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Synopsis
"A bright new voice in contemporary romance." --Lori Wilde, New York Times bestselling author Against all odds, the Sorentino sisters saved their family's rundown New Mexico ranch, but the youngest has a dream that just may ruin their hard-earned peace--unless a certain sexy cowboy lawyer changes her mind. . . Jenna Sorentino is as independent as they come. Despite her wild past, she's grown up enough to keep quiet about the identity of her baby's daddy, go to night college--and hide her plan to escape tiny Catcher Creek. She's also stopped dreaming of happily ever after--except in the case of gorgeous, rugged, Santa Fe native Matt Roenick. Too bad the oil rights attorney acts like he barely knows she's alive. . . Matt knows only too well that Jenna's alive--in fact, she's driving him crazy with desire. But Matt's got his reasons for resisting her. And when her son's father shows up, those reasons multiply. Trouble is, Jenna's secrets are more complicated than he imagined, and forgetting her isn't as easy as he'd hoped. Matt knows life can be messy as hell. For Jenna, maybe it's time he got dirty. . . Praise for Melissa Cutler's The Trouble With Cowboys "One hot romance from start to finish." --Carolyn Brown "Cutler grabs readers from the first page. . .one fun, passionate romp." -- RT Book Reviews, 4 Stars "Sexy, savvy stuff!" -Susan Andersen HOW TO ROPE A REAL MAN is Book 3 in the Catcher Creek Cowboys series Book 1 - The Trouble with Cowboys (October 2012) Book 2 - Cowboy Justice (October 2013) Book 3 - How to Rope a Real Man (May 2014) *** (contemporary romance, cowboy romance, secret baby daddy, Jewish hero, interfaith relationship, small town, New Mexico, sibling relationships, college, high heat level)
Release date: May 6, 2014
Publisher: Zebra Books
Print pages: 352
* BingeBooks earns revenue from qualifying purchases as an Amazon Associate as well as from other retail partners.
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How to Rope a Real Man
Melissa Cutler
Jenna Sorentino was nothing if not self-sufficient. That trait had served her well for twenty-four years, but it was a bitch of a problem tonight. Because Matt Roenick—hard-bodied, bright-smiling Matt—was only interested in people he could save. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out a palatable way to land herself in that position.
Seated two seats down from the head of the table at the rehearsal dinner for her older sister Amy’s wedding, she watched Matt cut up Tommy’s chicken strips like he was the daddy she wanted him to be, all the while trying to dream up a problem Matt could solve for her that wouldn’t make her feel helpless.
It wasn’t that Jenna didn’t have problems. Besides the problem of Matt never giving her more than the time of day in the eight months she’d known him, she had a category-five hurricane brewing with her two sisters. But there wasn’t another person on earth who could save her from that storm except herself, not even the noble and dashing Matt Roenick.
That particular problem would have to wait until after Amy’s wedding, though, because she hadn’t damn near killed herself to put on the best wedding in Catcher Creek history only to ruin it with the truth.
A loud, banjo-heavy song exploded from the speakers. Jenna sipped her diet cola and tried not to wince outwardly. “It’s too early for banjo,” she called to Matt over Tommy’s head.
He smiled, revealing the very same dimple that had made her go weak in the knees the first time she’d seen it so many months ago. “Is it ever the right time for banjo?”
She swirled the ice in her glass and gave him her most scholarly expression. “There’s a banjo window, but it’s very narrow. Only nine to eleven at night.”
His brows pushed together. “Not eight or seven, but nine?”
“Eight’s too early. You have to get nice and relaxed before banjo sounds good.”
He rewarded her joke with a laugh. “That makes perfect sense, even though I’d never heard the banjo rule before tonight.”
She shook her hair away from her cheek and smiled, trying to tell him without words how much she loved their easy camaraderie. “Yes, well, some things are so obvious, they don’t need to be said.”
His eyes glimmered, like he loved their conversations as much as she did. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever get the chance to take you to a bluegrass concert.”
Her smile fell. To distract herself from the urge to point out that he had the chance any old time he wanted because Smithy’s Bar had a standing event with a bluegrass band every Saturday night and all he had to do was ask, she picked a couple pieces of sawdust out of Tommy’s hair that she’d apparently missed on his first brushing-off, then ruffled his dark blond locks.
Leave it to a five-year-old to get himself coated with sawdust in the scant amount of time since they’d entered the Sarsaparilla Saloon and been seated on the far side of the dance floor.
“Uh-oh, buddy,” Matt said, nudging Tommy with his elbow. “I hate to break it to you, but it looks like your head’s sprouting sawdust.”
Tommy giggled. “If our floor ever got this dirty, Mama would pitch a tent.”
Matt quirked an eyebrow at Jenna. “Translation?”
Love for her earnest little boy roused a smile from her lips once more. “I think you meant pitch a fit, and you’re exactly right. You know Mama loves clean floors, but this is a saloon, so it’s supposed to be messy. It’s part of the ambiance.”
“Am-bee-ance,” Tommy repeated, as though committing it to memory. Ever since it had dawned on him that he’d be starting kindergarten in the fall, he’d been obsessed with rattling off big words, so Jenna made sure their conversations were dense with them.
