Take the Reins (A Cowboy's Promise Book 2)

by Megan Squires

  “Sorting cows with Tanner in the morning. Having coffee with Gramm around noon. And then…” He paused and gave her an evaluative look. “Then I’m going line dancing with you.”

  “Sounds like a great day,” Josie said, letting that stand as her answer to his roundabout way of asking her out.

  “Yes, it does.” He attempted to conceal it, but Josie picked up on the grin that wanted to spread Seth’s lips into a full-on smile. “Yes, it does.”

  11

  Seth

  The battered leather soaked up the oil like a dry sponge sucking up water. Seth had polished his boots with all the elbow grease he could muster, but nothing would restore them to their original shine. They were worn-in, well-loved, and barely presentable, but they were all he had. They would have to do.

  At least he had a new shirt for the evening. It had been hanging in his closet for well over a year, but the tag still dangled from the sleeve, so he supposed that counted. The collar was crisp and the fabric was clean, with only a faint hint of the cedar chips he stored with his clothes to keep the bugs and moths at bay. He threw it on with his favorite pair of Wranglers and hoped for the best.

  Before leaving, he ran a comb through his hair, a palmful of beard oil through his five-day old scruff, and scrubbed a toothbrush over his teeth. Then he collected his cowboy hat from the rack and fetched his keys from the counter.

  All of his actions felt like preparations for a real date. But these were just motions, meant to be void of any real meaning. As he left his house and walked to Josie’s trailer, he reminded himself of that. It would be the mantra he would repeat throughout the evening: Go through the motions, not through the feelings. When Josie opened the door, though, whatever mantra he’d been in the middle of reciting evaporated right out of his brain.

  She was a vision, not in the overdone way most women were when they got all dolled up for a night out on the town, but in a manner uniquely her own. She had on blue jeans like always, but these weren’t the faded, boot cut ones she wore when training or shoeing horses. Tonight, dark denim hugged her in all the right places, molding perfectly over her shapely legs down to the clean, leather boots she evidently had on reserve for nights spent on the dance floor rather than days used up in the round pen. The hair that was typically swept up under a ball cap hung loose at her shoulders in soft, wheat-blonde curls and a sheen of gloss spread across her full lips.

  There was only one way to describe her.

  “Wow, Josie. You look beautiful.”

  She turned back to lock her trailer door and when she swung around to face him, she shrugged and let out a resigned breath. “I guess I really can look like a girl when I try hard enough.” Her hand curved around her ear to tuck away an errant strand and she made a face like she didn’t know what to do with it. She swatted it aside instead. “But man, it’s a lot of work. I don’t understand how some women can do this everyday. Major time suck.”

  He wanted to inform her that she didn’t need to work at being beautiful—that it came as naturally as the intrinsic beauty of a late summer sunset or the unfurling bloom of a new flower. But his mantra stopped him from uttering that bold—and likely stupid—confession. Compliments were fine, but fawning was over the top. Plus, even if this had been a real date, Seth doubted declarations like that would even impress Josie. Praise clearly made her uncomfortable, even if that praise was the honest to goodness truth.

  “You look good, too, Seth. But let’s be real—you always look good. Got that whole brooding cowboy thing going on that women really seem to go for.”

  This was news to Seth. Laughable news. “Yep. Just look at all the women lining up to go out with me.” He pretended to scan his empty surroundings. “Throngs of them. Hoards, even.”

  “Oh, you just wait. You’ll have to beat them away with a stick once you show your handsome face in that bar. Or I could use my cast to club them, if that’s easier.”

  “With you at my side, I’m pretty sure they’ll get the hint that I’m already taken.”

  What he hoped, more accurately, was that this hint translated the same for the men who wanted to steal a dance with Josie tonight, too. The Rusty Spur was a well-known meet market where eager cowboys and flirty women exchanged glances, dances and likely even more once closing time rolled around. It wasn’t Seth’s favorite watering hole due to the hookup feeling of it all, but the beer on tap was good and it drowned sorrows when troubles needed ignoring. But tonight he wasn’t sure what he needed that liquid courage to do.

