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Wrangling The Rich Rancher
Sheri WhiteFeather
This rancher can't say no to a sexy single mum… It's the day of reckoning for Matt Clark, secret illegitimate son of a country superstar. Because journalist Libby Penn is on the doorstep of his sprawling ranch seeking an interview. He denies her request. But feisty Libby thrills him as no woman ever has. Soon they're in his bed.Despite their sizzling chemistry, Matt worries the stunning single mom is still vulnerable after losing her husband. And he resents her desire to reunite him with his father. But resistance to the sunny spitfire is proving futile…


This rancher can’t say no to a sexy single mom...
It’s the day of reckoning for Matt Clark, secret illegitimate son of a country superstar. Because journalist Libby Penn is on the doorstep of his sprawling ranch seeking an interview. He denies her request. But feisty Libby thrills him as no woman ever has. Soon they’re in his bed.
Despite their sizzling chemistry, Matt worries the stunning single mom is still vulnerable after losing her husband. And he resents her desire to reunite him with his father. But resistance to the sunny spitfire is proving futile...
Wrangling the Rich Rancher is part of the Sons of Country series.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Libby said. “My cabin’s right over there.”
“Yes, but sometimes the coyotes come down from the hills at this hour,” Matt insisted.
“But they wouldn’t approach me, would they?”
“They might. I’ve heard they’re partial to blondes in short skirts and fancy boots.”
She broke into a smile. “I can fend them off. I’m tougher than I look.”
“That’s good. Because you look like a sugar cookie dipped in silver sprinkles.”
“You don’t like sugar cookies?”
“I never said I didn’t like them. I can eat dozens of them.” His amber eyes turned hungry. “I could even devour one whole.”
Libby fidgeted in her seat. “You’re making me nervous, Matt.”
He dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you.”
“You probably shouldn’t be telling me this.”
“I’m not taking it back, either. I admitted how I feel, and it’s done and over now.”
* * *
Wrangling the Rich Rancher
is part of the Sons of Country series:
Three heirs to country-music royalty face
the music with three very special women...
Dear Reader (#u25809746-fe3f-5a0e-b0d1-4ed52950be4a),
When I suggested this series, focusing on a country star and his sons, I was thrilled that my editors liked the concept, too. I used to work for some famous musicians. Many years ago I painted the leather pick guards on the original Waylon Jennings signature guitars that the Fender Custom Shop produced. I painted the guitar straps that accompanied those guitars, too.
During that time I met Waylon backstage at a show, and he was just the nicest man. But by no means did I base this series on him. It doesn’t have anything to do with Waylon Jennings or his family. Nonetheless, I’ve been inspired by having known so many interesting people in the music profession.
Truthfully, I’m actually more of a rock ‘n’ roll girl than a country gal, but many a country star has influenced me. For a short time I lived in Bakersfield, California, and I enjoyed going to Buck Owens Crystal Palace and checking out the memorabilia on the walls. I enjoyed listening to the music they played there, too. Is it any wonder I plotted a Sons of Country series? I think not.
Love and hugs,
Sheri WhiteFeather
Wrangling the Rich Rancher
Sheri WhiteFeather


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SHERI WHITEFEATHER is an award-winning, bestselling author. She writes a variety of romance novels for Mills & Boon and is known for incorporating Native American elements into her stories. She has two grown children, who are tribally enrolled members of the Muscogee Creek Nation. She lives in California and enjoys shopping in vintage stores and visiting art galleries and museums. Sheri loves to hear from her readers at www.sheriwhitefeather.com (http://www.sheriwhitefeather.com).
Contents
Cover (#uf92b4cfc-3055-51b3-9d7c-f45ea40efef0)
Back Cover Text (#u6fd573e5-8b4c-526a-9121-5c4cb3267c09)
Introduction (#u91061e59-bb4a-5bd1-9322-def340b00f2d)
Dear Reader (#u25d851e2-fcc2-599a-a5c0-22ba86397066)
Title Page (#u4f30a7ee-53c8-5e2c-9e27-e30e22cfb37b)
About the Author (#u2daa081d-968b-5eb3-8fef-c5f95474390e)
Chapter One (#u2f9a4c56-c587-53cb-990d-11066cd87e36)
Chapter Two (#u9547b01e-401f-5975-a465-9b7d0903ffc3)
Chapter Three (#u68b81a3d-ef39-50f6-ab1e-f0399cd3a52b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#u25809746-fe3f-5a0e-b0d1-4ed52950be4a)
He was gorgeous, Libby Penn thought, this cowboy she’d come to see. Yes, indeed: tall, dark and ruggedly appealing, with a long, lean body, straight short black hair and whiskey-colored eyes. All man, all denim and leather, all Western. If she were in the market for a lover, he would be darned hard to resist. But she hadn’t been with anyone since she’d lost her husband, and she wasn’t ready to sleep with Matt Clark or anyone else. Not that Matt was asking her to share his bed. She barely knew him. They’d only just met yesterday afternoon, and briefly at that. Besides, she was here for business, and she needed to keep her professional wits about her.
Still, from the moment they’d first laid eyes on each other, a strange sort of chemistry—the kind that zapped you when you least expected it—had risen up between them. Even now, she could sense his uneasy attraction to her, and he wasn’t even looking her way. Clearly, he didn’t like feeling something for one of his guests.
The thing was, she hadn’t even told him the real reason she was here, staying at his recreational ranch. As far as he knew, she was just another tourist visiting the Texas Hill Country.
She and some of the other guests were finishing up breakfast, and soon would be dispersing to engage in whatever activities interested them: horseback riding, hiking, swimming, fishing, skeet shooting, horseshoes, Ping-Pong. There was a playground and petting corral for the kids. On top of that, the ranch had a world-class champion quarter horse standing at stud. They also bred him to their mares, and during foaling season, guests could ooh and aah over their offspring. Of course, hayrides, barbecues, campfires and country hoedowns were part of the regular program. According to the schedule she’d been given, a boot-scooting dance and fried chicken dinner were on the calendar for tomorrow night, with all ages welcome.
The Flying Creek Ranch was highly successful, earning plenty of cold, hard cash. Libby knew because she’d researched it. And although it was designed for families and looked quite rustic, there were luxurious undertones. Amid its vast and stunning acreage, it offered private cabin accommodations with limestone fireplaces. There was a big, beautiful main lodge, too, which was where Libby was now, preparing to approach Matt. But from what she’d gathered so far, Matt didn’t live at the lodge. He lived in a cabin, the one next to hers, in fact. She’d spotted him last night, sitting quietly on his porch. She’d stayed inside, making notes to herself about Matt’s character and how she perceived him. Friendly when he needed to be, but withdrawn, too. An enigma, she thought, a chameleon, his moods shifting with the summer wind.
Her observations were hasty at best, and influenced, no doubt, by what his father had already told her about him. Matt was Kirby Talbot’s illegitimate son. The half-Cherokee boy the famous country singer had done wrong. Kirby had even written a yet-unpublished song about it.
Libby knew all sorts of personal details about Kirby. He’d hired her to write his biography. He’d handpicked her himself, based on a series of articles she’d crafted for Rolling Stone. For her, the book was a dream come true. Kirby was her idol, his rough-and-ready music complementing her willful personality and determined life.
Still studying Matt from across the room, she smoothed the front of her boho-inspired blouse, the silky fringe attached to it fluttering around her hips. The salesclerk at the store where she’d bought it called it cowgirl chic; it was bold, beautiful and sweetly feminine. Whatever the style, the blouse made her feel pretty. Libby was small in stature, with long, pale, wavy blond hair and a wholesome face. Sometimes she made cat eyes with her eyeliner just to doll herself up, giving her wide blue eyes a dramatic transformation.
Eager to learn more about Matt, she headed in his direction. Some of her research on him had come from his father and the rest from public records and the web. So far, she knew that he was thirty-one years old and had lived in the Hill Country his entire life. He appeared to be an unpretentious man, but his net worth was staggering, going far beyond the trust fund his father had set up for him.