It’d been her idea to hold the rehearsal dinner here. Kellan, her soon-to-be brother-in-law, had requested someplace casual, with dancing and beer. As small a town as Catcher Creek was, nothing in its blink-and-you’ll-miss-it downtown district fit the bill. Good thing Jenna was intimately familiar with just about every bar with a dance floor in New Mexico between Albuquerque and the Texas state line.
A glance at Amy made her stomach drop. Amy’s eye twitched and she was using the steak knife that’d come with her top sirloin to dice the side of steamed vegetables into tiny cubes—a sure sign her wedding nerves were getting intense.
Kellan was the only person in the world who could talk Amy off the ledge when anxiety got the best of her, but he was deep in conversation about steer prices with Vaughn, Jenna’s other soon-to-be brother-in-law. As much as Jenna wasn’t going to let her own problems get in the way of Amy’s perfect wedding, she wasn’t about to stand by while Amy ruined it either.
“How’s your meal, Ames?”
“Fine.” Her voice was strained, and she’d answered without meeting Jenna’s eyes, focusing instead on slicing a baby carrot.
Oh, crap.
Jenna pushed up from the table, smoothing the skirt of her swishy cotton dress as she stood. She met Matt’s startled look. “Will you keep an eye on Tommy for a bit?”
“Of course.”
“Amy, I need to talk to you outside. Could you spare a minute?”
Amy’s knife and fork froze. She blinked at her plate for a couple beats before standing. “Okay, yes. Outside would be good.”
Their movement must’ve caught Rachel’s eye because she broke from her conversation with Kellan and Vaughn and stood. “Where’re you going?”
As the oldest sister, Rachel had always been the mother figure and rock of the family that Jenna had needed growing up, supporting her through the toughest of times. As close as two sisters could be, they had an understanding of each other that ran deep and didn’t need words. However, from Jenna’s first recollection of her sisters, Amy and Rachel had gotten on like two tomcats locked in a barn. There wasn’t a situation the good Lord could throw at one that the other couldn’t make worse without even trying.
With Amy looking like she was going to blow a gasket at any moment, the last thing she needed was Rachel getting involved before Jenna had a chance to run damage control.
Without relinquishing her hold on Amy’s shoulders, she pressed close to Rachel. In as low a tone as she could muster, she hissed, “Bring us three shots of tequila, STAT.”
“What? You don’t drink.”
But Jenna was already hustling Amy from the table. She drilled Rachel with a Don’t mess with me glare behind Amy’s back. “Tequila. Now!”
The fenced-in patio out back of the saloon was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the strings of twinkle lights crisscrossing the tin roof. As they stepped out, a weathered, older man was snuffing a cigarette in an ashtray. He tipped the brim of his hat to them, then made his way inside. The door bounced a few times before sealing shut, dulling the music to a muffled rhythm of vibrations.
Jenna spun Amy to face her. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Amy wrapped her arms around her middle. “Nothing. What makes you think something’s wrong?”
Jenna pinched the bridge of her nose and silently recited the alphabet backward, a mom trick she’d learned to maintain patience when under duress. And it worked near about all the time. Well, sort of. If she didn’t count the fact she’d never once made it past N.
“Spill it, Amy.”
Amy’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek, and Jenna could tell she was fighting hard to keep her composure. “Jake texted Kellan on our way here. Work emergency. That’s it. Two words. And Kellan can’t get him on the phone.”
From everything Amy had told her, Kellan had made his only brother, Jake, his best man as an olive-branch gesture, trying to mend their decades-old rift. And it seemed to have had the desired effect, if they all ignored that Jake hadn’t attended Kellan’s bachelor party or shown up for the rehearsal that afternoon. She’d figured intimate gatherings like this made him uncomfortable given the fragility of his and Kellan’s reconciliation, but it’d never occurred to her he might blow off the actual wedding.
“Jake’s a cop, and not a rural cop like we’re used to dealing with. LAPD is a different beast,” Jenna said. “I bet work emergencies are par for the course. There’s nothing he can do about that. Besides, he still has time. The wedding’s not until three.”
“That’s what Kellan said, but I looked up flights from L.A. to Albuquerque on my cell and the next one’s not until tomorrow at nine thirty, L.A. time. It’s a two-hour flight, then a three-hour drive here, if everything goes perfectly. And that’s not counting time spent in the airport or at a car rental place. With the time difference, it’s impossible. But Kellan’s acting like nothing’s wrong. He still believes Jake’ll make it work. I don’t know what to do.”
It wasn’t like they could delay the ceremony, because every detail of the wedding and reception, from the caterer and DJ to the photographer, was hinging on a three o’clock start time, including the minister, who had a second wedding to perform later that evening. Still, a little fake optimism never hurt anything. “I bet everything will work out and he’ll make it on time.” If he hooks up with Superman or bribes his way onto a private jet.
Wide-eyed, Amy shook her hands, palms out, fingers stretched. “Don’t patronize me. I’m freaking out here!” The shrillness of her voice made Jenna’s teeth ache.
She grabbed hold of Amy’s shoulders and rubbed, praying that Rachel materialized with their shots in the next thirty seconds.
“Even if Jake doesn’t make it, everything will be fine. Vaughn is Kellan’s best friend. He’ll stand in as best man at the wedding and he’s really good in front of crowds so he’ll be able to pull off a last-minute toast at the reception, no sweat. I’ll make sure he has a speech planned, okay? I’m not going to let anything spoil your special day, so calm down.”