  Josie filled Seth in on her progress with the horses while they made the drive across town. It was only a handful of stoplights but Seth managed to fall in sync with each one, the red lights doubling their ride from five minutes to ten. He wasn’t in any real hurry to get to the bar. He knew he had two left feet. Didn’t need a night of tangling them up on the dance floor to prove that.

  Maybe he could’ve held his own back in the day, back before he was tossed from his dad’s horse like a smooth rock leaving a slingshot. He’d ridden out a spook before. It was the spin he wasn’t prepared for, followed by the wild buck. The granite boulder that broke his fall didn’t do him any favors, either. The words pelvis and shattered didn’t belong in the same sentence but that had been his diagnosis, along with a collarbone snapped clean like a brittle twig. Of course, this all had to happen the summer before his senior year of high school, the year that manhood was finally within reach. And borrowing his grandmother’s walker to hobble around campus certainly didn’t place Seth on the fast track to popularity or score any dates for prom.

  He assumed his dancing days died with that fall. Funny that now, over a decade later, he had his first real opportunity to see just how clumsy those feet really were.

  The bar was quiet, but once the sun fully tucked itself away for the night, forcing tractors and plows do the same, Seth figured the crowds would start to appear. People in these parts didn’t squander daylight. There was ranching and farming to be done. But they also didn’t waste a perfectly good Friday night. Before long, the joint would be packed tighter than a sardine can, bodies sandwiched up against one another, a heavy pulse beating throughout the crowd and in the honky-tonk music like its own source of energy.

  But it would be awhile until it got to that point, and Seth knew it would take a couple drinks before he’d loosen up enough to enjoy any of it.

  “What can I get you two this fine Friday evening?” The handlebar-mustached bartender swiped his towel over the counter and tossed out a couple cardboard coasters that skidded to a stop right in front of Seth. “It’s two-for-one pints until eight. And half-off appetizers for five more minutes. If you order soon, I can ring it up and make sure you get the discount.”

  “Two pints of the Rusty Red Ale.” Seth looked to Josie who nodded. Ordering for a woman felt a little presumptuous, but he’d shared enough beers with her at this point that he felt confident he knew her drink preferences. “And a basket of curly fries when you get a chance.”

  The bartender slapped the bar and then saluted with the flick of his finger to his forehead. He jammed his rag into his apron and whirled around to pour their drinks from among the taps lining the wall like soldiers at attention.

  “I’ve always liked this place.” Josie’s elbows planted onto the sticky bar top. Her hands cupped her cheeks and she tapped her cheekbones with the pads of her fingers as if playing the piano. “Would you believe I worked here for a hot minute? My first night bartending I spilled drinks on three customers, got into words with one drunk who wouldn’t leave a girl who clearly wasn’t interested alone, and backed into the owner’s truck right after my shift. Needless to say, they asked me not to come back as an employee. Luckily, they’ve yet to turn me away as a customer.”

  “I just can’t see you working with anything but horses.”

  The bartender returned and deftly settled their drinks in front of them, careful to keep the caps from frothing up and over the rims of their glasses.

>   “As in, you think I don’t work well with people?” Josie lifted the beer and took a sip. She licked the foam from her lips and focused a challenging gaze upon Seth who had locked up like day-old road kill with rigor mortis.

  “I don’t mean that—”

  “It’s okay, Seth. I agree. People are hard for me. I’ve been told I’m sometimes too much.”

  “What does that mean? Too much. Is there some sort of personality measuring stick I’m unaware of?”

  “Yes, Seth, there is.” Josie swiveled her barstool to face him, knee to knee. “Women are expected to look pretty, keep their mouths shut, and play nice. I have a hard time doing all three of those things. I don’t fit the mold.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a mold you should even try to fit into.”

