Her Forbidden Cowboy. Charlene Sands
you.” Okay, great. She felt better now. When she’d packed her clothes, she hadn’t given much thought to her wardrobe. All she hoped for was to clear her head a little while here. “I thought I’d go for a walk on the beach. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner. See you later.”
Mrs. Lopez nodded and focused on the stove. Jess’s stomach grumbled as she left the spicy smells of the kitchen and walked out the double doors to the deck. From there, she climbed a few more stairs down, until warm sand crept onto her flip-flops.
* * *
There were no lakes or rivers back home that compared with the balmy breezes whipping at her hair, the briny taste on her lips or the glistening golden hues reflecting off the ocean. Her steps fell lightly, making a slight impression in the packed wet sand until the next wave inched up the shore and carried her footprints out to sea. Even with the sun low over the water’s edge, her skin warmed as she walked along the beach. To her right, beachfront mansions overlooking the sea filled her line of vision, each one different in design and structure. She was so intent on gauging the houses, she didn’t notice a jogger approaching until he’d stopped right in front of her.
“Hi,” he said, his breaths heaving.
“Hello.” A swift glance at his face made her gasp silently. He was stunning and tanned and one of the most famous movie stars in the world. Dylan McKay.
He hunched over, hands on knees, catching his breath. “Give me a sec.”
For what? She wanted to ask, yet she stood there, feet implanted in the sand, waiting. He was easy on the eyes, and she tried not to stare at his bare chest and the dip of his jogging shorts below a trim waist.
He righted his posture, and blood drained from her body as he aimed a heart-melting smile her way. “Thank you.”
Puzzled, she stared at him. “For?”
“Being here. For giving me an excuse to stop running.” He chuckled, and white teeth flashed. Was the sun-gleaming twinkle from his smile real? Could’ve been. Dylan McKay was every red-blooded woman’s idea of the perfect man.
Except hers. She knew there was no such thing.
“Okay. But...you could’ve just stopped on your own, couldn’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m supposed to run ten miles a day. It’s a work thing. I’m preparing for a role as a Navy SEAL.”
No kidding? She wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know who he was. Or that his bronzed body wasn’t already honed and ripped. “Gotcha. How many did you do?”
His lips twisted with self-loathing. “Eight.”
“That’s not bad.” Judging by the pained look on his face, he was a man who expected perfection of himself. “There aren’t too many people who can run eight miles.”
His expression lightened and he seemed to appreciate her encouragement. “I’m Dylan, by the way.” He put out his hand.
“Jessica.” It was a one-pump handshake.
“Are we neighbors?” he asked, his brows gathering. “I live over there.” He pointed to a trilevel mansion looming close by.
She shook her head. “Not really. I’m staying with Zane Williams for a short time.”
When his brows lifted ever so slightly and his eyes flashed, she read his mind. “He’s...he’s family.”
He nodded. “I know Zane. Good guy.”
“He is. My sister...well, he was married to Janie.”
A moment passed as he put two and two together. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I think I’ve gotten my second wind. Thanks to you. Only two miles to go. Nice meeting you, Jessica. Say hi to Zane for me.”
He about-faced, trotted down the beach in the opposite direction and soon picked up his pace to a full-out jog.
She headed back to the house, a smile on her lips, a song humming in her heart. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
She spotted Zane braced against the patio railing and waved. Had he been watching her? She was hit with a surge of self-consciousness. She wasn’t a beach babe. Her curvy figure didn’t allow two-piece bathing suits, and her pale skin tone could be compared only with the bark of a birch tree or the peel of a honeydew melon.
As she climbed the stairs, her gaze hit upon his shirt, a Hawaiian print with repeating palm trees. She’d never seen Zane look more casual and yet appear so ill at ease in his surroundings.
“Nice walk?” he asked, removing his sunglasses.
“It beats a stroll to Beckon’s Cinema Palace.”
Zane laughed, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You got that right. I haven’t thought about the Palace in a long time.” His voice sounded gruff as if he’d go back to those days in a heartbeat.
There wasn’t a whole lot to do in Beckon, Texas, so on Saturday night the parking lot at the Palace swarmed with kids from the high school. Hanging out and hooking up. It’s where Jessica had had her first awkward kiss. With Miles Bernardy. Gosh, he was such a geek. But then, so was she.
It was also where Janie and Zane had fallen in love.
“I met one of your neighbors.”
“Judging by the glow on your face, must’ve been Dylan. He runs this time of day.”
“My face is not glowing.” She blinked.
“Nothing to worry over. Happens all the time with women.”
“I’m not a wom—I mean, I am not gawking over a movie star, for heaven’s sake.”
He should talk. Former brother-in-law or not, Zane Williams was a country superstar hunk. Dark-haired, six foot two, a chiseled-jawed Grammy winner, Zane wasn’t hard on the eyes, either. The tabloids painted him as an eligible widower who needed love in his life. So far, they’d been kind to him, a rare thing for a superstar.
He picked up his crutches and lifted one to gesture to a table. “This okay with you?”
Two adjacent places were set along a rectangular glass table large enough for ten. Votive candles and a spray of flowers accented the place settings facing the sunset. “It’s nice, Zane. I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. I don’t expect you to entertain me.”
“Not going to any trouble, Jess. Fact is, I eat out here most days. I hate being cooped up inside the house. Just another week and I’ll be out of these dang confinements.” He raised his wrapped wrist.
“That’s good news. Then what will you do?”
Inclining his head, he considered her question. “Some rehab, I’m told. And continue working out details on the restaurant.” He frowned, and the light dimmed in his eyes. “My tour’s not due to pick up until September sometime. Maybe.”
She wouldn’t pry about the maybe. He hobbled to the table. Leaning a crutch against the table’s edge, he managed to pull out her chair—such chivalry—and she took her seat. Then he scooted his butt into his own chair. Plop. Poor Zane. His injuries put him completely out of his element.
Mrs. Lopez appeared with platters of food. She set them on the table with efficient haste and nodded to him. “I made a pitcher of margaritas to go with the enchiladas and rice. Or maybe some iced tea or soda?”
“Jessica?” he asked.
“A margarita sounds like heaven.”
He glanced at the housekeeper. “Bring the pitcher, please.”
She nodded. Within a minute, a pitcher appeared along with two bottle-green