As a youth, he’d excelled in junior rodeos. These days, he was divorced. His ex was a local girl, a widow when he’d married her, with two small children. That interested Libby, of course. But everything about him did.
He was Kirby’s secret son. No one except the family and a handful of lawyers knew about him. After her book was released, everyone would know. Kirby wanted to come clean, to acknowledge Matt’s paternity in a public way.
Initially, he’d kept Matt under wraps because he was married at the time and didn’t want his wife or other kids to find out. Eventually they learned the truth. But that hadn’t changed the dynamics of Matt and Kirby’s relationship. He saw Matt sporadically when he was growing up, visiting between road tours. At some point, he stopped seeing him at all, and now Kirby wanted to make amends. Just this year, he started reaching out to his son, but Matt refused to take his calls, let alone see him.
Libby approached Matt, who was standing near a painting of Indian ponies dancing in the dust. He adjusted his hat, fitting it lower on his head.
“Do you have a minute?” she asked.
He turned more fully toward her, the make-believe horses prancing at his shoulder. “For one of my guests? Always.”
“Is it okay if we take a walk?” She didn’t want anyone to overhear their conversation. Some of the others were still milling around the lodge.
“Sure.” He gestured to a side door leading to a rustic garden, where flowers sprouted amid wagon wheels, old water pumps and wrought iron benches. Once they were outside, he asked, “Is everything all right? Are you enjoying your stay so far?”
She fell into step with him. “It’s a wonderful ranch, and I’m looking forward to the activities. I missed your Independence Day celebration.” The ranch was famous for hosting a huge fireworks display, drawing crowds from neighboring communities. “You were booked solid then.” She’d arrived just after July Fourth and would be staying until the beginning of August. “This is so different from where I live, so vast and rural.” Libby was from Southern California, where she’d been born and raised. Kirby, however, resided in Nashville, on an enormous compound he’d built. She’d already been there several times. “My son will be joining me in a few weeks. My mother is going to bring him. She’s going to stay with us, too.”
“How old is your son?”
“Six. This place is going to thrill him. He wants to be a cowboy when he grows up.”
He smiled a little crookedly. “I’ll be sure to give him the grand tour.”
“His daddy passed away. It’ll be three years this fall.” She wasn’t sure why she felt inclined to tell Matt that, especially with how weirdly attracted to him she was. Then again, he’d been married to a widow, so maybe he would understand more than most people would?
By now, he was frowning, hard and deep. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. His name was Becker.” Kirby Talbot had been his idol, too. She’d met Becker at one of Kirby’s concerts. “He got sick. But it happened really quickly. A bacterial infection that...” She let her words drift. Becker wouldn’t want her talking about the way he died. He was a vibrant person, filled with hope and joy. “But this isn’t what I intended to discuss with you.” She managed a smile, knowing Becker would be encouraging her to move forward, especially with her career. Then, suddenly, she hesitated, fully aware that Matt wasn’t going to be pleased with her news. Finally, she slapped the smile back on her face and went for it. “I’m doing a book about your father. He hired me to write his biography, and—”
“Kirby sent you here?” Matt flinched, his amber eyes flashing beneath the brim of his straw Stetson.
She nodded. “He asked me to come. He wants to reveal your parentage in the book and wants to give you the opportunity to tell your side of the story.”
Anger edged his voice. “So you’re here to interview me?”
She nodded again, maintaining a professional air. Libby wasn’t going to let Matt’s frustration affect her. She had a job to do, a biography to write, possibly even bringing him and his father together. “I’d like the chance to get to know you, to spend as much time with you as I can. Kirby told me—”
“He told you what?” Those eyes flashed again. “That his bastard son wants nothing to do with him?”
“He didn’t word it like that, but yes, he said that you were estranged from him. But he also admitted how he’d done you wrong. How he was never really there for you when you were growing up. He wants to atone for his mistakes.”
A cynical smile thinned Matt’s lips. “So it’ll make him look good in the book you’re writing? So his fans can worship him more than they already do?” Tall and handsome and lethal, he took a step closer to her. “You can tell my arrogant, womanizing daddy to go straight to hell. That I’m not impressed with him or his half-assed biography.”
Half-assed? Libby set her chin. “I’m going to write a true account of his life, his loves, his mistakes, his music. His children,” she added. Kirby had two other sons, legitimate heirs with his former wife, the woman to whom he’d been married when Matt’s mother had tumbled into an affair with him. “From my understanding, you’ve never even met your brothers.”
“My half brothers,” he reminded her. “And I’m not any more interested in them than I am in Kirby.”
“They’re interested in you.”
He shifted his booted feet. “They told you that?”
“Yes, they did.” They were willing participants in the book. “I haven’t interviewed them yet, not extensively, but we’ve had a couple of nice talks where they expressed their desire to meet you.” He was the lone-wolf brother they couldn’t help but wonder about. “Brandon is an entertainment lawyer who represents the family, and Tommy...” She paused. “Well, he’s a lot like Kirby.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’t know that? I’m familiar with Tommy Talbot’s music. I know how he followed in our old man’s footsteps.”
Yes, she thought. Tommy was as wild as their father. Or wilder, if that was possible. Whereas Kirby had been dubbed the bad boy of country, Tommy was now known as the baddest boy of country, surpassing his father.
She said, “If you agree to do this, I promise that I’ll quote you accurately, that I’ll present you in a deep and honest light. Your words matter. Your thoughts, your feelings. I’m hoping to interview your mother, as well.” Libby knew that his mom lived on the ranch. “She just got married, didn’t she? To a man who works for you?”
“Yes, but they’re out of town right now.” He moved even closer to her, so close their boot tips were almost touching. “So you can’t go chasing after her for an interview.”
“That’s okay. I can wait.” He towered over her and Libby lifted her head to get a better look at him. This close, he was even more appealing, his features etched in masculine lines and candid emotion. He smelled good, too, his cologne a tantalizing blend of woods and musk.
“Has he hit on you yet?”
She started. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Kirby. Has he tried to get you into bed?”
“Oh, my goodness, no.” Discomfort blasted through her blood. It was the son who stirred her, not the father. “He’s been nothing but respectful to me.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice going a tad too soft. In it, she heard a gentle concern, a protective tone.
“I’m positive.” She knew that Kirby wasn’t interested in her. If anything, he’d been paternal toward her. But she decided not to mention that to Matt, given how easily Kirby had once walked away from him.
He went silent, and his gaze locked onto hers. Then, as if suddenly realizing how close he was standing to her, he stepped back.
“Sorry,” he said.
“You don’t have to apologize. I rather liked it.” She tried for a goofy smile. “This noble side of you.”
He remained serious. “If my dad got a hold of you, he would destroy your soul. You and your naive ways.”
And what would Matt do if he got a hold of her? “There’s nothing going on with your father and me. I don’t feel that way about him.” She closed the gap between them, wanting to be near him again. “And I’m not as naive as I look.”
“Oh, yeah. So what are you going to do, little girl? Seduce me for the sake of your book?”
Mercy, she thought. Were they actually having this conversation? Was it really going in this direction? Struggling to breathe, to keep the air in her lungs from rushing out, she said, “If I seduced you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of the book.” She quickly clarified, “But I’m not here to seduce anyone. And for the record, I’m not a little girl. I’m twenty-nine.”
His gaze didn’t falter, not one whiskey inch. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He would keep what in mind? Her self-proclaimed maturity? Or her unwillingness to seduce anyone? Either way, she was still feeling a bit too breathless. “Are you going to grant me an interview? Are you going to agree to spend some time with me? Or am I going to have to keep trying to convince you to be part of my project?”
“You’ll have to keep trying. For all the good it will do you.”
“It’ll do me plenty of good.” This was her first book, and she intended to do it right.
“Then I guess I’ll see you around.” He sent her a pulse-jarring look, right before he walked away, leaving her staring after him.
Like a fresh-faced schoolgirl with a crush.
* * *
Matt cursed the situation he was in. Of all the beautiful blondes who could have shown up at his ranch, did it have to be someone who was working for his dad? Someone who was prying into the past? Who was writing a book that was going to unmask the chaos in his life? The last thing Matt wanted was to be publically identified as Kirby Talbot’s son. Damn his dad all to hell.