  Just then, country music clicked on over the speakers, the first obvious shift in the bar’s atmosphere, moving things from day drinking to late night partying. An older man at the opposite end of the L-shaped bar slapped a wad of cash onto the counter and as he lumbered past, he murmured under a husky breath, “And that’s my cue.”

  “Think he knows something we don’t?” Seth tipped his beer toward the man shouldering open the door and then brought his gaze back around to Josie.

  “Oh, I think we know exactly what we’re in for tonight, Seth.”

  His stomach bottomed out at that, like when his truck crested the hill by their property and then dipped low on the other side. Moisture filled his palms and he returned his beer to the bar so it didn’t slip from his hands. It was futile to ask what she meant because she had already bounded from her stool to maneuver her way toward the parquet dance floor in the center of the dingy establishment. Her boots tapped in time to the low thump of the bass, a metronome made from her heels as they alternated with the rhythm. One hand clapped against her thigh; her thumb on the other hooked in her front pocket, keeping her cast close to her middle as she rocked side to side. She swayed her body with the song, feeling each note in movements that had Seth peeling his gaze away so he didn’t slip into staring. He was more than a little tempted to do just that.

  “You gonna join me, cowboy?”

  Seth laughed, just one punctuated ha.

  With the corner of her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, Josie flashed a coquettish grin. Seth was grateful he was still on his stool a good distance away because that act made him gulp and there was no question it was audible.

  “This is what we came here for, right?” she hollered at him as the music swelled.

  One beer wasn’t going to be enough, but Seth had a hunch Josie wouldn’t give him time to throw another back. Persistence penetrated every gaze she directed at him, like a beckoning siren call tempting him into foreign—possibly troubled—waters.

  Just go through the motions, not through the feelings.

  Yeah, right. That wasn’t going to happen. Seth was feeling all kinds of stuff that had no business existing in a perfectly platonic relationship. Nerves. Anticipation. An almost animalistic need to march over to Josie and claim her as his own by swooping her into his arms and dancing until their feet were numb and their breaths ragged.

  What on God’s green earth was happening to him?

  “If you’re not going to dance with her, I sure as hell would like to.” Seth had been so unaware of his surroundings—all that didn’t pertain to Josie, at least—that he didn’t even notice the man occupying the bar stool next to him until the burly cowboy uttered the challenge. The stranger sniffed loudly to hock up a ball of phlegm and spat into an empty plastic cup, then wiped his sloppy mouth with his sleeve in a downright barbaric way.

  Seth abandoned his chair. Josie wasn’t up for grabs and she definitely wasn’t available to satisfy this guy’s wandering eye, let alone any other ideas he had floating around in that oversized head of his.

  “I was beginning to think you were going to leave me out here all by myself.” Josie tossed a pile of hair over her shoulder, unblinking when she looked up at him. Something a little like insecurity shot through her big, caramel eyes but she kept dancing in place even as the music transitioned between songs.

  “We came here to dance. So dance, we shall.”

  “Shall?” She closed her eyes and shook her head, then snorted out a laugh through her nose. “Seriously, Seth. Sometimes you really confuse me. You’re this hot rancher who bakes cookies like it’s his job and sometimes acts like a dude from another century with your manners and goofy vernacular. I can’t figure you out. You’re an enigma.”

  “Maybe I don’t fit the mold either.” He shrugged.

  “Well, cheers to not fitting the mold.” She hoisted an imaginary glass into the air.

  “We’ve got real drinks we can toast with.”

  “Right, but that would mean going back to the bar to grab them and I’m pretty sure once you step off this dance floor, I’ll have an impossible time getting you back out here.” In a two-beat move, she grabbed his hand and yanked Seth close to press her body flush with his. “I’m not letting you get away.”

  Seth was shocked he didn’t choke on his heart that leapt into his throat. He could feel it beating like a bass drum this thump, thump, thump of adrenaline and anticipation and a little bit of what the heck is going on here?

