Rebel Cowboy (9 page)

Tyler held out his hand, something both friendly and sad in his smile. “Nice to meet you, Dan. I recognize you, right? You play for the Blackhawks.”

“I did.”

“Right.” The guy looked sheepish, making Dan want to punch him. He’d prefer the overt assholery of Al the cop to that.

“Anyway, it’s good to see you, Mel. Maybe we can catch up some time.”

“Absolutely,” she replied, sounding the opposite of absolute. “You know where to find me.”

His friendly cheer dimmed at that. “I do. I do. Well. I won’t keep you. It was nice to meet you, Dan.” His hand reached out like he was going to touch Mel, but then it fell, and Dan did not like that
at all
. “Take care,” he said in a quiet voice before moving away from their booth.

She nodded, the empty curved-mouth expression not leaving her face until
Tyler
exited the diner.

She didn’t say anything. Not one offer to explain who he was or what Dan had just witnessed. She sat there, blank expression, hands in her lap, silent.

He shouldn’t let that piss him off. After all, she’d made clear she had no intention of being friends. Still, he thought they’d been building a kind of almost-friendship. He knew some of the harder pieces of her life, and the things he’d told her about Grandpa and the ranch he’d told no one else.

So, whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was a foundation of a relationship here, and her keeping tight-lipped about the tall guy with the fucking sad smiles pissed him off.

“So, ex-boyfriend, I’m assuming.”

Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t move. Mel Shaw, Queen of the Nonresponse. He hated her a little bit for that talent, probably because he was jealous of it. Sometimes he could hide his pissed off, his hurt, but he had to mask it with other things. Jokes, teasing, being an asshole. He couldn’t just be…blank. All that emotion, reaction—always wrong place, wrong time—folding in on any noble intentions.

“You could say that,” she said, her voice quiet and distant as she looked over her shoulder at the counter. “Man, I’m starving.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me about him.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Why not?”

She finally glanced his way, irritation flickering in her eyes. “Because it’s none of your business.”

“Why? Because you wouldn’t want him to know you threw yourself at me a few days ago?”

It wasn’t a shock something shitty would come out of his mouth. Not a shock the look of hurt on her face made him wince. No, nothing about the way he was handling this all wrong was a shock.

“No, Dan, because it’s ancient history that—and I know this will be hard for you to accept—has nothing to do with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.”

He didn’t say anything, the hard weight of guilt and self-disgust lodging itself tight in his chest.

Georgia hurried up to the booth, sliding the plates onto the table in her harried manner. For the first time since he’d been here, not one ounce of that burger looked or smelled appetizing.

Hell, maybe he’d found his diet after all. All he’d needed was a little bad behavior and a few dashes of self-loathing.

They ate lunch in silence. No matter how weird things were, no matter how irritated she got with him, or vice versa, they’d never sat in silence for this long. Dan always broke and said some stupid joke or something.

Anything.

But he ate his burger in silence, leaving half of it on his plate as he got up to pay the bill.

Mel had no idea what she’d done wrong. She didn’t spill her sad Tyler history and wasn’t going to. No reason for him to be bent out of shape.

But…

Damn buts.

She could have been more forthcoming. She probably should have been. Not because she owed him exactly, but because seeing Tyler should not have been a big deal. Talking about Tyler should not mean anything, or be something she avoided.

It was ancient history. The ancient-est. She should have explained he was an ex, and there were no hard feelings, and this was nothing. Certainly nothing for her and Dan to be fighting over, or whatever it was they were doing.

But it hurt. Tyler being nice hurt. Wanting to catch up.

She wished she could blame him for everything that had happened, but in the long line of people who’d turned their backs on her, Tyler was the most justified.

“Ready?”

She glanced up at Dan, standing next to the table in almost the exact same spot Tyler had stood. Back in town. Possibly not for a short while. Meaning she’d likely run into him a billion and one times.

Have to deal with that low-level guilt, that insidious line of thought that told her something was wrong with her for not making it work, not giving a little when he’d wanted something so simple, so fundamental.

You don’t…you don’t love me? You’ll marry me, but you don’t love me?

She shoved out of the booth and forced herself out of the diner, trying to leave that uncomfortable memory behind. The look of shock and horror on Tyler’s face when he’d faced her with that impossible question. She’d been too stressed and worried and sick with everything going on with Dad to lie, to pretend she wasn’t unworthy of all that devotion.

She didn’t love him. Had never really loved him. He’d just been a perfectly serviceable choice. Reliable. Wouldn’t leave. Was good with letting her take the reins. Never pushed.

Never gave you an orgasm.

That
thought was all Dan’s fault, because she had a really bad feeling he’d be quite the expert on that front.

Good Lord.

She climbed into her truck, and they drove the entire way back to Dan’s ranch in silence. More silence. She pulled her truck up Dan’s drive, around the house, and up to the llama enclosure. He hopped out without a word.