And damn Libby, too.
Yesterday when she arrived, Matt had gotten a hot, sexy, zipper-tightening reaction to her. So much so, he’d given her the cabin next to his. Normally he didn’t work the front desk or place his guests. But he’d just happened to be there when she’d come in, so he’d handled the transaction.
Honestly, though, he didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish by putting her next to him. For all he knew, she could have been in a relationship. Sure, she seemed single from the way she’d been checking him out, but he knew better than to lust after one of his guests.
Cripes, he thought. Besides being his father’s biographer, she was widowed with a kid. This was the nightmare of nightmares. He’d gotten his heart broken by the last widow, the last blonde, who caught his eye. He missed Sandy. He missed her children, too. Two adorable little twins girls.
Matt had wanted so desperately to be a father—a good, kind, caring dad to Sandy’s girls. He wanted to give them what his old man had never given him.
Love. Affection. Attention.
But after the divorce, she’d taken the twins and moved out of the area. She didn’t think it would be healthy for her or the girls to keep seeing him. Sandy had only married him to soothe the loss of the man she really loved. The guy she’d buried.
How was he supposed to compete with that? Sandy’s memories of her other husband had always been there, floating like a ghost between them. Matt’s mixed-up marriage, which lasted all of six months, had been a crushing failure. He thought that he could help Sandy through her grief, that he would become her hero and the new husband she couldn’t live without.
A year had passed since the divorce, and just as he was starting to lick to his wounds and move on, in walked another young widow, except she was working for his dad.
Oh, yeah. This was a nightmare, all right. Was he supposed to avoid Libby while she was here, to walk away from her at every turn? Considering how long she would be hanging around, that wasn’t going to be an easy feat.
He could ask her to leave. This was his ranch, after all—he’d started the business from a trust account Kirby had set up for him. Of course, it wasn’t as cut-and-dried as that. After Matt got the ranch established, making it a tremendous success, he returned the money to the trust, making sure his dad knew that he no longer needed or wanted it. By now, Matt was wealthy in his own right.
Initially, he’d acquired a lump sum on his twenty-first birthday, based on a deal that had been negotiated when he was a baby, as part of a child-support settlement. His mom had agreed to the terms, which required her to keep Matt’s paternity a secret.
Disturbing as it was, the contract had never restricted Kirby from speaking out. Only Matt’s mother had been silenced, and she’d taught Matt to stay silent, as well, to never tell anyone who his father was. And now, all these years later, Kirby wanted to blow all that out of the water.
Matt headed to his private barn, preparing to saddle one of his horses and ride into the hills, taking a trail that was unavailable to his guests. He often carved out time for himself, and today in particular he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, not with what Libby had sprung on him.
Unfortunately, when his mom returned from her trip, she would probably support this damned book. She’d already been encouraging Matt to make peace with his father, to accept the olive branches Kirby had been offering.
He kept walking, and just as he entered his barn, he turned and saw Libby strolling up behind him.
Holy hell.
Half annoyed, half intrigued and a whole lot confused, he let his gaze roam over her. She’d actually followed him out here, and without him even knowing it. “When I said that I would see you around, I didn’t mean this soon.”
“Really, you didn’t? Oh, silly me.” She grinned, two perfect dimples lighting up her face.
He wanted to grab her by that fringy top of hers and shake her till those dimples rattled. But he wanted to kiss her, too, as roughly as he could, curious to know if she tasted as feisty as she looked.
“Yeah, silly you,” he shot back.
She was still grinning, still being cute and clever. “I’m prone to getting the last word, and you left me standing there like a dolt.”
He had no idea what that meant. “A dolt?”
“A stupid person.”
Matt was the stupid one, wishing he could kiss her. “Working for Kirby doesn’t exactly make you the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
“Funny, I’m wearing chandelier earrings, and they’re pretty bright.” She tapped the crystal jewels at her ears. “I made them myself.”
Way to change the subject, he thought, enticed by how sparkly she was. “Okay, so you got the last word. Will you leave me alone now?”
“Nope.” She spun around in a pretty little pirouette, making her fringe fly. “I think you should dance with me.”
He blinked at her. “You want me to two-step with you? Here? Now?”
“No. Tomorrow night.” She glanced down at her feet. Her silver glitter boots were as flashy as her earrings. “At the hoedown.”
Right. The weekly barn dance at the ranch. “I don’t always go to those.” Sometimes he preferred to stay home, letting his guests kick up their heels without him. “And dancing with you sounds like a dolt of a thing to do.”
“Come on. Take a chance.”
He wasn’t making any promises, especially to her. “I might show up, and I might not. But just so you know, the house band isn’t allowed to play Kirby’s music. Or Tommy’s, either. So don’t get smart and make any requests.”
“I won’t. But doesn’t the band wonder why the Talbots are off-limits? Or why they have to turn down requests for their songs?”
“My ranch. My rules. And there are plenty of other artists they cover. Traditional, bluegrass, honky-tonk, alternative, outlaw. They play it all.” Except for the badass Talbots. Their brand of outlaw twisted Matt’s gut.
She bounced in her boots. “Dancing with you is going to be fun. Think how easily we’re going to become friends.” She teased him, “Or frenemies, if you prefer.”
“I just told you that I might not be there.”
“Personally, I don’t think you’re going to be able to resist. I’m the most persuasive cowgirl you’re ever going to meet.”
“You’re not a cowgirl. You’re a chick from Hermosa Beach who wears fancy Western clothes and dotes on my ass-hat of a father.”
She laughed, obviously amused by his assessment of her. He knew where she was from because when he’d checked her into the ranch, he’d seen her driver’s license, with her name, her address, her birth date. He already knew she was twenty-nine, even before she told him how old she was.
“You have a wicked sense of humor, Matt.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“That’s just my point.”
He squared his shoulders. “I’m going riding now, and you’re not coming with me. So whatever you do, don’t follow me into the hills.”
Her dimples twitched. “We’ll save that for another time. Only I won’t be following you. You’re going to like me enough that you’ll be inviting me to join you.”
“Gee, humble much?” This wannabe cowgirl was hell on wheels. And the crazy part was, he already liked her, even if he didn’t want to.
She laughed again. “See, there you go. Funny, but not trying to be. Enjoy your ride, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
One last smile, and she exited the barn, taking her last words with her. And damn if he wasn’t tempted to teach her a lesson. And leave her dancing all by her beautiful self.
Two (#u25809746-fe3f-5a0e-b0d1-4ed52950be4a)
Libby stood in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on her outfit. Soon she would be leaving for the dance. She planned to walk to the barn where the soiree was being held. From her cabin, the path was well lit and paved with stones. She could have called ahead and gotten a ride from a lodge attendant. The ranch offered a shuttle service, taking guests to and from activities. But she intended to bask in the night air, enjoying the sights and scents along the way.
She returned her gaze to the mirror. She was wearing a short, sassy skirt and the same boots and earrings Matt had already seen before.
What he’d said about her was true. She wasn’t a cowgirl, at least not in the literal sense of the word. She didn’t herd cattle or compete in rodeos. But she loved all things country, especially the music.
She didn’t mind being a chick from Hermosa Beach who wore fancy Western clothes. She was proud to own that identity. But had she gone too far, baiting Matt to dance with her? At the time it had seemed like a good way to create a friendly rapport between them. Only now, as the opportunity drew near, she was nervous about seeing him.
Nervous about how he made her feel.
Granted, Libby kept telling herself that she wasn’t ready for a lover, but the thought of being with him kept crossing her mind, making her warm all over.
She’d never slept with anyone except Becker, so the idea of seducing Matt seemed almost laughable. But it seemed hot and wild and exciting, too. Too wild? Too exciting? Even if she had the guts to do it, being with Matt would complicate an already complicated situation, jumbling her plans to interview him. Then why did she keep thinking about him in sexual ways? Why did sleeping with him keep invading her thoughts?