The doors burst open. “Don’t tell her to calm down. She hates it.” It was Rachel, balancing three shots in her hands. “Here, take a glass before I drop one.”
Jenna passed a shot to Amy, then took one for herself.
Amy frowned down at hers. “What are we doing with this stuff?”
Jenna clinked the lips of their glasses together. “What do you think? Shooting it.”
“I get really silly when I drink, Jen. You know that,” Amy said.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” And if one shot didn’t turn her from stressed to silly, Jenna wasn’t above buying round after round until Amy’s buzz set in.
Rachel nudged Jenna. “How long’s it been since you had a drink?”
“Well, Tommy’s five, so . . . six years. Wow. But I need it tonight. We all do.”
“Isn’t this what AA calls enabling?” Rachel asked. “Am I causing you to fall off a wagon or something?”
“I’m not an alcoholic and you know it. It’s just that I lost my appetite for the stuff when I got pregnant.”
Rachel sniffed her shot, then screwed up her face. “This tequila is making me lose my appetite. Why can’t we shoot whiskey instead?”
“Because whiskey’s not ladylike. Now hush up. You’re not weaseling out of this shot by whining. Do it for Amy.”
“You don’t have to do it, Rachel,” Amy said.
Jenna pinned Rachel with her best scolding expression. “Don’t listen to her. She’s the bride; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. As the wedding planner, my word trumps all.”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Fine. For Amy.” Rachel raised her glass in a toast, then tossed the tequila back.
Jenna and Amy followed suit. The liquor flooded Jenna’s throat with the warmth of an old friend—or maybe her worst enemy.
The taste and burn reminded her of high school, which was pretty pathetic, but there it was. It sent her right back to long nights of partying in the vacant desert with Carson Parrish and all the other misfits she’d wasted her teenage years with. She might’ve been angrier at the memories or at herself except that she was damn proud of how she’d turned her life around.
Back in the day, her tolerance had been such that it had taken her at least three shots to work up a buzz. Tonight, the drink settled in her muscles and brain almost instantly.
Amy shuddered and handed her empty glass to Jenna.
“All right, why did we do that?” Rachel said, stacking her glass on Amy’s.
Jenna draped a fortifying arm across Amy’s shoulders. “We’re not sure Kellan’s brother is going to make it to the wedding.”
Rachel didn’t flinch. “That’s because he’s an asshole.”
“Rachel, he’s family now!” Amy scolded.
Jenna rolled her eyes. Here they go . . .
“Yeah, I get that,” Rachel pressed, “but there’s no rule that says family members can’t be assholes. In fact, I’d wager there’s no more focused collections of assholes in the world than people have in their own families.”
Amy made a sound like a snort that got Jenna’s attention fast. The second she looked her way, Amy burst out in giggles.
God bless tequila.
A squeak warned of the patio door opening again. Kellan stepped out, ducking under a strand of low-hanging twinkle lights. Amy smushed her lips together and tried to stop laughing.
“Okay, womenfolk, what’s this powwow all about?”
Jenna rattled the stack of empty glasses. “We were getting some fresh air and enjoying a splash of New Mexico’s finest tequila.”
“Not really,” Rachel said. “I only sprang for the cheap stuff.”
Jenna patted her arm. “That was called sarcasm, sweetie.”
Kellan’s eyes twinkled as he gave Amy a once-over. “Are you getting my bride drunk on our wedding eve?”
Amy snorted through her nose, clearly fighting another bout of giggles. Kellan’s smile broadened, and he pulled Amy from Jenna’s arms into his own.
This was a good man Amy was marrying. The kind of man who took care of things and people. Like Rachel’s fiancé, Vaughn, did. That her sisters had found such fine matches eased some of Jenna’s guilt about her plan to leave town.
Amy threaded her arms around Kellan’s ribs. “Just a little bit drunk.”
“Good. That makes it easier for me to take advantage of you.”
“I’m always easy for you to take advantage of like that.”
“True enough.”
Rachel groaned and started for the door. “I don’t care that you’re getting hitched tomorrow. I’m not going to stand around listening to you two talk dirty to each other. I’m going back in.”
Jenna poked her arm as she passed. “Like you and Vaughn are any different.”
Rachel kept moving, but flashed Jenna a coy smile that hinted at the love and happiness Vaughn had brought into her life. The kind of love Jenna wanted for herself. She stared blankly at the swinging door as it closed behind Rachel, almost afraid to look back at Kellan and Amy in the throes of their own love story for fear that jealousy would turn her insides ugly.
A fast song came on in the bar, along with the DJ calling out a line dance.
No more pity party. Not with a song beckoning for her to whisk Tommy to the dance floor and boogie down.
She wound through the crowd pouring off the bar stools, then zigzagged through tables en route to the dance floor, searching out Tommy and Matt as she moved. Lo and behold, they were already dancing, along with Kellan’s six-year-old goddaughter, Daisy. Matt didn’t see her, busy as he was modeling the steps to the Watermelon Crawl for the kids.