Fine. That was great. Maybe that could last the whole day. By the time she forced herself out of the truck, Dan already had the back opened and was collecting an armful of posts.

She swallowed at the lump in her throat, irritated that emotion was clogged there. Words were clogged there, and they wanted to escape.

He walked over to the enclosure. Stomped, more like. Pissed, like he’d been when he had talked to his agent on the phone outside the restaurant in Bozeman.

Yeah, when you promised yourself you wouldn’t let him get to you anymore.

He was making her really bad at keeping promises to herself, because the words were pushing out her throat. The explanations—she couldn’t keep them in. “We were engaged.”

He stopped mid-stride, a hitch in his step before he dumped the pieces of wood in an unceremonious pile next to where they’d decided to expand. Slowly, he turned, eyebrows drawn together as he studied her. “You were
engaged
to that guy?”

“Yes.” Why was she telling him this? He had no right to know her personal life, and yet he made her feel like a jerk for keeping it to herself.

Or you’re that desperate to talk to someone about it.
Which was beyond pathetic. Everything with Tyler had blown up years ago. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d thought of it. She’d moved on, or at the least buried it. There had been more important things on her plate to deal with. Dad. Caleb. And now Dan. Dan’s ranch, anyway.

Yeah, like Dan isn’t on your plate too.

She whirled back to the lumber. They needed to focus on work. She’d explained and—

“So what happened? He broke your heart and deserves a punch in the face? Because I’d happily offer my services in that department.”

She swallowed at the lump in her throat. It was such a stupid macho offer she shouldn’t be touched by, because Lord knew if someone deserved a punch in the face, she could certainly deliver it herself.

But somehow it was touching. It was nice. Someone offering to do something for her, or in her name.

But Tyler hadn’t broken her heart, not in the way Dan meant, and he certainly didn’t deserve a punch in the face. She might, but not Tyler. “No, that won’t be necessary,” she managed evenly.

“I’m not talking about necessary. I’m talking about a little repayment for being an asshole.”

“He wasn’t an asshole. He didn’t break my heart. In fact, it was more the opposite.” She stood there, hand on a piece of lumber, trying to work out all the conflicting emotions going on. Emotions she’d never dealt with because everything with Tyler had gone down when she’d still been drowning in surviving Dad’s paralysis, and those emotions had taken precedence.

Yeah, because you’ve really dealt with all those emotions.

“Look, can we get to work? I—”

“
You
broke
his
heart?”

She let out a breath. Of course Dan wouldn’t let it go. He was not the let-go, move-on type. He pestered. And she relented. She didn’t want to know what that said about her. “Yes.”

“How?”

“He wanted to marry someone who was going to love him, and that wasn’t me.”
I don’t have that kind of thing in me.

“Why the hell were you engaged to a guy you didn’t love?”

Yes, she supposed to someone like Dan, that would sound insane. Crazy. But the last thing she wanted out of this life was love. Love was fleeting. Love was painful. Love disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving people confused, hurt.

Scarred.

All she wanted was stability. She didn’t want to worry she couldn’t measure up to someone’s expectations. She didn’t want passion or dazzle. Those things got eviscerated in Blue Valley. She wanted someone to take half the work, hold half the reins.

She didn’t want to be left again. It wasn’t wrong to want that, to protect herself. It was smart. And worse, so much worse, she didn’t want to be put in the position where
she
might leave, she might hurt that person who cared for her.

She didn’t want her truest, ugliest self to come out, so she kept it locked away far from anything like emotion.

“Mel.”

She cleared her throat. Keeping it in didn’t exactly work—she had too much to keep in—but that didn’t mean she had to spill her guts. “He was a nice guy. I liked him just fine. I wanted something stable, and Tyler was…that.”

“Well, sure, for a friend, but isn’t marriage supposed to be love and…stuff?”

“You ever been married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“No.”

“Your parents a shining example of lifelong love and monogamy?” she demanded.

“Well, no.”

“Exactly. I’ve never been a fairy-tale girl, Dan. We started dating in high school. It was comfortable. He proposed right before Dad’s accident. It seemed like the thing to do.” Never have to be afraid or hurt. “Someone to build a life with who wouldn’t hightail it to California when he got the urge.” Or, maybe, more the fact she wouldn’t be devastated if he did.

“Why would hightailing it to California even be an option?”

She wasn’t going there. Nope. She’d gone far enough. “Are we going to expand this damn fence or not?”

“Who hightailed it to California?”

“No one.”

“Look, I’m not the sharpest skate on the ice, I’ll give you that, but I’m not dumb.”

And that was her breaking point, though God knew why. There had been far more poignant breaking points in her life, but those had all been fought through. Somehow.

“God, Dan. I don’t… Fine, you really want to know? When I was seven, my mom walked out. Disappeared. Never heard from her again. I saw my dad struggle to deal with that heartbreak, that betrayal, and still manage to be a decent father and rancher and member of this damn community, and what does he get for it? Paralyzed. A shitty son who undermined everything he worked for until it was too damn late.”