Maybe it would be better if he ditched her tonight, if he didn’t show up. Or maybe she should bail out.
Oh, right. Like that wouldn’t make her look like an idiot, after the overly confident way she’d presented herself. No. Libby was going to see this through. She was going to march into that place with a big, bright smile on her face.
She ventured onto her porch and glanced over at Matt’s cabin. She assumed he wasn’t home because his truck wasn’t parked in the gravel driveway. Was he at the hoedown already? Or had he gone somewhere else instead?
She took a second glance at his cabin. It appeared to be the same two-bedroom model as hers. Was that where he’d always lived, even during his short-lived marriage? Or had he been planning to build a bigger place on his property? It struck her odd that he chose to live in a modest cabin when he could have a mansion if he wanted one. There was no way to know why he did what he did, except to ask him. Kirby certainly wasn’t privy to that information. What he knew about his son could fill a thimble.
Libby locked her cabin and left for the dance. By the time she arrived, the big wooden building was filled with people—adults and children—eating and drinking and being merry.
The decor was charmingly Western, with twinkling lights streaming from the rafters, red-and-white tablecloths and folding chairs upholstered in cowhide.
The band hadn’t taken the stage yet, but they would probably appear soon enough.
She looked around for Matt. He was nowhere to be seen. Keeping herself busy, she wandered over to the buffet and filled her plate. She took a seat at one of the tables, chatted with other guests and dived into her meal.
The fried chicken was to die for and the mashed potatoes were even better. She didn’t go back for dessert. She was already getting full.
An hour passed. By then the band was playing, and people were line dancing, laughing, clapping and missing steps. Of course some of them were right on the money. Libby was a good dancer, too. But at this point she was standing in a corner like a wallflower, watching the festivities.
Okay, so maybe Matt wasn’t coming. Maybe he didn’t find her, or her spunky personality, as irresistible as she assumed he would.
Served her right, she supposed. But suddenly something inside her felt far too alone, far too widowed. She didn’t like being here without a partner.
She toyed with her empty ring finger. She’d removed her wedding band about a year after Becker passed, but now she wished she’d kept it on.
Still, she knew better than to wallow in sadness. She’d worked hard to overcome her grief.
Should she get out there and dance? Should she join the party on her own? Or should she give Matt a little more time, in case he decided to materialize?
“Have you been waiting for me?” a raspy voice whispered in her ear from behind her.
Matt. It was him. Talk about materializing, and at the perfect moment, too. But she was reluctant to turn around, afraid that he would disappear as mysteriously as he’d arrived.
“I knew you’d come,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“Oh, yeah?” Still standing behind her, he gripped her waist. “Then let’s dance.” As quick as could be, he spun her around to face him.
Making her heart spin, too.
* * *
Matt and Libby danced for hours. They did fancy two-steps and three-steps. They country waltzed, line danced and did the push, the Cotton Eye Joe and the schottische.
The fast dances were easy for Matt. The slow ones, not so much. He had to hold Libby closer for those.
Like now. The band was doing a cover of Lady Antebellum’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” with lyrics about a woman’s devotion to her partner.
“I love this song,” Libby said, sounding a little dreamy.
Matt didn’t comment on the music. He was doing his damnedest not to press his body even closer to hers. This wasn’t a sexy setting, and he couldn’t misbehave, not here, not like this. Not at all, he warned himself.
Her hair, he noticed, smelled like lemons, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow. Did she surf and swim and do all those California-girl-type things? Did she go to beach parties with her friends or walk barefoot through the sand at night? He was as curious about her as she was about him.
But he wasn’t writing a book that would damage her. He wasn’t doing anything except getting distracted by her nearness, lowering his guard with a woman who wanted to invade his privacy.
She looked up at him. “Things are starting to wind down.”
He slid his hand a bit lower on her back. “The parents usually take their little ones back to their cabins or rooms by now. But not everyone has kids. Some of the couples who come to the ranch are honeymooners. Some are long-married seniors, too.” He stopped and adjusted his hand, returning it to a more proper position. But it didn’t help. He was still struggling with her proximity. “We don’t get many single folks.”
“Like me?”
“You’re not a regular guest.”
She followed his lead, moving in sync with him. “No, but I’m still a real person.”
Too real, he thought, too warm and pliable in his arms. Now all he wanted was for the song to end. Finally, it did, leaving him with a knot in his chest. The last time he’d danced this close to a woman was with Sandy, when he’d still believed he could make his marriage work.
He hastily asked, “Do you want to go outside and catch a breath of air?”
“Why? Do you think it’s getting warm in here?”
“Warm enough.” He needed to stop holding Libby, to stop swaying to romantic songs. But more ballads were on the way. He knew the band’s set.
He escorted her onto the patio, where hay bales draped in blue gingham served as seats. They sat next to each other in a secluded spot. He glanced up at the starry sky, then shifted his gaze back to her. She was as bright as the night, with her silver boots and shimmery earrings.
As she settled onto the hay bale she adjusted the hem of her skirt, keeping it from riding farther up her thighs. It made Matt wonder what she had going on under that flouncy garment. Cute little bikini panties? A seductive thong? Whatever her undies were, they were none of his business.
None whatsoever.
“I almost stood you up,” he said. “I went to the local watering hole before I came here, and that’s where I was going to stay. But I changed my mind.” He hadn’t even finished his beer. He’d just tipped the gnarly old bartender and left. “I guess I wanted to see if you’d be waiting for me.”
“Truthfully?” She tugged at her hem again. “I started to worry that you might leave me hanging.”
“So you’re not as self-assured as you claim to be?” To him, she still seemed like a force to be reckoned with.
“Mostly I am. Only with you, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But it worked out nicely, I think.”
“What did? Us dancing together?”
“Yep.” She smiled, disarming him with her dimples.
He turned away, staring into the distance, the darkness. Sandy’s smile wasn’t as girlish as Libby’s. She didn’t have blue eyes, either. Hers were a brownish hazel. Aside from being blondes, they didn’t look that much alike. But they had other things in common, like the way they made him feel. That, and the fact that they were both widows.
He returned his gaze to hers. “You should have never come to my ranch, sneaking in, pretending to be a guest.”
“How else was I supposed to get to know you? If I would have called ahead and told you who I was and what my agenda was, you wouldn’t have agreed to see me.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” He paused, then asked, “Have you been to Kirby’s place? Or Kirbyville, as everyone calls it.”
“Yes. It’s a spectacular compound. That’s where I’ll be going when I leave here. He wants you to visit him there, too.”
“So he keeps saying.” Matt couldn’t stand the thought of her going back to his dad. “Now that you’re here, I’m not going to send you away. I considered it, but it didn’t seem right, somehow.”
“Thank you. You’re a fascinating man. You intrigued me from the start.”
“You wouldn’t be saying that if I wasn’t Kirby’s bastard.”
She frowned. “Why do you keep calling yourself that?”
“Because that’s what I am. And it’s how Kirby always made me feel, sweeping me under the carpet when I was a kid. He never even—” Matt hesitated, stopping himself from opening up more than he already had. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, giving you material for your book.”
“I can’t just take our conversations and use them, not without getting a signed release from you. The publisher is being very strict about that. I need to interview you properly, to record you and quote you accurately.”
She expected to record him? Fat chance of that. “So anything we say without the release is off the record?”
“Yes. But if you don’t let me interview you, everything in the book that pertains to you will come from Kirby or your brothers or whoever else mentions you. That’s all I’ll be able to write about you.”
“I don’t want you writing about me at all.” How many times did he have to tell her that? “I just want to be left alone.”
She replied in a gentle tone, “This book is an amazing opportunity for me, and I’m going to write it, no matter what. But my heart is in the right place. I’m not trying to hurt or sensationalize you.”
“It sure seems that way to me. The sensationalize part, anyway.” He didn’t think that she’d set out to hurt him, even if her actions would be doing just that. “Do you know the mess Kirby’s biography is going to make of my life? I won’t have any privacy after my paternity is revealed.”
“It’ll cause some attention at first, but Kirby said he’ll hire a PR team to help you manage it. He doesn’t expect you to weather it by yourself.”