In Jenna’s experience, kids made lots of men nervous, especially those of the unattached variety, but not Matt. From the day he’d come into her family’s life to negotiate an oil rights contract, he’d gotten down to the kids’ level and played or talked with them as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Blame it on her hormones or Darwin’s theory of evolution, but seeing a man interacting with kids got her blood stirring and her imagination looking into the future. To top it off, clearly Matt could hold his own on the dance floor. He handled the kids and the steps like he did everything else in his life—with smooth, easygoing confidence and genuine enjoyment. It was this uncommon quality that had caught her attention all those months ago and dropped her deeper and deeper into longing every time they were together.
And, sweet sundae, did she long for him tonight.
She hung back, watching. Daisy didn’t give two wits whether she did the steps right, but Tommy’s tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as he watched Matt’s boots.
During the butt shimmy part of the choreography, Tommy hammed it up, and Jenna couldn’t stifle a laugh, he was so cute.
The laugh caught Tommy’s attention. “Mommy, I’m dancing! Just like we practice at home.”
She met Matt’s amused expression with a wink, then smiled at her son. “I can see that. Great job.” She scooted close to the kids and grabbed Tommy and Daisy’s hands to help them into a turn.
Matt leaned her way during a kick and weight change. “He told me you two do a lot of line dancing and two-stepping in the living room before bedtime.”
True enough. She could dance until her boots wore out and the band went home or the radio broke. It was her favorite way of letting off steam since she’d stopped raising hell in order to raise her son right.
“I can’t think of a better way to end the day.” Well, she could, but it’d been a while—too damn long, in fact—since she’d had the pleasure of indulging in that particular pastime.
They turned again. She helped Tommy line up in front of her, then got busy staring at Matt’s behind as he kicked and moved with the music. It was such a fine view, she nearly hummed her appreciation out loud.
Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the prolonged view of Matt’s posterior, but she wasn’t as worried about tomorrow as she had been for months. She’d run herself into the ground organizing every detail of the wedding and reception, and she felt great about what she’d accomplished. She deserved a little R & R tonight before the wedding-day craziness was upon them.
On the far side of the bar, she caught a glimpse of Kellan, Amy, and Rachel laughing while Vaughn told them an animated story with lots of gesturing. Her sisters and Tommy, and now Kellan and Vaughn, were her only living family, and she’d do anything to make sure they were happy.
A stab of conscience cut through her gut. That wasn’t entirely true.
She’d do anything for her sisters and brothers-in-law . . . except stay in Catcher Creek one day longer than was absolutely necessary. She shoved the unpleasant awareness from her mind. Tonight wasn’t the time to worry about that. Neither was tomorrow. After the wedding would be soon enough to deal with the coming storm.
The ending notes of “The Watermelon Crawl” blended with the beginning of a waltz. Jenna’s favorite dance.
Even so, she refused to ask Matt to dance with her or even look his way with hopeful anticipation. She was far too proud to beg for his interest if he wouldn’t give it freely. Not that he’d notice her looking. His brown leather boots seemed glued to the ground and he cracked his knuckles, his dark eyes haunted as they followed Tommy and Daisy off the floor with Daisy’s mom, Lisa.
She’d seen that shadow of a look flash over his features before in moments of unguardedness that hinted at a private fight being waged in his mind. She’d become aware of its presence two months ago, the day he’d joined their family to celebrate Tommy’s birthday with cake and ice cream at the Catcher Creek Café. And now that she was aware of it, not a night with him went by that she didn’t notice that haunted look cross his face at least once. As soon as it revealed itself, it was gone and he was back to being easygoing, happy Matt.
Talk to me, she wanted to press. What is it, and does it have to do with why you won’t let me into your life?
But she never did ask because she couldn’t get him alone no matter what she tried. She couldn’t even get him to dance with her tonight. Irritation flared, but she tamped it down. There she went, making everything complicated. Maybe interest had nothing to do with it. Maybe he didn’t know how to waltz. He’d nailed the Watermelon Crawl, but partner dancing was a whole different bale of hay.
She swished her skirt with her hands as she debated the merits of a trip to the ladies’ room to save her from standing there awkwardly for much longer. This was one of her least favorite parts of being single—never knowing if she’d have a partner for the next dance. Nothing brought her aloneness into starker focus than when she was prevented from doing the thing she loved most because she didn’t have a man in her life.
Salvation came fast on the heels of those dark thoughts in the form of a cute, young cowboy flaunting a starched red western shirt and shiny belt buckle. He was too good-ol’-boy for her taste, complete with a wad of chew puffing his cheek, but she smiled invitingly anyway. Dancing a waltz didn’t bind her to the guy for life.
“Care to dance, miss?”
Her answer was on the tip of her tongue when Matt appeared at her side, a proprietary hand sliding around her waist. Well, well, well . . . perhaps all he’d needed was a rival to remind him she wasn’t going to wait forever while he made up his mind.
“Sorry, man. She’s spoken for on this dance.”
Jenna bit back a swoon. Lord have mercy. She’d never thought she had much use for testosterone-fueled machismo, but the aggressive edge in his tone called to the feminine part of her psyche in a way she hadn’t expected.
Doing her best to turn her smile apologetic, she mouthed a sorry to the young cowboy, but he was already wandering off, scanning the crowd for another potential partner, leaving her free to concentrate on the big, solid man at her side. She ran her gaze along her shoulder, then up Matt’s body until it landed on his face. “I don’t remember you asking me to dance.”
He turned her in his arms and took her right hand in his, his eyes flashing down the length of her. “Some things don’t need to be said.”
