Читать книгу Fiance Wanted - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 9

KATY PUT THE FINAL POLISH on an advance story for a city planning commission meeting, pushed the “send” button on her computer, and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Now she’d have time to think about what she’d been putting off since the phone call from her mother last night.

Which was, how to maneuver Dylan into thinking it was his idea to give their “engagement” another shot. Because no way did she want to grovel to get him to give it another try. On the other hand, she couldn’t bear to face another of her mother’s ill-conceived matchmaking attempts. In the past, she’d been “fixed up with” an aspiring professional wrestler, an accountant, and a college professor.

To say none of these efforts had worked out was an understatement. At least with Dylan, she knew what she’d be getting into. As her father used to say, “The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t know.”

So how was she going to get Dylan to do her bidding? She called Laura and explained her dilemma.

Laura didn’t mince words. “Couldn’t you just level with him? I don’t see what’s wrong with telling the truth.”

“Easy for you to say, now that you’re married and above the fray,” Katy said indignantly. “I’ve got to get him to play along with this but I don’t dare give him the upper hand by letting him know how important it is to me. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“Why?” Laura sounded completely unperturbed. “I’ve never understood why you and Dylan treat each other like enemies. Just because he pulled your hair in third grade doesn’t seem sufficiently sinister to keep this feud alive.”

Great, Katy thought, hanging up. Even her best friend didn’t understand. Now what was she going to—

“Got a minute?”

She started and looked around to find Dylan standing just behind her desk in the newsroom. She swallowed hard and tried not to look or sound guilty. “Sure.”

He glanced around somewhat furtively. Katy was the last staff writer to get off deadline so the newsroom was empty except for the sports editor, who looked up with a grin and a wave for the popular Dylan.

“Can we get out of here?” he asked abruptly.

“Look, I’ve got a lot to do. I have phone calls out all over the county and—” She stopped speaking abruptly. After all, she wanted something from him and this wasn’t the way to get it. “Never mind. You can buy me lunch, if you want.”

“Big whoopee.” His mouth curved down at the corners unhappily. “I guess I could do that.”

“If you’re short of cash, I could buy you lunch.” She snatched up her shoulder bag from beneath her desk.

“That’ll be the day! You think John Wayne let women buy him lunch?”

“Why, you big—!” And then she saw he was laughing at her and she had to laugh herself.

Why was she so darned quick to jump on every word he said? She’d have to watch that if she was going to finagle him into doing her bidding.

Katy dropped the paper napkin on her lap and glanced around the Rawhide Café. “Looks like we’re giving the locals plenty to talk about,” she said dryly.

“Looks like.” Dylan resisted the almost unbearable impulse to fidget. If he was going to get Katy to take another shot at togetherness, however phony, he couldn’t let her know it mattered that much to him.

The silence stretched out. “Well?” she finally said impatiently. “I know you’ve got an ulterior motive for luring me here, so out with it.”

He toyed with his fork. “I just…I just wanted to make up for being a grouch last night.”

“Dylan, you’re always a grouch. This is, however, the first time you’ve apologized for it.”

“Am I?” He frowned.

“You certainly are.” She hesitated and the belligerence of her manner softened. “To tell the truth, I guess I’m usually a grouch with you, too. Apparently I just rub you the wrong way.”

If she ever rubbed him the right way—he yanked his thoughts up short, wondering what had come over him. This was Katy Andrews, after all, not just any good-lookin’ woman. “Then you accept my apology?” His voice sounded uncharacteristically rough.

She considered, her green eyes narrowing. “Sure,” she said finally, “why not?”

He felt a load lifting from his shoulders. “Great. Then how about we put our plan in motion by going to happy hour at the Painted Pony Friday night?”

“Going to—you mean, together? Like a date?” Those remarkably long-lashed eyes widened.

“I mean, like we planned. Remember, engagement? Make the grandma happy, scare off my legions of admirers?”

