night, when he had been pretending not to notice her while she had sat at a table with Cade.
Laila let out a frustrated sound—something close to a “grr.”
Abby was rubbing her temple with one hand. “Would you throttle me if I asked for a rain check tonight?”
“Do you have a headache?” Something was most certainly going on with Abby—maybe even more than her concern about Cade—but this didn’t seem to be the night to investigate it.
Yet when would the right time come with her sister?
“My head’s killing me,” Abby said. “Big time.”
“I don’t mind a rain check at all. But Abby?”
Her sister had risen out of her seat and had her coat in hand. “Yeah?”
Laila wished they didn’t have a seven-year canyon between them, wished they had been closer while growing up.
Abby seemed to be feeling the same thing, and she offered a tentative smile. “I know we need to get some things cleared up between us. I’m serious about having a good talk another time.”
Just before Abby left, the sisters hugged, then Laila watched Abby go.
She was just about to sit again—only to finish her drink and snack on the appetizers, she told herself—when a deep voice sounded from just over her shoulder.
“You’ve got to stop following me around.”
As shivers tumbled down her skin, she glanced at the bar, realizing Jackson wasn’t there anymore.
Nope, he was right in back of her now, so downright handsome and appealing that her entire body was aflutter.
“I think you’ve got that backwards,” she said. “You’re hounding me.”
“Think again.” He held up a food container. “I’ve got an alibi—I came here to pick up some dinner.”
She gestured toward the abandoned appetizers and drinks on her table. “And I don’t have a good excuse to be here?”
“Box that food up and we’ll find somewhere to eat together, away from here,” he said, and it was with such casual demand that her chest folded in on itself.
Who was he to order her around?
Who was she to like it?
With a rebellious stare, she sat down in her chair. Nope—she wasn’t going anywhere with him. Not that easily.
Laughing, he joined her, then just as careless as you please, propped up his boots in the chair beside her and dug into her food.
While he was making quick work of the buffalo wings, he said, “I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that Cade was here with my sister.”
“I saw.” She took up a cheese stick, nibbling on it, liking it when she saw that Jackson was paying quite a bit of attention to how she ate.
He seemed to realize what he was doing, grinned to himself, and took a swallow of Abby’s untouched lemonade. Then he said, “They left early, Cade and Rose. I suspect he was walking her to her car, and that was the end of it.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“He’s still got his hopes pinned on you, Laila.”
Suddenly, the playful mood let up a little.
Jackson finished off a wing. “I overheard him talking to Rose about you.”
Great. “What should I do to make him see that it’s not going to happen?”
“Keep dating me.” He wiped his hands on the napkin just before he went for the cheese sticks.
“And that should solve everything.” Laila crossed her arms over her chest.
“Hey, you’ve done what you can to discourage Cade. Now you just have to live life.”
She supposed he was right. “All I can hope is that he’ll find someone someday.”
Jackson got a mysterious gleam in his eyes. “Maybe sooner than you think.”
Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he just up and left the table, throwing down way more money than the check would require and heading for the rear of the establishment, back to where she knew there were pool tables.
Did he want her to follow or something?
Well, it would be a long autumn in hell before she gave in to his wants.
Just as she was finding her spine when it came to Jackson, he paused near the back wall, leaned against it for a moment, acknowledging that she was making a big stand against him.
And when he shot that grin at her, then jerked his chin toward the back room, her veins pulled within her so violently that she felt like his puppet.
Let’s call a truce, his gesture seemed to say, and Lord help her, but she was all for it.
At least she sort of was. She did enjoy the flirtation, the maddening frustration of butting heads with him. It made her blood race, made her feel more alive than she had in…
Well, ever.
He continued toward the back, and like the marionette she was, she grabbed her coat and purse from the back of her chair and followed.
For now.
By the time she got to the back room, he was already racking up the pool balls, and his grin told her that he had known she couldn’t resist him. Jerk.
“Name the stakes,” he said, hanging the racking tray back on the wall and chalking his cue stick.