“Gee, how gracious of him.”
“I understand that you’re angry about the way he treated you. But your paternity shouldn’t have been kept a secret to begin with. If Kirby had acknowledged you from the beginning, you would already be known as his son.”
“That’s a moot point all these years later. If he wanted to be my father, he should have manned up back then.” Matt didn’t have any patience for his dad’s newfound interest in him. His old man should have forewarned him about the book, too, instead of sending a pretty little writer to do it.
She went silent, letting him brood. A moment later, she said, “I was thinking of taking a shuttle into town tomorrow, then renting a car while I’m there. Unless you’d be willing to drive me. You could be my guide.”
“Sorry, but I’m going to pass.” He didn’t want to show her around his hometown. He figured that she just wanted to go there to try to learn more about where he’d grown up. “But I’d be glad to escort you back to your cabin now.”
“The dance isn’t even over yet.”
“It’s getting close. This is the last song.” He could hear the music drifting outside. “They always end with a Texas waltz.”
“It sure is pretty.”
As pretty as it got, he supposed. Just like her. “So, do you want me to give you a ride back to your cabin?”
She tucked a strand of her lemony hair behind her ear. “Sure, I’ll go with you.” She lifted her feet off the ground, tipping her toes to the sky. “It’ll make me feel like a rodeo queen, riding beside the handsomest cowboy in the land.”
“You wish.” He stood and extended a hand. “And calling me handsome isn’t going to boost your cause.”
She accepted his hand and let him help her up. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah.” Nothing was going to take the sting out of her writing Kirby’s biography. Except maybe sweeping her into a mindless kiss that would make him forget his worries. Or reaching his hand under her skirt. Or hauling her off, like a caveman, to his bed. But he wasn’t going to do any of those things.
No matter how good they would make him feel.
* * *
When Matt pulled into his driveway and parked, Libby was still thinking about the book and how she was going to get him to agree to be part of it. But as they turned toward each other, a strange sensation came over her—almost as if they were on a date and she was going home with him for the very first time.
He frowned, and she suspected the same awkward notion had come over him. The porch light from his cabin created a misty glow, intensifying the ambience.
Neither of them spoke. Not a word. Until he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you to your door.”
“That isn’t necessary.” She’d walked to the dance by herself. So why would she need an escort now? “My cabin is just right over there.”
“Yes, but sometimes the coyotes come down from the hills at this hour. We’ve got lots of them around here.”
“But they wouldn’t approach me, would they?” She couldn’t imagine it.
“They might.” He spoke in a serious tone. “I’ve heard they’re partial to blondes in short skirts and fancy boots.”
She broke into a smile, grateful for his offbeat sense of humor. She knew now that he was kidding. “I can fend them off. I’m tougher than I look.”
“That’s good.” He chuckled. “Because you look like a sugar cookie dipped in silver sprinkles.”
She feigned offense. “You don’t like sugar cookies? What kind of crazy person are you?”
“I never said I didn’t like them.” His humor faded. “I can eat dozens of them.” His amber eyes turned hungry. “I could even devour one whole.”
Libby fidgeted in her seat. If she were smart, she would make an off-the-cuff remark. She would crack a joke. But she didn’t do anything except sit there like the cookie in question.
She finally drummed up the courage to say, “You’re making me nervous, Matt.” She didn’t usually admit defeat, but her defensive mechanism was on the blink, screws and bolts coming loose.
He stared at her mouth. A second later, he lifted his gaze back to her face, snaring her in his trap.
“I’ve been thinking about kissing you,” he said. “I’m not going to do it, but I keep thinking about it.”
“You probably shouldn’t be telling me this.” Just as she shouldn’t be imagining how his kiss would feel—hot and wild, with his hands tangled in her hair, his tongue slipping past her lips.
“I even wondered about what kind of panties you have on.”
Embarrassed by his admission, by the shameful thrill it gave her, she pressed her knees together. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“I’m not asking you to. But I’m not taking it back, either. I admitted how I feel, and it’s over and done with now.”
It wasn’t over for her. She wanted to know more about him, so much more. “Have you been playing around since your divorce?” she asked, curious about his habits, his primal needs. “Do you go to the bar to meet women?”
He scowled at her. “You have no right to ask me that.”
“After the things you said to me, I think I’m entitled to a little payback.” She was still pinning her knees together, still feeling the discomfort of being the cookie he wanted to devour.
He cursed quietly.
She went flippant. “Is that a yes or a no? I couldn’t quite tell.”
He almost laughed. But he almost snarled, too. The sound that erupted from him was as unhinged as their attraction.
“If I’d been getting laid,” he said, “would I be acting like a rutting bull around you?”
“I don’t know,” she challenged him, determined to get a straight answer. “Would you?”
He shook his head. “You’re something else, Libby.”
She was just trying to make being the object of his desire more bearable, even if meant getting him to admit that he’d been alone since his divorce. “Maybe I better go home now.”
“Back to California?”
Big, handsome jerk. “Back to my cabin.”
“Damn. I should have known you wouldn’t cut bait and run.”
“You don’t have to walk me to my door.” Now that she knew there weren’t any coyotes out to get her. “You don’t have to play the gentleman.”
“I wasn’t playing at anything. But it’s probably better if I keep my distance. I’d just want to kiss you, and that’ll only make things worse.”
She wasn’t sure if they could get any worse. He was already making her far too weak. If he kissed her at her door, she would probably melt at his feet.
He said, “You should go home for real.”
She refused to concede, to get any weaker than she already was. “Sorry, cowboy, but you’re stuck with me.”
He leaned back against the seat, as if he were weary. Or lonely. Or something along those lines.
He sat forward again. “Maybe I will take you into town tomorrow.”
Her pulse bumped a beat. “Really?”
“Sure. Why not? There’s a bakery where we can get some cookies.”
She laughed even if she shouldn’t have. “You’ve got a hankering, do you?”
“Hell, yes. Don’t you?”
More than he could possibly know. “Will you show me the house where you grew up?” It was at the top of her list of places to see. She had the address, but she hadn’t run a map on it yet.
“I suppose I could take you. It’s better than you poking around out there alone.”
She eagerly asked, “Is this the start of us being friends?”
“I think it’s more like the other thing you said we could become.”
“Frenemies?”
“That’s it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around two. I have some work to do on the ranch before then. But for now, we both need to get some sleep.”
Yes, they did, she thought, each of them in his or her own bed. “I’ll see you.” Libby bid him a hasty goodbye, opened the passenger’s-side door and darted off, clinging to the shadows, trying to be less visible. She sensed that he was watching every move she made.
Was he still thinking sexy thoughts? Did he wish that he’d kissed her? That he’d pulled her body close to his? That he’d put his mouth all over hers?
She ascended her porch steps without glancing back. Self-conscious, she fumbled putting the key in the lock. She went inside, and as soon as she closed the door, she crept over to the living room window and peered through the blinds.
Matt remained in his truck, a lone figure behind the wheel.
She kept spying on him, holding her breath, anxious to see him walk to his door. He finally got out of the vehicle, taking long determined strides. She watched, absorbed by his rugged movements, breathless for every dizzying moment until he entered his cabin and turned on his lights.
Leaving her alone in the dark.
* * *
The next afternoon, Libby waited on her porch for Matt. She’d dressed down a bit, wearing a plaid shirt, blue jeans and a pair of traditional brown boots. Of course, her belt buckle was shiny and so was her jewelry. She never left the house without a touch of glamour.
She removed her phone from her purse and checked the time. Matt wasn’t late, but he was cutting it close. And now, in the light of day, with nothing between them except last night’s convoluted hunger, she was concerned that he might cancel their outing.
She frowned at her phone. They hadn’t even exchanged numbers. She couldn’t text him to see if he was on his way.
He hadn’t told her what type of work he had to do on the ranch today, and when she’d awakened this morning his truck was already gone. She hadn’t seen him at the lodge during breakfast or lunch, either.
Funny how she missed him already. She’d known him all of three days, and her interactions with him were shaky, at best. There was no logic in missing him.