For a moment she stared at him, and then she leaned back in her chair, stifling laughter. “You’re suggesting that we reinstate Plan A?”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, “I guess I am. What do you say, Katy? If we both make a real effort—”

“Burgers and fries, coming up.” The skinny kid waiter plunked two overflowing platters before them, and Dylan was forced to wait for her answer through the obligatory checklist: mustard, catsup, mayonnaise, extra pickles and lettuce, toasted bun. The woman made a production out of eating a lousy hamburger!

By the time the waiter withdrew, Dylan had lost any slight degree of patience he might have had. “Well, what’s your answer?”

She cut her hamburger in half but he could tell she was still watching him. “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

“Hell, no!” He shrugged that suggestion away.

“In that case—”

“I meant to say, hell yes.” He didn’t want to lose her, even if he had to swallow a little pride.

“In that case, my answer is yes.” She looked at him with a self-satisfied expression. “But just remember, you wanted this more than I did, so you owe me, Dylan Cole.”

“Yeah, and you’ll never let me forget it,” he muttered, staring down at the huge double burger and crisp steak fries on his plate.

And realizing that he’d mysteriously lost his appetite.

The Painted Pony Saloon was the local hot spot on Friday nights, starting with a happy hour—two drinks for the price of one—from five to seven and then dancing from eight until midnight. Katy had come a few times with dates, more often with girlfriends. It was the kind of place where women could do that without feeling threatened.

As a matter of fact, she’d never felt as threatened then as she did now, walking in on Dylan’s arm. They drew so many stares that she felt downright out of place.

“Wanna sit at the bar?” he inquired.

“No, I do not want to sit at the bar,” she snapped. “How about that table over there by the dance floor?”

“The music will be starting in less than an hour and it gets too noisy down front.”

“Is that a crack because I was late and the best tables are already taken? I told you, that last interview ran way longer than it should have.”

“Katy,” he said in a voice as cold as a well-digger’s knees, “if you don’t shut up at least until we find a table, I’m going to shut you up myself.”

She faced him with hands on her hips. “How are you going to do that? If you lay a hand on me, I’ll have you arrested. I’ll have you hauled away in chains. So how do you plan to shut me up yourself?”

“I only know one way,” he said grimly. “If I grabbed you and kissed you right here in the middle of the Painted Pony, that would shut you up pretty damned fast.”

She rocked back on her heels, shocked to the soles of her feet. Kissing Dylan Cole, or being kissed by him, was not something she had ever contemplated…willingly.

Before she could get her battle flags flying again, he took her hand and half-led, half-dragged her to a table in the corner. Once there, he guided her into a chair, then sat himself.

“Okay,” he said with a sigh that sounded like relief, “now you can insult me to your heart’s content.”

He looked so resigned to his fate that she had to laugh. His answering smile was both surprised and strangely warm.

“You win,” she said. “I’ll try to be nice, but with you, that’s a real stretch.”

“Maybe it’ll help if you remember it’s for a worthy cause,” he suggested. “If we can’t even convince folks we’re a couple—dating and dancing and the whole nine yards, I don’t see how we’ll ever convince ’em we’re engaged. And if nobody believes us, your grandma won’t either.”

“Sad but true.” She hauled in a deep breath. “Okay, I’m going to pretend that you’re Tom Cruise.”

“Too short.”

“Tom Selleck?”

“Too old.”

“Little Tommy Tucker—I don’t care! I just need someone to think about so I don’t jump down your throat every two seconds.”

“You mean, like now?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Exactly like now. Here’s a new idea. Why don’t we just declare a truce—in public, anyway?”

“Works for me.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s three minutes of seven. Shall we start on the hour?”

“You got it.”

“First person who slips owes the innocent party, big time.”

“Absolutely. Seven o’clock.”

“In that case—Katy, I hate that thing you’re wearing. It looks like an explosion in a fireworks factory.”

Offended, she looked down at the bright print of her sundress. “I’ll have you know, this dress cost me a lot of money.”