“Oh, a gambler, are we?”
“I know when to hold them and when to fold them, all right.”
“That’s poker.”
“The same basic rules apply here.” He nodded toward the table, setting the chalk on the corner. “So…what are we going to bet, Miss Laila?”
Her pulse was jumping, urged on by his soft, I-dare-you tone.
“I’ll bet that you’re much better than I am,” she said, the words barely getting out as she carefully folded her coat and purse over a nearby chair.
“You don’t play?”
She offered an innocent lift of her shoulders, a liar through and through. Little did Jackson Traub know that her parents had a pool table in their rec room.
He smiled, dangerous and hardly worthy of trust. “Then I’ll go easy on you.”
“Oh, please do.”
He spread his arm, indicating that she should shoot first. She went to the wall, grabbed the stick of her choice, then chalked the tip, acting like she barely knew what to do.
“I guess,” she said, “that I should bet something small.”
“Since you’re gonna lose?”
“Who knows?” She sent him a saccharine smile. “You just might have an off night.”
“How about this—if you lose, I get…” He seemed to think about it.
“A kiss,” she said.
“I’ve already gotten a kiss.”
And from the expression he was wearing, he had enjoyed taking it, too.
Taking every single one of them.
“Then,” she said, “you’ll just have to make do with another kiss. But, again, you might not win.”
“And if you do?”
“You’ll have to leave town pronto, mister.”
He laughed. “Not before I throw you over my shoulder and take you with me.”
The primal image dug deep into her belly, warming her—no, heating her. Was it just because of the sexual thrill?
Or was it because he had said he would take her with him, even in jest?
She shut the very possibility out of her mind. She would never leave Thunder Canyon, her family, her friends.
And he definitely wouldn’t be staying.
The very thought gave her more courage than usual, gave her a shot of freedom to do what she wanted to do with a man who wasn’t asking for a commitment.
She bent down to the table, ready to strike—and when she did, the balls scattered, two striped ones going into the pockets.
“Is it too late,” she said, “to amend my bet? It already looks like you’ll be leaving town with your tail between your legs after everyone hears about how you were whooped by a girl.”
She felt him in back of her, one of his arms bracing her left side as he caged her by positioning the other on the right.
His
voice was warm in her ear. “What kind of stakes are you thinking about now?”
Something much higher than I ever thought it would be, she thought as her heart seemed to get squeezed by an invisible fist.
“If I win,” she said, turning her face so that his lips barely touched her cheek, “I—”
Before she got the next word out, he had scooped her up, bringing her to him, his mouth crushing down on hers.
Chapter Eight
It all happened in such a passionate blur that Jackson barely remembered dropping his cue stick, grabbing Laila’s coat and purse from their chair, then sweeping her out the back door and to the Dodge Aspen coupe she had parked nearby.
He set her down on the ground, snatched the keys from her coat pocket, unlocked the door, picked her up again, slid her over the long front seat and to the passenger’s side, then took his place behind the wheel.
Then he drove until he found a tree-darkened cove on the side of some road.
There he cut the engine and she stared at him in the breath-heavy quiet, her eyes wide, just before he dragged her onto his lap, resuming their kiss, as if they were two teenagers necking at a drive-in movie.
As she responded with just as much enthusiasm as any hormone-addled kid, he ran his mouth over her neck, her soft skin carrying the scent of a summer afternoon.
She panted. “You never did let me finish what I was going to say back at the Hitching Post.”
“You aim to finish now?” he asked against her throat.
She grabbed onto his arms as he nipped at her. “Of course I want to fin—”
He raised his head. “Laila?”
“What?” A whisper. Needful.
He wanted to tell her to stop talking, to forget about the bets they had been talking about at the pool table, forget all the games they had been playing.
But instead of saying anything, he looked into her eyes, the blue of them lit by the moon shining through the car windows. He reached up, carefully unpinning her hair from the barrette that was holding it back from her face.
The Hard-to-Get Cowboy Page 10