It was the first time their hands had touched outside of a handshake. His hand was strong, with calluses she hadn’t expected to feel on a lawyer. With a motion so slow it seemed to stretch time, he dragged his thumb over the back of her fingers as though cradling her hand in his wasn’t nearly enough friction to satisfy him.
She responded with a slow crawl of her other hand up the muscles of his arm to settle into closed hold position. His body was unyielding beneath her touch—deliciously hard and male. A fantasy flashed in her mind of the two of them in her bedroom, standing together like this but without a stitch of clothing. Without any of the barriers that presently stood between them.
A corner of his mouth kicked up into a wolfish grin. “I guess we’d better get to waltzing before the song ends.”
Before she could answer, he stepped her back into the swirl of dancers and let the lilting rhythm of the music carry them away.
The lights had been dimmed to blues and purples, hushing the party crowd, while a disco ball gave life to the dreamy lyrics about summer love under a blanket of stars in the big old Western sky.
When they reached the far end of the dance floor, the arm at her waist pulled her nearer. His mouth dipped close to her ear. “Are you ready for Amy’s big day, Miss Wedding Planner?”
His breath lighted across her neck, igniting a tremor of sensation through her body. “I’m ready, all right, but by the skin of my teeth. I thought six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding reception. What a joke. Now I understand why people plan these things a year or more out. There was no convincing Amy and Kellan to take their time, though.”
“I’ve known Kellan going on ten years, since I was a T.A. in an oil law course he was taking, and he’s always been the jump-in-with-both-feet type.”
No wonder he and Amy were perfect for each other. Amy gave new meaning to the term full steam ahead. Jenna turned her face to meet his eyes. “But you’re not like that. You’re more of a wade-in-slowly kind of guy.” If their relationship moved much slower, they’d be going backward.
He tipped his head, considering. “I guess I am. Wasn’t always that way, but I suppose I’ve gotten more cautious with age.”
“That makes you sound old, but you’re only, what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
He guided them around a couple who looked brand-new to the world of country-western dance, staring at their legs and counting the steps aloud. “I’m thirty-three.”
“Still too young to be cautious.”
His expression turned teasing. “I know it’s taboo to mention a lady’s age, but pardon me if I have trouble taking aging advice from someone who hasn’t even hit thirty yet.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t let on that I only just turned twenty-four in June.” He got quiet, probably doing what everybody else did when they realized how young she was. She beat him to the punch. “I had Tommy when I was nineteen.”
He was gentlemanly enough to mask his shock, but not before his eyebrows flickered up.
“I know, so young.” With a flippant wave of her hand, she smiled warmly to let him know it was okay for him to be shocked. She’d been pretty darn shocked when she’d first found out too. “I guess I’m way too fertile for my own good.”
Matt’s shoulders stiffened. “Most people are.”
What an odd comeback. In all the times she’d made that same joke about her pregnancy, she’d never heard a response quite like that. She was in the process of formulating a question, when, without breaking his impeccable rhythm, Matt added pressure to the hand at her waist, her cue that they were about to get fancy with their dancing.
Bring it, she thought as he lifted the hand she held, then expertly partnered her through a triple spin into a reverse that erased the questions from her mind. She nearly laughed with the giddiness at performing the complicated steps and the deftness of his execution. Now this was how dancing was supposed to be.
Breathless, she met him in closed hold once more. His hand slipped to her back with the control of a man who’d spun a lot of women around the dance floor in his day.
She shoved the petty thought aside. After all, she’d been spun around the dance floor plenty of times by plenty of men. And she refused to hold anyone else to their pasts when she hated that she couldn’t escape her own.
“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” she said.
His cocky, lopsided smile sent a flash of heat through her. “One of my many secrets.”
Before she could respond to such a baiting remark, he spun her in a double turn that twisted into a side-by-side shadow hold. Swinging her chin over her shoulder, she met his warm, confident smile. Hot damn, this man lit her fire.
With a wink that told her he knew exactly how good a dancer he was, he launched them into windmills and reverses. A bit flashy given the prying eyes surrounding them, but it satisfied her womanly sensibilities that he was showing off for her. It would be nice for a change to have the good folks of Catcher Creek spreading rumors about her for something other than her days as a wild youth or the identity of Tommy’s missing father.
When they’d returned to closed hold, J. . .
Seated two seats down from the head of the table at the rehearsal dinner for her older sister Amy’s wedding, she watched Matt cut up Tommy’s chicken strips like he was the daddy she wanted him to be, all the while trying to dream up a problem Matt could solve for her that wouldn’t make her feel helpless.
It wasn’t that Jenna didn’t have problems. Besides the problem of Matt never giving her more than the time of day in the eight months she’d known him, she had a category-five hurricane brewing with her two sisters. But there wasn’t another person on earth who could save her from that storm except herself, not even the noble and dashing Matt Roenick.
That particular problem would have to wait until after Amy’s wedding, though, because she hadn’t damn near killed herself to put on the best wedding in Catcher Creek history only to ruin it with the truth.
A loud, banjo-heavy song exploded from the speakers. Jenna sipped her diet cola and tried not to wince outwardly. “It’s too early for banjo,” she called to Matt over Tommy’s head.