“Money can’t buy everything.”

“No, but it can buy a lot. Speaking of which, don’t you own anything except jeans and long-sleeved plaid shirts? I’ve often wondered if there was something wrong with your arms—flabby, weak, whatever—the way you keep them covered up.”

“Wanna find out?” Reaching for the top snap, he fumbled to open it, his eyes glinting dangerously. “We’ll see who—”

“Oops, seven o’clock.” She glanced at her watch to confirm this. “As I was saying, I just love a man in a cowboy suit, Dylan darlin’.”

He managed the switch in attitudes as seamlessly as she had. “And I love a woman who knows what she loves.”

Just then the cocktail waitress dashed up, ending the verbal sparring for the moment. But not before Katy felt a little thrill of dangerous anticipation dart down her spine.

Dylan should have been glad the Pained Pony was filling up so fast, but for some reason, all those people piling in simply added to his tension. It didn’t take a genius to know he and Katy were the prime topic of conversation. Although he wasn’t a particularly private person, all the attention was getting on his nerves.

So were the inevitable questions he got every minute he was away from her, as in fetching drinks, waiting while she visited the ladies’ room, watching her dance with those strong enough to ask.

Yeah, strong, he thought watching her in the arms of Mickey Evans, a fireman. He knew she intimidated most guys and with good reason. A lot of people thought it was her job that made her so willing to ask or say things that others would be too timid to touch, but Dylan knew better.

Katy had always been that way. As a pigtailed kid, she’d run with the boys and held her own with the best of them—Matt and Dylan not excluded. Anything they could do, she could do, too.

Or bust bones trying. Like the time she jumped out of the cottonwood tree when none of the boys would, because you had to be real careful or real lucky to avoid the rocks along the creek bank. Katy had been neither. She’d hit those rocks and broken a leg.

He smiled. She’d taken it like a man and her cast had been a badge of honor.

The thing was, other girls grew out of that tomboy stage. Katy hadn’t. Even while she changed from gangly hellion into beautiful young woman on the outside, her wild spirit did not change.

That was why she and Dylan were still at odds all these years later. And why most of the guys in town gave Katy Andrews a wide berth.

“Hi, handsome.”

The breathy voice in his ear didn’t surprise him; he’d seen Brandee enter earlier and figured she’d been waiting for her chance.

She slipped into Katy’s vacant chair. “So this is what I came to see—you and Katy Andrews. Do you think I was born yesterday, Dylan? It’s me—Brandee! I’ve known you both forever, and the thought of you two as a couple is hysterical!”

“Katy and I don’t think so.”

“You mean you actually expect me to believe that you have a thing going with Katy?”

He liked that: a thing. They sure did! “We don’t give a damn what you believe, Brandee,” he said. “I was just trying to make you understand why I’m not available.”

“Sure you are. I mean, here you sit while she dances with that cute fireman. If that’s not available, I don’t know what is.”

The fast music played by the small band at the edge of the dance floor ended. Mickey and Katy turned back toward the table, and Dylan knew the precise moment she spotted Brandee in her chair. Katy’s eyes narrowed and her entire expression grew watchful.

The band started in on a new piece, slow this time. Dylan stood abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to dance with my girl,” he said to Brandee. If Katy had heard, she wasn’t going to be happy but a man had to do what a man had to do.

Taking her into his arms, Dylan swept Katy back onto the dance floor. She followed him effortlessly. In all the years they’d known each other, they’d never danced together, but he’d seen her dance with others enough to know she was good: graceful and intuitive in her movements.

Now she flowed against him with perfect ease. He slid a hand around her waist while the other lifted her hand to press it against his chest. The startled green eyes flew open just before he pulled her closer.

Her voice was muffled. “Aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?”

“Not hardly.” He led her into a swooping turn, which she followed without faltering. Damn, she felt good in his arms: soft and firm at the same time, warm and fragrant as a summer day.

Too bad it was just Katy.