And a daughter who couldn’t reach him. Couldn’t find a way to unlock that cage he’d put himself in. She had to somehow wake up every morning and convince herself it was him, not her. Mom, not her.

It wasn’t that she was unlovable, so easy to leave or shut out. It wasn’t that her father could see that deep down all she wanted to do was run, just like the mother she despised.

She swallowed at the lump now fizzling, a hard wedge in her esophagus. Her normal rationalizations seemed so brittle and weak, and she wasn’t sure why. “With Tyler, I just wanted someone I could depend on, and he wanted more. I don’t have more. So. There. That’s it. No big tragedy.”

And it
wasn’t
a tragedy. So why did she have tears in her eyes, threatening to fall? She kept her eyes wide, refusing to let them win. She would not cry in front of him. She would not.

I am unbreakable.

Remembering telling Dan that not so many days ago was the last straw. The tears became too many to contain, falling onto her cheeks. Unbreakable Mel, what a laugh. She
was
broken.

Even knowing she should fight him off, get in her truck and go, when Dan’s arms hesitantly wound around her, she didn’t push away, or stiffen—she leaned into him. She just wanted to lean for a little while. Was that so wrong?

She didn’t sob or wail—no, she wouldn’t let herself do that—but she didn’t fight the tears. She let them fall and soak into Dan’s T-shirt. She let Dan’s arms hold her close. It was odd to take comfort from a man she didn’t understand in the least. But he held her until she was done, and who had ever done that?

She couldn’t ever remember crying until she was spent. The few times she allowed herself to cry, it was usually a quick thing. Get it out and over with. She didn’t have time for long fits of self-pity.

But she had officially cried her eyes out. On Dan.

The embarrassment climbed deep, made it impossible to pull away from the hard, comforting safety of his chest. Because, if she pulled away, she’d have to face him.

She’d rather stay in the cocoon of warm, sturdy comfort that smelled like sawdust and pine. That felt like heaven.

Because she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged her. Not since Dad’s hospital room. Caleb had hugged her then—they’d hugged each other, but that had been the last time.

She felt that loss acutely, so acutely she could almost tell herself she didn’t care who was offering it now. Strong arms holding the weight of her, holding the weight of everything.

How long had she wanted that? Too bad it was from the guy who was going to disappear in a few months.

Actually, that was good, because this way she couldn’t forget that this offering of…whatever…was a temporary thing. Not something she could depend on or get used to.

Dan would leave, like Mom had. Like Tyler had when she hadn’t been able to give him everything. It was an inevitability. She wasn’t cut out for…people’s love.

Which meant she couldn’t be hurt by it.

Comforting in a way, but problematic in another. Because if she knew it was temporary, if she knew she couldn’t be hurt by it, why would she resist it?

Oh, so dangerous to think such a thing. Dangerous enough that she pulled away from the hug and the comfort. From Dan.

Dan, who you don’t have to resist.

But she did. She didn’t know why; she only knew in some part of her that he was dangerous and needed to be resisted, no matter what that dark, quiet voice in the back of her head said.

“We should go unload your lumber,” she managed, her voice rusty.

“That sounds like a euphemism.” There was humor in his tone, but it was tempered with something. Something that made her chest ache.

Not pity. Pity was too gross of a word, and this wasn’t gross. It was sweet. Sympathy or commiseration or, God forbid, care.

“We have to work.”

But his hand reached out and touched her face, brushing tears off her cheeks. Dan stepped closer, like he was going to hug her again. She would stand firm against it this time, she would—

His hands cupped her jaw, green eyes fixed on her face. On
her
, the cool of his calloused palms a welcome relief from all the heat in her cheeks. From the crying, from the embarrassment.

“You know, the other day, when I said I wanted you to teach me to be such a hard-ass?” he asked.

“Yeah, you changing your mind?” She tried to step away, but his gentle hands tightened on her, keeping her in place.

“I didn’t even have a clue how deep it goes, how strong you are, and I thought you were pretty damn strong.”

She didn’t know what to do with words like that. Like he
admired
her, respected her.

She’d had respect before. Respect for her work was not a problem, but someone being impressed by
her
was…well, most people looked at her with half respect, half pity.

That feeling rushed into all the aching breaks in her armor, slipping through the cracks. Dangerous, she knew. She should not let anything he felt for her do anything, be anything. Except, she was weak. Vulnerable. And she wanted the danger, the hard edge of this wrong feeling, the wild heartbeat that came with him standing too close, his hands cupping her face, strong and sturdy like he could take on everything that was on her shoulders.

An illusion, and she’d never been one for believing in illusions, but she saw their appeal now. The appeal of losing herself in it, in him.

“Mel.”

She may have closed some of the distance between them, but she wasn’t the only one. She had promised herself to be strong, to resist, but Dan’s mouth on hers, his hands on her face, it was so much better than resisting.