He smiled, revealing the very same dimple that had made her go weak in the knees the first time she’d seen it so many months ago. “Is it ever the right time for banjo?”
She swirled the ice in her glass and gave him her most scholarly expression. “There’s a banjo window, but it’s very narrow. Only nine to eleven at night.”
His brows pushed together. “Not eight or seven, but nine?”
“Eight’s too early. You have to get nice and relaxed before banjo sounds good.”
He rewarded her joke with a laugh. “That makes perfect sense, even though I’d never heard the banjo rule before tonight.”
She shook her hair away from her cheek and smiled, trying to tell him without words how much she loved their easy camaraderie. “Yes, well, some things are so obvious, they don’t need to be said.”
His eyes glimmered, like he loved their conversations as much as she did. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever get the chance to take you to a bluegrass concert.”
Her smile fell. To distract herself from the urge to point out that he had the chance any old time he wanted because Smithy’s Bar had a standing event with a bluegrass band every Saturday night and all he had to do was ask, she picked a couple pieces of sawdust out of Tommy’s hair that she’d apparently missed on his first brushing-off, then ruffled his dark blond locks.
Leave it to a five-year-old to get himself coated with sawdust in the scant amount of time since they’d entered the Sarsaparilla Saloon and been seated on the far side of the dance floor.
“Uh-oh, buddy,” Matt said, nudging Tommy with his elbow. “I hate to break it to you, but it looks like your head’s sprouting sawdust.”
Tommy giggled. “If our floor ever got this dirty, Mama would pitch a tent.”
Matt quirked an eyebrow at Jenna. “Translation?”
Love for her earnest little boy roused a smile from her lips once more. “I think you meant pitch a fit, and you’re exactly right. You know Mama loves clean floors, but this is a saloon, so it’s supposed to be messy. It’s part of the ambiance.”
“Am-bee-ance,” Tommy repeated, as though committing it to memory. Ever since it had dawned on him that he’d be starting kindergarten in the fall, he’d been obsessed with rattling off big words, so Jenna made sure their conversations were dense with them.
It’d been her idea to hold the rehearsal dinner here. Kellan, her soon-to-be brother-in-law, had requested someplace casual, with dancing and beer. As small a town as Catcher Creek was, nothing in its blink-and-you’ll-miss-it downtown district fit the bill. Good thing Jenna was intimately familiar with just about every bar with a dance floor in New Mexico between Albuquerque and the Texas state line.
A glance at Amy made her stomach drop. Amy’s eye twitched and she was using the steak knife that’d come with her top sirloin to dice the side of steamed vegetables into tiny cubes—a sure sign her wedding nerves were getting intense.
Kellan was the only person in the world who could talk Amy off the ledge when anxiety got the best of her, but he was deep in conversation about steer prices with Vaughn, Jenna’s other soon-to-be brother-in-law. As much as Jenna wasn’t going to let her own problems get in the way of Amy’s perfect wedding, she wasn’t about to stand by while Amy ruined it either.
“How’s your meal, Ames?”
“Fine.” Her voice was strained, and she’d answered without meeting Jenna’s eyes, focusing instead on slicing a baby carrot.
Oh, crap.
Jenna pushed up from the table, smoothing the skirt of her swishy cotton dress as she stood. She met Matt’s startled look. “Will you keep an eye on Tommy for a bit?”
“Of course.”
“Amy, I need to talk to you outside. Could you spare a minute?”
Amy’s knife and fork froze. She blinked at her plate for a couple beats before standing. “Okay, yes. Outside would be good.”
Their movement must’ve caught Rachel’s eye because she broke from her conversation with Kellan and Vaughn and stood. “Where’re you going?”
As the oldest sister, Rachel had always been the mother figure and rock of the family that Jenna had needed growing up, supporting her through the toughest of times. As close as two sisters could be, they had an understanding of each other that ran deep and didn’t need words. However, from Jenna’s first recollection of her sisters, Amy and Rachel had gotten on like two tomcats locked in a barn. There wasn’t a situation the good Lord could throw at one that the other couldn’t make worse without even trying.
With Amy looking like she was going to blow a gasket at any moment, the last thing she needed was Rachel getting involved before Jenna had a chance to run damage control.
Without relinquishing her hold on Amy’s shoulders, she pressed close to Rachel. In as low a tone as she could muster, she hissed, “Bring us three shots of tequila, STAT.”
“What? You don’t drink.”
But Jenna was already hustling Amy from the table. She drilled Rachel with a Don’t mess with me glare behind Amy’s back. “Tequila. Now!”
The fenced-in patio out back of the saloon was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the strings of twinkle lights crisscrossing the tin roof. As they stepped out, a weathered, older man was snuffing a cigarette in an ashtray. He tipped the brim of his hat to them, then made his way inside. The door bounced a few times before sealing shut, dulling the music to a muffled rhythm of vibrations.
Jenna spun Amy to face her. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Amy wrapped her arms around her middle. “Nothing. What makes you think something’s wrong?”
Jenna pinched the bridge of her nose and silently recited the alphabet backward, a mom trick she’d learned to maintain patience when under duress. And it worked near about all the time. Well, sort of. If she didn’t count the fact she’d never once made it past N.
“Spill it, Amy.”
Amy’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek, and Jenna could tell she was fighting hard to keep her composure. “Jake texted Kellan on our way here. Work emergency. That’s it. Two words. And Kellan can’t get him on the phone.”