“Brandee giving you a hard time?” she asked.

“Trying to. How ’bout we both just shut up and dance?”

“I suppose we could try that.”

They did. On the crowded dance floor, they moved closer and closer together—out of pure self-defense, he told himself, tightening his grip. If he hadn’t known it was Katy he was dancing with, he could have fooled himself into believing this could be the start of something good.

Funny that they’d never danced together before, though. It wasn’t a half-bad experience.

The music stopped. After a moment she said, “You can let me go now.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry.”

He couldn’t imagine what he’d been thinking of, he conceded, guiding her through the crowd. Maybe just the jolt he’d gotten when she let him hold her so close.

Brandee was waiting. “Hi, Katy,” she said. “Dylan tells me you two are a couple. Any truth to that?”

Dylan held his breath.

“I wouldn’t exactly say we’re a couple.” Katy smiled and he relaxed again. “On the other hand, I wouldn’t say we aren’t, either.”

Brandee rolled her eyes. “That’s pretty hard to believe for those of us who’ve been around.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely been around,” Katy said. “But things change, Brandee. So tell me, what’s the Chamber of Commerce and your father the president doing about paying off the bills they ran up for the Fourth of July celebration?”

“How would I know?” Brandee retorted. “I don’t pay any attention to that stuff.”

“Well, I do. It’s part of my job. If—”

Her words were suddenly muffled by Dylan, who clapped a hand firmly over her mouth. “No more shop talk,” he announced. “Want another drink?”

She shoved his hand away. “I certainly don’t,” she said indignantly.

“Want something to eat?”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Want to go home?”

“Bingo!” She grinned at Brandee. “Going home’s not the big attraction. It’s saying good night that I enjoy.”

And she winked. She actually winked.

Dylan could have kissed her.

“Yuck!” She made spitting noises. “I can’t believe I said that—saying good-night. I’m ashamed of myself.” She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, thinking he looked mighty smug.

Sounded it, too, when he said, “I thought you did just fine. You can’t be subtle with Brandee, in case you didn’t know. Not that you’re noted for your subtlety or anything.”

“Is that a slam?” She stumbled over a broken patch of asphalt and he caught her arm to help her.

“Nah, that was the truth.”

They reached his pickup truck and stopped while he fumbled in his jeans pocket for the keys. They’d parked right beneath a street light where it was literally as bright as day.

“Got it.” He hauled out the keys triumphantly. “Just let me—damn!”

“What? What is it?”

“Brandee and a bunch of her friends, standing over there in the shadows watching.” He spoke in a muted whisper.

“Where?”

“Don’t look!” He turned her away, so she was looking in another direction. “Apparently she still doesn’t believe us.”

Katy shrugged. “Not much we can do about that.”

“Yeah, there is.”

“Such as? We can’t drip water onto her forehead until she’s convinced. I don’t see—”

“Dammit, Katy, I guess I’d better kiss you.” He added hastily, “Of course, it’ll be like kissing my sister.”

“For sure,” she agreed, but her heart leaped crazily in her breast, “and a sister you don’t like at that.”

“Ready?”

He looked down at her, the light haloing his dark hair, his features completely obscured.

“You mean you weren’t kidding?” Her heart pounded a hundred miles an hour.

“Hell, no!”

“But I can’t just kiss you.”

“Why not? It’s easy.” He put his hands loosely on her shoulders.

She shivered. “B-because I’m not in the habit of kissing just anybody.”

“I’m not just anybody, I’m your soon-to-be fiancé.”

“Nevertheless, I c-can’t put my heart into it without some emotional content.”

‘’Emotional what? Look, Katy, we’re just talking about a kiss here. A very simple kiss between…between friends….”

He drew her a tiny fraction closer, despite her determination to hold back. He was strong, far stronger than she’d imagined, and she felt herself beginning to lose control of this situation.

“We’re not friends,” she managed to say. “We’re…we’re…”

He bent toward her. “What are we, Katy? Can’t wait to see what word you come up with.”

