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Authors: Desiree Holt
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fragrant shampoo and scented shower gel. Better to smell like a ripe flower garden than a short order cook, she decided.
She stepped into a pair of the new jeans, pulled a magenta short-sleeved silk blouse out of her closet and took extra pains with her makeup and hair. She decided it was worth the effort when she saw the heated look in Wyatt’s eyes as she walked into the kitchen where he waited for her.
“My, my,” he drawled as his eyes raked over her. “You sure do clean up good.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she commented.
He had put on clean jeans and a green plaid shirt that brought out the emerald flecks in his eyes. He’d exchanged his shit-kicker boots for a hand-tooled pair that she knew from the Vegas high rollers were custom Luccheses. A black Stetson sat on his head. He looked like every bad boy she’d ever seen or dreamed about and was more dangerous than a pound of C-4 explosive.
He pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Ready?”
Emily rubbed her hands nervously on her jeans. “I guess so.”
“Fun, Emily.” He took her arm and led her out the back door. “Remember? We’re having fun.”
But she knew she’d be under scrutiny from all the people in town who knew him.
His friends. Other ranchers. Whoever. It was Friday night and Chaps, being the only game in town, was sure to be crowded.
“Relax.” He helped her up into the truck cab. “You’ll be fine. It’s much easier than Las Vegas.”
57
Desiree Holt
A lot you know. I don’t have my protective professional suits on or my Blackberry in my hand like some electronic sword.
Her other problem was that in a very short space of time she’d found herself falling for this sexy-as-sin cowboy. Not good. Obviously he had no plans for anything permanent and she was only focused on getting away from Mesa Blanco.
She sighed, wishing she didn’t spend her life painting herself into a corner.
The parking area outside Chaps was jammed with pickups and SUVs. Wyatt managed to squeeze the truck into a spot at one corner of the bar, then came around to help her step down. She swallowed back her nerves as he pulled open the door to the building and she was assaulted by sound—people talking, laughing, jukebox music blaring into the crowd.
There didn’t seem to be an inch of space left anywhere in the honky-tonk. People lined the serving area along one wall, clamoring for refills while the Roxie and another bartender, somehow unfazed by it all, simultaneously served the bar customers and took orders from the two waitresses. Every table and booth was filled, people were crammed onto the miniscule dance floor moving to the music blasting from the juke box, and the clink of balls signaled a pool game in progress.
Wyatt elbowed them some space at one end of the bar, grinned at Roxie and held up two fingers.
“Lone Stars, when you get a minute.”
“How do you know I drink beer?” Emily found herself shouting to be heard.
Wyatt put his mouth close to her ear. “Sugar, it’s the national drink of Texas. You gotta have at least one.”
Nick had liked to dance, but his idea of dancing was groping to music. Now that she thought about it, his idea of everything had always been about what he wanted.
What he liked. As it was with most of the men she’d dated. Years ago her college roommate had told her she had crappy taste in men. She picked them by how they looked—expensive—not by what they were. But Emily had a plan in life. Corporate 58
Trouble in Cowboy Boots
success for herself and a partner of equal or greater value. Then it had all come crashing down on her head, disappearing and Nick along with it. she’d chosen Nick because she thought he’d look good on a formal Christmas card.
Well, that was what she got for being so superficial.
But Wyatt Cavanaugh was real. She just had to remember he was temporary. He wasn’t looking for wife and she wasn’t ready to settle down in the middle of
She stepped into a pair of the new jeans, pulled a magenta short-sleeved silk blouse out of her closet and took extra pains with her makeup and hair. She decided it was worth the effort when she saw the heated look in Wyatt’s eyes as she walked into the kitchen where he waited for her.
“My, my,” he drawled as his eyes raked over her. “You sure do clean up good.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she commented.
He had put on clean jeans and a green plaid shirt that brought out the emerald flecks in his eyes. He’d exchanged his shit-kicker boots for a hand-tooled pair that she knew from the Vegas high rollers were custom Luccheses. A black Stetson sat on his head. He looked like every bad boy she’d ever seen or dreamed about and was more dangerous than a pound of C-4 explosive.
He pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Ready?”
Emily rubbed her hands nervously on her jeans. “I guess so.”
“Fun, Emily.” He took her arm and led her out the back door. “Remember? We’re having fun.”
But she knew she’d be under scrutiny from all the people in town who knew him.
His friends. Other ranchers. Whoever. It was Friday night and Chaps, being the only game in town, was sure to be crowded.
“Relax.” He helped her up into the truck cab. “You’ll be fine. It’s much easier than Las Vegas.”
57
Desiree Holt
A lot you know. I don’t have my protective professional suits on or my Blackberry in my hand like some electronic sword.
Her other problem was that in a very short space of time she’d found herself falling for this sexy-as-sin cowboy. Not good. Obviously he had no plans for anything permanent and she was only focused on getting away from Mesa Blanco.
She sighed, wishing she didn’t spend her life painting herself into a corner.
The parking area outside Chaps was jammed with pickups and SUVs. Wyatt managed to squeeze the truck into a spot at one corner of the bar, then came around to help her step down. She swallowed back her nerves as he pulled open the door to the building and she was assaulted by sound—people talking, laughing, jukebox music blaring into the crowd.
There didn’t seem to be an inch of space left anywhere in the honky-tonk. People lined the serving area along one wall, clamoring for refills while the Roxie and another bartender, somehow unfazed by it all, simultaneously served the bar customers and took orders from the two waitresses. Every table and booth was filled, people were crammed onto the miniscule dance floor moving to the music blasting from the juke box, and the clink of balls signaled a pool game in progress.
Wyatt elbowed them some space at one end of the bar, grinned at Roxie and held up two fingers.
“Lone Stars, when you get a minute.”
“How do you know I drink beer?” Emily found herself shouting to be heard.
Wyatt put his mouth close to her ear. “Sugar, it’s the national drink of Texas. You gotta have at least one.”
Nick had liked to dance, but his idea of dancing was groping to music. Now that she thought about it, his idea of everything had always been about what he wanted.
What he liked. As it was with most of the men she’d dated. Years ago her college roommate had told her she had crappy taste in men. She picked them by how they looked—expensive—not by what they were. But Emily had a plan in life. Corporate 58
Trouble in Cowboy Boots
success for herself and a partner of equal or greater value. Then it had all come crashing down on her head, disappearing and Nick along with it. she’d chosen Nick because she thought he’d look good on a formal Christmas card.
Well, that was what she got for being so superficial.
But Wyatt Cavanaugh was real. She just had to remember he was temporary. He wasn’t looking for wife and she wasn’t ready to settle down in the middle of
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