Good Time Cowboy. Maisey Yates
then, he had touched her.
He had touched her, and she hadn’t been able to disguise her response to it. She could see it in his eyes. That he thought he knew exactly what she felt. And even if it was true, even if he did, she was not going to let him have that.
She enjoyed this. That hesitation in his eyes. The tightening in his jaw. The fact that she had him on his back foot. Yeah, she liked that a lot better than feeling like she was on hers.
He tilted his head back. “Grant, huh?”
“He seems like a nice guy. Good-looking too.”
“Right.” His teeth were clenched so tight she’d be surprised if he didn’t chip one. Maybe that shouldn’t satisfy her. But it did.
“Just wondering if you have the inside track on that.” She tried to look both cool and interested at the same time.
He lifted a brow. “I expect you could ask him yourself.”
“Oh, I expect I could.” She kept her tone light but steady. She had a feeling it was that lightness that had him caught so off guard.
“Then why ask me?” He was trying to sound casual too. Unlike her, he was failing.
“Everyone could use a good wingman, Wyatt. If you wanted to be mine, I would hardly say no.” She smiled, and he didn’t.
“I’ll pass.”
She lifted her shoulder. “Suit yourself. But, I would have returned the favor.”
“Wingmen are for amateurs, honey,” he said. “I’ve never needed one yet.”
He walked away from her, heading back over to their shared corner of the saloon. She was captivated watching him. Even angry at him. Even with him angry at her.
Those broad shoulders, narrow waist. His ass in those jeans.
She didn’t know who she was when she looked at him. The things she noticed. What it made her want.
She stood for a moment and took a breath trying to get a hold of herself. It was only then that she realized her hands were shaking. Dammit.
She crossed the room, making her way back over to the table. “Why don’t you sit next to Grant?” Wyatt asked, giving her an evil smirk from his position in his chair.
And that made her suspect that he didn’t believe her at all. Asshole.
“Sure,” she said, easily, casually. She took a seat next to Grant. “We haven’t had a chance to talk much,” she said, turning to the other man.
Grant was looking at her, somewhat blandly, and she felt a small twinge of guilt. She wasn’t interested in him. She didn’t want him to think she was. Not when she wasn’t going to actually follow up.
That was a new low. Using a widowed man as a pawn in her control game.
But, his extreme and apparent lack of interest made her feel less guilty immediately.
Somehow, they stumbled through the rest of the evening making conversation. And she could feel Wyatt’s eyes on her the entire time. But she refused to look back at him.
* * *
WYATT WAS IN a foul mood by the time he got home. It was late, and he was slightly drunk. He, Grant and Jamie had all had a bit too much to drink to drive home, and they’d had to call on Bennett to come and pick them up. Bennett had muttered about their poor planning, and the fact that he’d had to leave his fiancée and home to come bail his asshole siblings out because they hadn’t chosen a designated driver.
Wyatt had not told him about the fact that the three of them had discussed using Bennett as a designated driver before they had gone out for the evening. The fact of the matter was, they had known that their more responsible brother would be on hand to deal with them.
Hell, the man had the benefit of going home to his fiancée and son every day after work. He could deal with his siblings who were single and alone.
Not that Wyatt had ever felt like marriage and kids were the goal for him.
Still, he was in a bad mood, and he wasn’t supposed to be. A night of drinking had been intended to cure his ills, not add to them. But that encounter with Lindy, her asking about Grant, yeah, that had all added some ills.
Then, the phone rang.
“Dad,” he said, doing his best to keep the whiskey slur out of his voice. “You know it’s midnight, right?”
“I know,” his father responded.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Freda and I were on the road all day. This is the first time I’ve had a chance to call.”
He also had a feeling that his father was standing outside of their camper. That he had waited until Freda had gone to sleep, because Wyatt’s stepmother would undoubtedly not approve at all of the situation.
The woman his father had married was one of the kindest people Wyatt had ever met. She had embraced Quinn Dodge’s kids like they were her own.
When Bennett’s son that he hadn’t known he’d had had shown up out of the blue, she embraced him as a grandson. Not that Quinn hadn’t, it was just that it never failed to amaze Wyatt that this woman who hadn’t raised them treated them like she had.
That she was in many ways much easier than Quinn never would be.
But then, maybe that was part of it. She didn’t know him. Not really.
His father did.
“Right. But, it’s not like you called to say good night.”
“You know I didn’t,” Quinn said, his tone firm but gentle. “I called to check on the project.”
“Right. The ranch. The one that you’re going to sell out from underneath me if I don’t get my stuff together.”
“It’s not like that. Ranching is hard business, Wyatt. I barely kept our heads above water all those years. Hell, if it weren’t for the money you earned riding in the rodeo we would have gone under. You know that.”
Yeah, his rodeo money. Money that landed somewhere between trying to atone for a sin he wasn’t sure he was sorry for and a big middle finger. His dad had wanted him to stand on his own, to get on without support...and the money had been nice proof that he’d gone and done that. “I know. But doesn’t that make the place even more mine?”
“It makes you even more invested, sure. Invested in pouring money into a pit. I’ve done it for a lot of years. I don’t want the same thing for you, unless it looks like it will be more than a pit. The problem with ranching is it gets under your skin. You get addicted to it. You can’t let it go even when you should.”
“Right. I’m sure that’s it,” Wyatt said. “You being concerned that I’ll take another hit of this dusty brand of heroin we call being a cowboy.”
His head was starting to hurt and his mood was just getting meaner. They’d had this talk at least four times, and Wyatt didn’t like it any more now than he had the first time.
“You can be angry at me if you want,” Quinn said, “but that doesn’t change the reality of the situation. If you can get it off to a good start, then I’m more than happy to let it go without interfering. But take it from someone who spent his whole life working that land. It’s not that easy. You think it is, because you managed to skip off and make money as a performing cowboy, Wyatt, but being a real cowboy is not that easy. And it’s not that fun. Grant’s been through enough. Jamie’s been through enough. If we can’t get it together to save the place... We can’t get it together.”
Wyatt gritted his teeth. “There’s no we,” he said. “We’re not in this together. We—you and me—we’re working against each other.”