“We’re—” Doomed, she thought, lifting her hands to touch the wide shoulders while his hands drifted to her waist. “We’re going to put Brandee’s suspicions to rest once and for all, I hope.”

“That’s the spirit.”

His lips touched hers, and it was not like kissing her brother. It was like kissing Tom Cruise and Tom Selleck and all the other Toms all rolled into one. With her eyes tightly closed, she felt herself whisked away on a magic carpet to some mythical place where there were no more answers, only questions.

He lifted his head and he was breathing hard. “She’s gone,” he said in a voice that came out a little husky. “For a woman who doesn’t like kissing without emotional content, you’re damned good.”

Releasing her, he unlocked the cab of the pickup, opened the door and lifted her onto the high seat. This time when he grinned, the lamp illuminated his devilish expression clearly.

“Just for the record,” he said, “it was not like kissing my sister.”

To that, she had no response.

At the newspaper office Monday, Katy was met with smiles by everyone she met, up to and including her boss, John Reynolds, owner, publisher and editor of the Rawhide Review and the grandfather of Laura’s husband, Matt.

“Hear you got yourself a new beau,” he said cheerfully. “That Dylan Cole is a fine man. You could do worse, Katy.”

Katy felt her cheeks flame with embarrassed dismay. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “All I did was go to happy hour with the man and you’re turning it into a lifetime commit—” She caught herself up short. That was exactly what they wanted everyone in town to believe, she remembered belatedly.

“Don’t bite my head off,” John said. “All I know is what a little birdie told me.”

Yeah, Katy thought, a little birdie named Brandee. John Reynolds had the best network of contacts she’d ever seen. Heaven help her if she tried to put anything over on him.

By lunchtime, she was running scared; everyone she met looked at her with that speculative little gleam in their eyes. Hoping for sanctuary, she called Laura and wrangled an invitation to lunch.

“I don’t think I realized what I was letting myself in for with this crazy scheme,” Katy complained, reaching for the tuna salad sandwich Laura had placed before her. “This town has the healthiest grapevine I’ve ever seen or heard tell of.”

“You should have known,” Laura said serenely, taking her seat. “You remember all the gossip when Matt and I were just starting to get together? I seem to recall someone explaining to me that they meant well, so I shouldn’t let it bother me.”

“Sounded good when I said it,” Katy agreed dourly. “But this is happening a lot faster than I ever expected. I thought it would take us at least a few weeks of being seen together before anybody believed us.”

“Maybe the sight of the two of you making out in the parking lot at the Painted Pony speeded things up.”

Katy’s jaw dropped. “We were not making out!”

“Hugging, kissing—most people would call that making out.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” Distracted, Katy dropped her sandwich back on the plate, appetite gone.

“What was it, then?” Laura prodded.

“Just two people pretending.”

“Pretending.” Laura cocked her head, a question on her face. “So how was it?”

“Laura! I’m shocked you’d ask me a question like that.” And shocked at the wave of heat in her own cheeks.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Laura’s smile was devilish. “It’s just that you seem to need some sage advice and all I have is curiosity, just like everyone else.”

Jessica trotted into the kitchen with her younger brother at her heels. “What’s sage?” she asked. “I already know about advice.”

“Sage advice,” her mother said, “is very wise advice. That’s what Aunt Katy needs right now. Unfortunately, I’m all out of it.”

Jessica grinned broadly. “I’ve got some sage advice,” she declared. Turning to Katy, she took her hands and peered deep into her eyes, radiating sincerity. “Aunt Katy, when you want sage advice, like, why don’t you just wave your magic wand? That’s what it’s for, to make things right. Right?”

“Right!”

Jessica gave her mother a triumphant glance and trotted on through to the yard. Zach followed without ever having said a word.

Katy looked helplessly at Laura. “Magic wand, right. But if I’m not mistaken, it was that darned magic wand that got me into this mess!”