From everything Amy had told her, Kellan had made his only brother, Jake, his best man as an olive-branch gesture, trying to mend their decades-old rift. And it seemed to have had the desired effect, if they all ignored that Jake hadn’t attended Kellan’s bachelor party or shown up for the rehearsal that afternoon. She’d figured intimate gatherings like this made him uncomfortable given the fragility of his and Kellan’s reconciliation, but it’d never occurred to her he might blow off the actual wedding.
“Jake’s a cop, and not a rural cop like we’re used to dealing with. LAPD is a different beast,” Jenna said. “I bet work emergencies are par for the course. There’s nothing he can do about that. Besides, he still has time. The wedding’s not until three.”
“That’s what Kellan said, but I looked up flights from L.A. to Albuquerque on my cell and the next one’s not until tomorrow at nine thirty, L.A. time. It’s a two-hour flight, then a three-hour drive here, if everything goes perfectly. And that’s not counting time spent in the airport or at a car rental place. With the time difference, it’s impossible. But Kellan’s acting like nothing’s wrong. He still believes Jake’ll make it work. I don’t know what to do.”
It wasn’t like they could delay the ceremony, because every detail of the wedding and reception, from the caterer and DJ to the photographer, was hinging on a three o’clock start time, including the minister, who had a second wedding to perform later that evening. Still, a little fake optimism never hurt anything. “I bet everything will work out and he’ll make it on time.” If he hooks up with Superman or bribes his way onto a private jet.
Wide-eyed, Amy shook her hands, palms out, fingers stretched. “Don’t patronize me. I’m freaking out here!” The shrillness of her voice made Jenna’s teeth ache.
She grabbed hold of Amy’s shoulders and rubbed, praying that Rachel materialized with their shots in the next thirty seconds.
“Even if Jake doesn’t make it, everything will be fine. Vaughn is Kellan’s best friend. He’ll stand in as best man at the wedding and he’s really good in front of crowds so he’ll be able to pull off a last-minute toast at the reception, no sweat. I’ll make sure he has a speech planned, okay? I’m not going to let anything spoil your special day, so calm down.”
The doors burst open. “Don’t tell her to calm down. She hates it.” It was Rachel, balancing three shots in her hands. “Here, take a glass before I drop one.”
Jenna passed a shot to Amy, then took one for herself.
Amy frowned down at hers. “What are we doing with this stuff?”
Jenna clinked the lips of their glasses together. “What do you think? Shooting it.”
“I get really silly when I drink, Jen. You know that,” Amy said.
“That’s what I’m counting on.” And if one shot didn’t turn her from stressed to silly, Jenna wasn’t above buying round after round until Amy’s buzz set in.
Rachel nudged Jenna. “How long’s it been since you had a drink?”
“Well, Tommy’s five, so . . . six years. Wow. But I need it tonight. We all do.”
“Isn’t this what AA calls enabling?” Rachel asked. “Am I causing you to fall off a wagon or something?”
“I’m not an alcoholic and you know it. It’s just that I lost my appetite for the stuff when I got pregnant.”
Rachel sniffed her shot, then screwed up her face. “This tequila is making me lose my appetite. Why can’t we shoot whiskey instead?”
“Because whiskey’s not ladylike. Now hush up. You’re not weaseling out of this shot by whining. Do it for Amy.”
“You don’t have to do it, Rachel,” Amy said.
Jenna pinned Rachel with her best scolding expression. “Don’t listen to her. She’s the bride; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. As the wedding planner, my word trumps all.”
Amy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s—”
“Fine. For Amy.” Rachel raised her glass in a toast, then tossed the tequila back.
Jenna and Amy followed suit. The liquor flooded Jenna’s throat with the warmth of an old friend—or maybe her worst enemy.
The taste and burn reminded her of high school, which was pretty pathetic, but there it was. It sent her right back to long nights of partying in the vacant desert with Carson Parrish and all the other misfits she’d wasted her teenage years with. She might’ve been angrier at the memories or at herself except that she was damn proud of how she’d turned her life around.
Back in the day, her tolerance had been such that it had taken her at least three shots to work up a buzz. Tonight, the drink settled in her muscles and brain almost instantly.
Amy shuddered and handed her empty glass to Jenna.
“All right, why did we do that?” Rachel said, stacking her glass on Amy’s.
Jenna draped a fortifying arm across Amy’s shoulders. “We’re not sure Kellan’s brother is going to make it to the wedding.”
Rachel didn’t flinch. “That’s because he’s an asshole.”
“Rachel, he’s family now!” Amy scolded.
Jenna rolled her eyes. Here they go . . .
“Yeah, I get that,” Rachel pressed, “but there’s no rule that says family members can’t be assholes. In fact, I’d wager there’s no more focused collections of assholes in the world than people have in their own families.”
Amy made a sound like a snort that got Jenna’s attention fast. The second she looked her way, Amy burst out in giggles.
God bless tequila.
A squeak warned of the patio door opening again. Kellan stepped out, ducking under a strand of low-hanging twinkle lights. Amy smushed her lips together and tried to stop laughing.
“Okay, womenfolk, what’s this powwow all about?”
Jenna rattled the stack of empty glasses. “We were getting some fresh air and enjoying a splash of New Mexico’s finest tequila.”
