His Tomboy Bride. Leanna Wilson
passed away, but he’d abandoned his family years before. The bride walked down the aisle by herself. She looked elegant and mature.”
For once grateful for his presence, Billie perked up, liking his impressions of a lone bride proving her independence. “See, Mother?”
“It’s disgraceful.” Martha stated.
Rolling her eyes, Billie knew her romantic mother would never understand. “Poodle skirt” ideals remained fashionable in Bonnet, Texas. Martha would keel over in a dead faint if she knew Billie was marrying Doug for any reason other than love. If Nick knew, he’d probably jump on her mother’s bandwagon, too. Which confirmed her conviction for keeping tight-lipped about her practical reasons.
Nick settled his hand on Martha’s shoulder. “Billie should do whatever she chooses. After all, it’s her wedding.”
His words reassured her. She had made-the right decision. Was Nick finally seeing her as a full-grown woman? The cocky slant of his eyebrow made her wonder. Maybe he was only looking for an excuse to get out of attending the wedding. Somehow that notion gave her an overwhelming sadness.
“Nick, honey—” Martha clutched at his arm “—I was counting on you to help me talk some sense into my daughter.”
He patted her hand. His gaze shifted to Billie. His pointed stare put her back on the defensive. “Oh, I’m going to do just that.”
His words held an ominous ring. What did he mean? Crossing her arms over her chest, she stood firm. She wouldn’t let him derail her or her goal. She had plans for herself. Plans she’d waited a long time to fulfill. If Nick tried to stop her, she’d run right over him. She’d made up her mind. She’d chosen a mate—for better or worse.
“Why don’t you finish with the dress fitting?” He nodded to Rosa who held her pincushion between her hands like a bouquet of delicate roses. “Billie and I can talk afterward. Privately.”
His arrogant wink unnerved her. Whatever he had in mind, she’d beat him at his own game. For a moment she felt as if she were ten years old, trying to compete with her older brother and Nick. She’d had to work twice as hard, most of the time she’d relied on brains instead of brawn. This time wouldn’t be any different.
But to best him, Billie needed to be on her own turf, not fumbling in a froufrou wedding dress in her mother’s dainty parlor. She felt about as feminine as a tractor plowing down summer daisies. Her regular work clothes would give her the surefooted competence she needed.
With a confident tilt of her head, she said, “Fine, I’ll show you the ranch.”
If he saw the changes she’d implemented on the Rocking G, then he’d know for certain she could make well-thought-out, intelligent decisions. Maybe he’d be impressed. He’d see she wasn’t a girl under the spell of puppy love. He’d see her as a strong-willed woman who could run a ranch and marry any man she damn well pleased.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
His voice resonated inside her like a gust of warm air. His hot gaze traveled the length of her, tracing every curve from the round of her breast to the indentation of her waist and swell of her hips. Her body tingled with his lingering glance. Far more vulnerable in these layers of lace than she cared to admit, Billie longed for her denim jeans and muddy boots.
“She’ll probably put you to work.” Martha smiled and turned her attention to the satin trim along the bottom of the veil.
“I don’t mind hard work.” His rough, work-worn hands emphasized the truth of his statement. He gave Billie a mischievous grin that set her nerves on edge.
No one had ever looked at her as Nick did now. It unraveled her composure. It made her jittery. But it also gave her a smug confidence she’d never experienced. She’d always known she could ride or rope as well as any cowboy. But she’d never known she could turn a man’s head. Or was she only wishing she’d caught Nick’s attention now?
“And we’ll talk,” he warned.
Terrific, Billie thought, just what she needed—a heart-to-heart with the man who’d unknowingly stolen part of hers.
Inside the barn, Nick inhaled the musty scent of baled hay and the sweet aroma of rolled oats. Memories assaulted his senses, reminding him of long days spent in the saddle...backbreaking workdays, happy days when Mr. Gunther would ask him to give Jake and Billie a hand with their chores. Those times seemed old and dim compared to the vibrant image before him. Billie walked out of a stall leading a sleek, chestnut quarter horse.
Even though she tried to hide the facts under an oversize plaid shirt, the evidence was clear—she was all woman. Her faded jeans hugged her slim hips as intimately as a man longed to hold a woman. The soft denim clung to her long legs and ended with frayed threads curling across well-worn black boots that boasted more cow manure and scratches than shine. With each step, she exuded confidence. He couldn’t decide which way he liked her best—rough as an ordinary cowhand or elegant as any New York model. Or which wreaked more havoc on his libido.
“How long has it been since you’ve ridden horseback?” Billie asked, a smirk tugging her lips into a half smile.
“High school, I guess,” he said, leaning against a stall door where he’d draped his jacket. The warmth of the day had encouraged him to roll up the sleeves of his starched white shirt “When Jake and I rode in that local rodeo. Remember? That was the day I knew I wasn’t cut out for getting dumped in the dirt and stomped on like a rag doll.”
Actually his dad’s dream of handing the business over to him had been the deciding factor. It had been his dream, too. But it hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined.
“You decided you’d rather dig in the dirt?” A teasing smile pulled at her mouth.
“I let others do the digging. I’m the boss, remember?” His grin slowly faded with well-worn memories. “I always did like working with my dad, though.”
He missed not being able to anymore. He’d always imagined them working side by side, building their construction company together. Tom Latham had retired and left his company entirely to his son’s management. Sink or swim, it was up to Nick. Over the past five years his enjoyment had been squashed under the impact of reality. He’d liked working with his hands, building things, taking pride in his work. Now, running Latham Construction on his own kept him busy with management problems, obtaining permits, bidding on new contracts, handling employee relations. All the work and none of the fun.
“How is your dad?” she asked, her eyes full of interest and concern.
“Fine. Enjoying the easy life.”
She nodded and turned back to her horse, smoothing her hand over the broad expanse of its back. “I remember your dad whooping and hollering for you at that rodeo,” she said with husky warmth in her voice. “Didn’t you get thrown?”
His shoulders snapped to attention. “Hell, who wouldn’t have? That was a rank ol’ bronc. If I recall, Jake didn’t fare so well, either. And your fiancé didn’t even have the guts to try.”
“A real man doesn’t have to ride a bronc to prove himself.”
“Ah, so that explains Schaeffer’s...disinterest.” Nick grinned.
She gave him a tight smile and slipped a snaffle bit into the horse’s mouth, then slid a bridle over its head. Each movement shifted the unbuttoned plaid shirt and gave him a glimpse of the skimpier white cotton top beneath. The material stretched across her full breasts and lifted a notch to expose her smooth, flat stomach, which was two shades paler than her face and arms. His gut clenched tight as a Boy Scout knot.
Guilt lifted his gaze and urged him to give her an apology. But she didn’t seem to notice him. Her attention was focused on the horse. She lovingly stroked the mare’s nose. She had a way with animals. Her father had often entrusted her to care for scrawny calves