Missing Becker made sense.
She kept tons of pictures of her late husband on her phone. Her son loved looking at them. He adored chatting about his daddy and asking Libby questions about him. Chance was three when Becker died. He didn’t have many memories to rely on.
She plopped down on a barrel chair to wait for Matt. She hadn’t mentioned her son’s name to him. Maybe she would do that today. Of course, she doubted that Matt was going to like that she’d named her son Chance Mitchell after a fictitious character, a legendary outlaw, in one of Kirby’s most famous songs.
She looked up and saw Matt’s truck. It appeared out of a cloud of dust, and she popped up from her seat. The man certainly knew how to make an entrance.
She glanced at her phone before she put it away. He was right on time. Not a minute late, not a second early. Somehow he managed to get there at 2:00 p.m. on the dot.
He pulled into her driveway and kept the engine running. She raced down the porch steps, her hair flying. She’d washed it this morning with her latest favorite shampoo. She changed her toiletries nearly as often as she changed her clothes. She liked trying new products. She wasn’t nearly as adventurous about trying new men. Yet here she was, getting swept away by Matt.
She climbed into his truck, and he said, “Hey, Libby.”
“Hey, yourself.” She noticed that his hat was sitting in the back seat, as it were along for the ride.
Off they went, with the sun shining in the Texas sky. She gazed out the window, watching the landscape go by. The drive was long and scenic, with roads that wound through the hills.
“This is the back way,” he said.
“I gathered as much.” They weren’t on the main highway that led to and from the ranch.
In the next bout of silence, she studied Matt’s appearance. His hair looked mussed, spiky in spots from where he’d probably dragged his hands through it. He seemed dangerous, forbidden. But why wouldn’t he, with the way he made her feel? Last night she’d slept with her bedroom window open, letting the breeze drift over her half-clothed body. She’d gone to bed wearing the panties he’d wondered about. She’d even touched herself, sliding her fingers past the waistband and down into the fabric, fantasizing that he was doing it.
Matt shot her a quick glance, and her cheeks went horribly hot. He couldn’t know what she’d been thinking, but she reacted as if he did.
“You okay?” he asked.
Not in the least, she thought. “I’m fine.”
“You’re usually more talkative.”
She adjusted the air-conditioning vent on her side, angling it to get a stronger flow. “You don’t know me well enough to say what I usually do.”
“All right, then. Based on my experiences with you, you’re usually more talkative.”
“I’m just enjoying the ride.”
“You don’t seem like you are. What are you thinking about?”
She couldn’t stand the tension that was building inside her. And now she wanted him to suffer, too. He was being too danged casual. “That they were pink.”
“What?”
“My panties. They were pink, low-rise hipsters, silk, with a see-through lace panel in front.”
He nearly lost his grip on the wheel, and she felt a whole lot better. She even managed to toss a “got ya” grin at him.
“Don’t you flash your dimples at me, woman. You could have gotten us killed.”
“Over an itty-bitty pair of panties? You’re a better driver than that.”
He focused on looking out the windshield.
She tortured him some more. “I have a similar pair on now. Only they’re blue.”
His breath went choppy. “I’m going to strangle you. I swear I am.”
“I’m just getting you in the mood for the cookie you were hankering for.”
“Knock it off.” He took a bend in the road. “Just stop yapping about it.”
She sat smugly in her seat, grateful her tactic had worked. She needed to take charge, to feel strong and powerful in his presence. “You wanted me to be more talkative.”
“You think I’m kidding about strangling you?” His tone turned feral. “Or maybe I ought to kiss you instead.”
Oh, my God. Now she’d gone and done it. She’d awakened the predator in him. His lips, she noticed, were twisted into a snarl. “You look more like you’re going to bite me.”
“That’ll work, too. But I’m not going to do either.”
Libby didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Her heart was practically leaping out of her chest.
“We’re almost there,” he said, changing the subject.
“Almost where?”
“At my old house. You asked to see it.”
“It’s way out here?” She’d assumed it was on the outskirts of town, but she hadn’t expected it to be this far out.
He veered onto a dirt road, and she craned her neck to get a better look. A lovely stone house, a miniranch of sorts, sat in a canyon all by itself.
He stopped at the top of the road, where a private gate blocked them from going any farther.
“Who lives there now?” she asked.
“The people Mom rents it to. They raise paint horses. We had a little breeding farm, too. Mom called it Canyon Farms then.”
“It’s so isolated.”
“Kirby built it for Mom when I was a baby.” His tone turned pensive. “Mom was originally from Austin, and her parents had passed away about three years before, so she was alone, except for me. She liked this area. Her folks used to bring her here on camping trips. It held nice memories for her. So when Kirby offered to buy her a place, she asked him if it could be in Creek Hill.”
“Did she want to be this far from town?” Libby glanced around again. “Just the two of you, in the middle of a canyon?”
“Not necessarily. It was Kirby who chose this location, so he could visit without anyone seeing him coming and going. It was mostly at night since that’s the schedule he was used to keeping. It continued on that way, even as I got older. I remember how Mom would fuss over him on the nights he came by, as if he was royalty.” Matt made a disgusted sound. “What did he tell you about his relationship with my mother?”
“He said that she’s the longest mistress he ever had. That it ended when you were around twelve.” A clandestine affair for over a decade, she thought. Libby couldn’t fathom subjecting herself to something like that. But it wasn’t her place to judge Kirby or Matt’s mother or anyone else.
“She was foolish enough to remain faithful to him, even when she knew that he had other mistresses or girlfriends or whatever. And then there was his wife and other children. The family he was protecting.” Matt’s expression went taut. “In the beginning I didn’t know he was my father. Mom just told me that he was her friend. I was too young to recognize him or know that he was famous.” He roughly added, “I’m not telling you this so you can feel bad for me. I’m telling you because I want you to know the kind of man Kirby really is, to get a better idea of who you’re working for.”
“I know who he is.” She wasn’t going to hold Kirby’s mistakes against him, not when he was trying, with all of his heart, to repair the damage he’d done. “And I know how badly he wants to make amends with you.”
Matt squinted at her. “I started to suspect that he was my dad even before Mom told me that he was. This tall, bearded man in a long black duster, this larger-than-life guy. He never got up before noon, but Mom would still cook him breakfast food, treating the afternoons as if they were mornings. Sometimes he would even sit at the table with his sunglasses on. I’d never seen anyone do that indoors before. I knew he was different from other people. I just didn’t know how different. But either way, he was just too important to my mother, too revered, I figured, for him to be someone other than my father. Once I learned the truth, I accepted it as the status quo.”
“You must have been a highly observant child.”
“Yes, but I was ridiculously impressionable, too. Kirby told me once that I looked like I was part wolf, and I figured my eyes were this color because I was supposed to be nocturnal, the way he was. But I’d get so sleepy when he first arrived at night and I was waiting up to see him. I didn’t understand how I could be part wolf if I couldn’t stay up at night.”
“Your eyes are beautiful.” Mesmerizing, she thought. Hypnotizing. She could stare at them for hours.
He scoffed at her compliment. “They’re weird, and you’re missing my point.”
“No, I’m not.” She understood what he was trying to convey. How lonely Kirby had made him feel. How he needed to be part of the daylight, where fathers took their sons out in public, where there were no secrets, where normalcy existed. “It was wrong, what he did to you. I’m not denying that.” And neither was Kirby. He knew, better than anyone, how terribly he’d hurt Matt.
“I was taught to tell people that my daddy was a cowboy drifter and that my mom never even knew his real name.” A sharp laugh rattled from his throat. “Even now, if someone asks about my father, I still recount that same fake story.”
“Does your mother’s husband know the truth?”
“She couldn’t bear to keep lying to him, so she told him right before they got married. Of course, it’s only been a few months, so they’re still in the honeymoon stages. But he would never betray her trust. Or mine. He stays out of our personal business.”
“What about your ex?” Libby thought about his marriage and how quickly it had ended. “Did you ever tell her?”
“No.”