  This wasn’t line dancing. There was no line around them, near them, or between them. They moved as one unit, the classic country music guiding them like a push, nudging them together, closer and carrying them along the dance floor.

  “I think you might actually be leading,” Seth said close to her ear when the first song ended, not that he minded it. His dancing feet were definitely both lefties. At least Josie had an easy rhythm he could latch onto and mimic. Learn from, even.

  “I’m honestly not trying to. I just can’t help it. I try to give up the lead for a few seconds and then I find myself slipping back into it. I’ll be more aware of it from here on out.”

  “It doesn’t bother me. Honestly. But I would like to try to lead you for a song or two,” he admitted. He tightened his grip around her waist. “If that’s even possible.” He tacked on a wink for good measure.

  “Wild horses are more easily tamed,” she teased, but Seth noticed the way her body slowly gave up command. Something softened in both her exterior and her spirit and within the span of one song, Seth had her following his guiding steps.

  He’d been surprised by a lot of things when it came to Josie, but her willingness to let him take the reins was the biggest one yet.

  12

  Josie

  Josie wasn’t a short woman but Seth’s six-foot-two frame created a big enough gap that it made the difference noticeable, mostly in the way her head lined right up with his broad shoulder. If a slow song came on, I could press just a little closer and rest it there, she mused. Her eyes almost fell shut at the enticing thought. That just might be the very thing to do her in. A slow dance with this cowboy. She sent up a little prayer that tonight’s DJ continued to keep it lively.

  She was not going to fall for Seth. She didn’t have the time—nor the desire—to be in any sort of real relationship. From what she’d known of them, they were nothing but heartache leading to eventual heartbreak, with a whole lot of headache in between. Her older sister, Maren, somehow managed to make it work and was now married to her childhood sweetheart, but Josie had had a front row seat to the emotional toil it took to finally reach their happily ever after. In her eyes, drama and dating went hand in hand, like peanut butter and jelly or boots and spurs.

  Josie didn’t do drama. That might mean she’d miss out on her own happily-ever-after, but that was okay. She was perfectly content with a happy-right-now. And that’s what she felt when she danced with Seth. Happy.

  Something about keeping her feet moving, her heart rate up, and her hand at Seth’s muscular back made her alive. Invigorated. It turned out that being Seth’s fake girlfriend wasn’t all too terrible at all. The opposite, really.

  They’d spent nearly an hou
r dancing their way across the floor when the music cut off and the DJ announced that a local, live cover band would take over for the remainder of the night. Now was as good a time as any to take a break to catch their breath. She could see the line of perspiration beading along Seth’s brow, the exertion of dance after dance noticeably winding him, and she felt a trail of sweat forming along her lower back and flushing her cheeks, too.

  “It’s fair to say that you’ve worn me out.” Seth snatched his bandana from his back pocket and moved it slowly across his forehead before stashing it away. “I thought we would just have a quiet little night of country line dancing but you’ve got me out there twisting and turning all over the place. And I’d like to point out, I still don’t know the Electric Slide.”

  Josie trailed Seth back to the bar, but moved her feet in the motions of the popular line dance, shuffling, scooting, and scraping her boots along the tacky hardwood in several eight counts until she’d danced herself all the way up to their empty stools. “Did you catch all of that?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “But it’s fine. I think I prefer dancing with you as opposed to next to you, anyway. You’re a really good partner, Josie.”

  Their glasses were half-filled with lukewarm, leftover beer and a basket of limp fries sat abandoned on the portion of the bar they had vacated an hour earlier. Seth grimaced at the unappetizing display before them.

  “Should I order us a fresh round?”

  “I’ve actually got another idea if you’re okay with calling it a night here,” Josie suggested.

  “I’m totally good with that. Truthfully, I’m not sure my feet can handle round two out on that floor. They’re going to be killing me tomorrow.”

  “Only because I stepped on them a hundred or so times.”