Читать книгу Wrangling The Rich Rancher - Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 10
ОглавлениеLibby 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.