“Did you ever want to tell her?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because being Kirby’s son doesn’t matter to me, and I didn’t want it to matter to her, either. Besides, we had other things to contend with.” He searched Libby’s gaze, as if he were searching for someone’s grave. “Did you know that she was a widow? Like you?”
“It came up in my research.” But Libby hadn’t expected him to make a comparison in such a disturbing way. “According to what I uncovered, her name is Sandra Molloy, and she and her first husband had two kids and owned the dry cleaner’s in town.” It wasn’t much to go on, but it was the only information she had.
“She went by Sandy, and she sold that business when she married me. She cried about her husband nearly every day. Do you still think about your husband?”
“Of course I do.” Libby glanced away, wishing that Matt would stop staring at her. “But I’ve come to terms with my grief.” With the tears and pain, with waking up alone. “I’m not letting it rule my life.”
“Then why can I see him, like a ghost inside you?”
“You don’t even know what he looks like.”
“I didn’t mean it literally.”
She thought about the images of Becker on her phone. The happy, smiling, easygoing father of her child. He was so different from Matt. “You’re just seeing what you want to see.”
“Why would I want to see something like that when I look at you? When I’m this close—” he created a tiny space between his thumb and forefinger “—to giving up the fight and kissing you?”
“Then do it, damn you. Just do it.” She didn’t want to keep fantasizing about being kissed by him. She just wanted to lose herself in the feeling, no matter how wrong it was.
He leaned into her, his gaze challenging hers. Was he baiting her stop him, to push him away?
Libby challenged him right back, staring him down, daring him to go through with it.
Heaven help them.
He kept coming toward her, until his hands were tangled in her hair and his mouth was fused passionately to hers.
Just the way she’d imagined it.
Three (#u25809746-fe3f-5a0e-b0d1-4ed52950be4a)
Matt cursed in his mind. He was getting consumed with this woman in ways that were driving him mad.
He undid his seat belt and so did she. The straps were too confining, and they both needed to be free.
With his eyes tightly closed, he deepened the kiss, craving the taste of her. He pushed his tongue into her mouth. She reacted just as uncontrollably, pressing closer to him, her hunger equal to his.
Hellfire, he thought. He was getting hard beneath his jeans. From a kiss. From one soft, slick, wet...
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her, like a rag doll, right over the center console and onto his lap.
He envisioned how they must look, parked on the road that overlooked his old place, with her straddling him in the driver’s seat, the steering wheel butting against her back.
Matt felt like a teenager, making out in the middle of the day, his hormones jerking and jumping.
He wound his hands more fully in her hair. He liked how wild and wavy it was. She rocked forward, rubbing him where it hurt, where it felt good, where his zipper made friction with hers.
They kept kissing, mindless and carnal. She mewled, then moaned, hot and sweet, and he suspected that she would make those same fevered sounds if he was deep inside her.
When they came up for air, she asked, “Is the truck still running? Is that the vibration I feel?”
“I think it’s us.” He’d shut the engine off earlier. Hadn’t he? Just to be sure, he double-checked. “It’s not running.”
“It’s not? Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. But we should stop now.”
“You first.”
“You want me to end it?” He didn’t appreciate her leaving it up to him. “You’re the one who’s sitting on my lap.”
“And you’re the one who put me there.”
Touché, he thought. “Yeah, but you can climb off me and get back in your own seat.” His frustration was building, at himself, at her. He wanted to strip her naked, right here, right now.
“I could.” Her eyes were glazed over and her hair was totally mussed, maybe even knotted in spots. Her frustration was mounting, too. “Or you could make me.”
“Screw that.” He kissed her again, harder this time, making good on his threat to bite her.
“Ouch.” She flinched, then kissed him right back.
A heartbeat later, he said, “It was only a nibble.”
“Says you. My lips are going to be swollen.”
“They already are.” And she wore it insanely well. “Now get off me before I do something I’ll regret.”
“You’re already regretting this, and so am I.”
“So go back on your own side of the truck.”
She didn’t budge. She stayed there, desire bristling from her pores. She snared his gaze, her eyelashes long and fluttery. “You owe me a cookie.”
Seriously? She was going to hold him to that? “Fine. As soon as I can take the wheel, we’ll go to the bakery.”
“I want coffee, too.” She crawled over the console and nearly kneed him in the nuts, missing him by mere inches. But she didn’t even notice that she’d almost done it.
Matt snarled to himself. He deserved a swift kick, but the entire situation still made him angry. Everything about it ticked him off. Especially what he couldn’t have—like Libby sprawled out beneath him.
He wanted to take her home and make hot-blooded love to her, to be rough and animalistic, to bite her again a hundred more times.
She settled onto her seat, lowered the visor and gawked at herself in the mirror. “Oh, my goodness. What did you do to my hair? I look like a blowfish.”
Since when did fish have hair? Spiny things coming out of their heads, maybe. “You liked it when I was doing it.”
She finger-combed her way through the mess. “We’re never kissing again. Not ever.”
“I know.” He tugged at his jeans, trying to make his bulge less noticeable. “It was awful of us.” Awfully hot, awfully barbaric, awfully amazing. He could think of a hundred mixed-up ways to describe what they’d done.
She kept fussing with her hair, struggling to tame it.
“You’re making it worse,” he said.
“What?” she asked. “Your hard-on or my hair?”
“Your hair, smarty.”
She glanced at his lap. “Not from where I’m sitting.”
“Don’t start.” But it was too late. They both burst into a quick, crazy laugh. The situation was too disturbing to keep it bottled up.
She raised the visor, giving up on her hair. He gave up on adjusting his jeans, too. Then he went serious and asked, “Are you going to tell Kirby that we kissed?”
“I would never do that. This was a private moment between you and me. It’s no one else’s business.”
“So what happens between you and me is private, but the rest of my life isn’t?”
“Your relationship with Kirby is the only part of your life that I’ll be writing about.” She glanced down at the canyon house. “Yours and your mother’s. And that’s why it’s so important for me to get your input, and hers, too. I have lots of interview questions, for both of you.”
“No doubt you do. But I’m not signing a release or answering them. If I tell you anything, it’s going to be the way we’ve been doing it, off the record.” He followed her line of sight to the house. He remembered his mom crying on the night Kirby had ended their affair. How she’d sat outside and bawled in the moonlight. Matt had been old enough then to understand what was going on. He’d sensed it was over for him, too, that his dad’s sporadic visits would become even less frequent. He’d even worried that Kirby would eventually stop coming around at all. And he’d been right on both counts. So painfully right.
“Please, just think about it,” Libby implored him.
He blew out a breath. “I can’t willingly be part of your book.” He didn’t want to bleed all over the pages of his old man’s self-serving biography. “I just can’t do it.”
“If you were involved in the book, I would get to know you, better than I am now.”
He laughed, as foolishly as before. “You’re getting to know me just fine.”
“That’s not funny.” She rolled her big blue eyes, frowned, smiled, shook her messy-haired head. “Well, maybe it is.”
He noticed that her lips were still sexily swollen. “Buckle up.” He reached over and pulled the strap across her body, doing it for her. “I’ve got to back out of here.”
And try to forget that he’d ever kissed her.
* * *
Libby couldn’t believe that she’d taunted Matt to kiss her. That she wouldn’t get off his lap. That she let it go that far.
She needed to be flogged, tortured for her idiotic behavior. What part of professionalism had escaped her? She’d been acting up since the moment she’d met him, being so coy and cute, pushing her attraction to him in directions it wasn’t supposed to go.
When they arrived at the bakery, he parked directly in front of the small, pastel-colored building. The town itself was quaint, with its Main Street simplicity and homespun vibe.
“Maybe I should order a tart,” she said.
“Those fruit-filled things?”
“Yes, but that was a joke.” She pointed to herself. “A tart, get it?”
He didn’t laugh. “Don’t call yourself names, Libby. I’m just as responsible as you are. We’re just lucky that we stopped when we did.”
“It wasn’t luck. It was restraint.”
“You know what I mean.”
She most certainly did. She’d never kissed anyone that ferociously before, not even Becker.
They got out of the truck, and she glanced at the bakery window. A big, frothy, three-tiered wedding cake was showcased. The bride and groom on top looked a bit like her and Matt. It was their coloring, the bride being blonde and the groom having black hair. She doubted that Matt noticed the cake, let alone the topper. He headed straight for the front door.
“Let’s go get those cookies,” he said.
She nodded, and they went inside. A middle-aged woman in blue jeans and a crisp white apron greeted them. She smiled and acknowledged Matt by name. The bakery lady knew him? This piqued Libby’s curiosity.
But soon she discovered that he’d gone to high school with the woman’s son. In a town this size, Libby shouldn’t have been surprised. Most of the locals probably knew each other. It did make her wonder about Matt’s experiences in high school and if he was as much a loner then as he seemed to be now.
He chose the cookies randomly, four dozen of them, in every shape, size and color they had.
“What are we supposed to do with all of those?” Libby asked as they left the bakery and set out on foot, heading for the little coffee joint across the street.
“You can take them back to your cabin later.”
“Chance would love them if he were here.”
He stopped midstride. “Chance?”
“Chance Mitchell Penn. My son.” She watched the troubled emotion that crossed Matt’s face. She hadn’t meant to blurt out Chance’s name, but at least she’d gone ahead and said it.
“You named him after Kirby’s song?”
“Initially, it was Becker’s idea. But I thought it was a brilliant choice.” She was going to stand by her child’s name, no matter how uncomfortable it made Matt. “If we had a girl, we were going to call her Lilly Fay, after the saloon girl in the song. The one Chance Mitchell loves and leaves.”
“I don’t like any of Kirby’s songs, least of all that one. It came out when...”
“When what?” she asked. They stood on the sidewalk, with Matt clutching the pink bakery box.
“When I fell off the roof of our house and broke my arm. It was just after my ninth birthday, and I was pretending to be Chance Mitchell. I was crawling around up there with a toy gun, a six-shooter, strapped to my hip. I was hiding from the law.”
Libby reached up and skimmed his jaw. She knew she shouldn’t be touching him, but she wanted to comfort him somehow. “You must have liked the song then, or else why would you be pretending to be Chance?”
He took a step back, forcing her to lower her hand. “Sure. I liked his music when I was a kid. But it started to grate on me later.”
She tried to draw more of the story out of him. “Did they put your broken arm in a cast?”
He nodded. “Kirby never saw it, though. He was on his Outlaw at Large tour, promoting the Chance Mitchell album, and my arm healed before he stopped back to see us.”
“I’m sorry he didn’t make more time for you then.”
“I don’t care anymore.”
That was a lie, she thought. He cared far too much. “Kirby told me that he was impressed with your junior rodeo accomplishments. That you were just a little tyke, riding and roping like the devil was inside you.”
“What does he know about it? He never attended any of my events. All he saw were the videos Mom showed him.”
“He remembers those videos. He thinks about them when he’s feeling guilty and blue. He wrote a song about you, too, but he hasn’t recorded it yet.”
“Holy crap.” Matt tightened his grip on the box. “That’s all I need, to be immortalized in one of his frigging songs.”
“He’s not going to record it until the two of you become father and son.”
“Then he’s never going to put it out there.” Matt approached the crosswalk and stepped off the curb.
She followed him. “The song is called ‘The Boy I Left Behind.’ He played it for me. It’s beautiful, raw and touching.”
“That’s a low blow.”
“What is? Me telling you how good it is?”
“No. Him playing it for you. He’s using you, Libby. He’s pushing you around like a pawn.”
“He’s sharing his life with me. That’s my role in all of this, to document his life, to write about his feelings.” After they made it to the other side of the street, she said, “I know you don’t believe that he ever loved you, but in his own tortured way, he did. You were the part of himself that he couldn’t control. He promised his wife that he would never father a child from any of his affairs, and then you came along. The baby that wasn’t supposed to exist. His secret. A sweet little boy who needed more than his daddy knew how to give.”
“I’m well aware of what he promised his wife. It’s the reason I had to stay in the shadows, the excuse that was drilled into my head. My famous father had another family, and it would hurt them if they knew about me. But his wife found out and divorced him, anyway.”
“She’s over it now. She and Kirby are friends again. I haven’t met her yet, but I’ll be interviewing her for the book.” Her name was Melinda, and she was a former fashion model who used her celebrity to create a cosmetics and skin care line. Her face, her brand, were featured in TV infomercials. “She agrees with Kirby that everything should be out in the open now.”
“Of course she does. He always gets women to forgive him. And can we please talk about something else? I’m sick of my dad.”
“Okay. We’ll work on other topics.” She sent him her best smile, even if he was still scowling, much too fiercely, at her.
* * *
Matt and Libby sat outside at a café table. He drank his coffee black. She put sugar and an artificial sweetener in hers, along with cream and milk. He’d never seen anyone mix so much stuff together in one cup.
She opened the cookies. “Look how cute they are.” She lifted a smiley face from the bunch. “This one looks like me.”
He took it from her and held it upside down. “And now it looks like me.”
Her eyes twinkled. “At least you have a sense of humor about that disposition of yours.” She removed a flower-shaped cookie from the box and nibbled on it, leaving the happy face for him.
He broke off a piece of its smile. “I’m sorry if I’ve been such lousy company since you met me. I’m not always this difficult to get along with.”
She ate more of the flower, dropping crumbs onto the table. “I expected you to react to me with resistance. I just didn’t expect for us to...”
Fall into lust with each other? “We already agreed to put that to rest, so there’s no point in rehashing it.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Yeah, he thought, but were they fooling themselves in believing that they would never do it again? Even now, as she made a pretty little mess out of her cookie, he was fixated on her mouth. Forgetting that he’d kissed her was proving to be impossible.
“Where did you get married?” she asked suddenly. “Was it on your ranch?”
The hits just kept on coming with this girl. Sucker punches to the gut. “Why are you asking me about my wedding?”
“Because I’m curious about you, and the couple on top on the wedding cake at the bakery sort of looked like us.”
“I didn’t see a cake like that.”
“You weren’t paying attention.” She gestured to the other side of the street. “It’s in the window.”
He didn’t turn to look, not from this distance. “If I tell you about my wedding, then you have to tell me about yours, too.” He wasn’t going to stab himself in the heart without making her do the same. “Turnabout is fair play, or however that saying goes.”
“All right. But I asked you first.”
“Then no, I didn’t get married on the ranch.”
“Why not?” She gazed at him from across the table. “It seems like the perfect place for it.”
“Sandy didn’t want to get married in this area. She wanted to go away, to elope. So she left her kids with her parents and we flew to Las Vegas. She didn’t tell her folks or anyone else what we were doing until we got back. I kept quiet, too.” He’d respected Sandy’s wishes. “She wanted it to be different from her first wedding. No prepping or planning, no guests, no fuss, no muss, no hoopla.”
Libby angled her head. “Did any of that matter to you?”
“Not really. I just wanted to have a family—her and the kids. But I should have sensed that she was trying too hard to make it different from her first wedding, with us going to Vegas and whatnot.”
Her eyes grew wider. “You didn’t get married by an Elvis impersonator, did you?”
He stifled a laugh. Trust Libby to say something funny. “It was just a normal minister in a quiet little chapel. They provided the witnesses, but none of them looked like Elvis, either.”
“Did you get a honeymoon suite at your hotel?”
“No. We just stayed in a regular room.”
“Was that Sandy’s idea, too?”
He nodded. “She didn’t want the hotel making a fuss over us. At the time, it seemed okay. But if I ever got married again, I would have the wedding right here in my hometown and make it a celebratory occasion.”
She removed another cookie—a frosted cowboy boot—from the box. “So you’re planning on having another wife?”
“Someday, maybe. But she’s not going to be someone who’s hurting over another man. I’m never going to put myself through that again.” He leaned back in his chair, playing it cool, hating how exposed he felt. “So I guess that leaves you out, huh?”
She wagged the boot at him. “Is that supposed to be a joke? I told you I was doing fine in that regard.”

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