“Not really,” Rachel said. “I only sprang for the cheap stuff.”
Jenna patted her arm. “That was called sarcasm, sweetie.”
Kellan’s eyes twinkled as he gave Amy a once-over. “Are you getting my bride drunk on our wedding eve?”
Amy snorted through her nose, clearly fighting another bout of giggles. Kellan’s smile broadened, and he pulled Amy from Jenna’s arms into his own.
This was a good man Amy was marrying. The kind of man who took care of things and people. Like Rachel’s fiancé, Vaughn, did. That her sisters had found such fine matches eased some of Jenna’s guilt about her plan to leave town.
Amy threaded her arms around Kellan’s ribs. “Just a little bit drunk.”
“Good. That makes it easier for me to take advantage of you.”
“I’m always easy for you to take advantage of like that.”
“True enough.”
Rachel groaned and started for the door. “I don’t care that you’re getting hitched tomorrow. I’m not going to stand around listening to you two talk dirty to each other. I’m going back in.”
Jenna poked her arm as she passed. “Like you and Vaughn are any different.”
Rachel kept moving, but flashed Jenna a coy smile that hinted at the love and happiness Vaughn had brought into her life. The kind of love Jenna wanted for herself. She stared blankly at the swinging door as it closed behind Rachel, almost afraid to look back at Kellan and Amy in the throes of their own love story for fear that jealousy would turn her insides ugly.
A fast song came on in the bar, along with the DJ calling out a line dance.
No more pity party. Not with a song beckoning for her to whisk Tommy to the dance floor and boogie down.
She wound through the crowd pouring off the bar stools, then zigzagged through tables en route to the dance floor, searching out Tommy and Matt as she moved. Lo and behold, they were already dancing, along with Kellan’s six-year-old goddaughter, Daisy. Matt didn’t see her, busy as he was modeling the steps to the Watermelon Crawl for the kids.
In Jenna’s experience, kids made lots of men nervous, especially those of the unattached variety, but not Matt. From the day he’d come into her family’s life to negotiate an oil rights contract, he’d gotten down to the kids’ level and played or talked with them as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
Blame it on her hormones or Darwin’s theory of evolution, but seeing a man interacting with kids got her blood stirring and her imagination looking into the future. To top it off, clearly Matt could hold his own on the dance floor. He handled the kids and the steps like he did everything else in his life—with smooth, easygoing confidence and genuine enjoyment. It was this uncommon quality that had caught her attention all those months ago and dropped her deeper and deeper into longing every time they were together.
And, sweet sundae, did she long for him tonight.
She hung back, watching. Daisy didn’t give two wits whether she did the steps right, but Tommy’s tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as he watched Matt’s boots.
During the butt shimmy part of the choreography, Tommy hammed it up, and Jenna couldn’t stifle a laugh, he was so cute.
The laugh caught Tommy’s attention. “Mommy, I’m dancing! Just like we practice at home.”
She met Matt’s amused expression with a wink, then smiled at her son. “I can see that. Great job.” She scooted close to the kids and grabbed Tommy and Daisy’s hands to help them into a turn.
Matt leaned her way during a kick and weight change. “He told me you two do a lot of line dancing and two-stepping in the living room before bedtime.”
True enough. She could dance until her boots wore out and the band went home or the radio broke. It was her favorite way of letting off steam since she’d stopped raising hell in order to raise her son right.
“I can’t think of a better way to end the day.” Well, she could, but it’d been a while—too damn long, in fact—since she’d had the pleasure of indulging in that particular pastime.
They turned again. She helped Tommy line up in front of her, then got busy staring at Matt’s behind as he kicked and moved with the music. It was such a fine view, she nearly hummed her appreciation out loud.
Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the prolonged view of Matt’s posterior, but she wasn’t as worried about tomorrow as she had been for months. She’d run herself into the ground organizing every detail of the wedding and reception, and she felt great about what she’d accomplished. She deserved a little R & R tonight before the wedding-day craziness was upon them.
On the far side of the bar, she caught a glimpse of Kellan, Amy, and Rachel laughing while Vaughn told them an animated story with lots of gesturing. Her sisters and Tommy, and now Kellan and Vaughn, were her only living family, and she’d do anything to make sure they were happy.
A stab of conscience cut through her gut. That wasn’t entirely true.
She’d do anything for her sisters and brothers-in-law . . . except stay in Catcher Creek one day longer than was absolutely necessary. She shoved the unpleasant awareness from her mind. Tonight wasn’t the time to worry about that. Neither was tomorrow. After the wedding would be soon enough to deal with the coming storm.
The ending notes of “The Watermelon Crawl” blended with the beginning of a waltz. Jenna’s favorite dance.
Even so, she refused to ask Matt to dance with her or even look his way with hopeful anticipation. She was far too proud to beg for his interest if he wouldn’t give it freely. Not that he’d notice her looking. His brown leather boots seemed glued to the ground and he cracked his knuckles, his dark eyes haunted as they followed Tommy and Daisy off the floor with Daisy’s mom, Lisa.
She’d seen that shadow of a look flash over his features before in moments of unguardedness that hinted at a private fight being waged in his mind. She’d become aware of its presence two months ago, the day he’d joined their family to celebrate Tommy’s birthday with cake and ice cream at the Catcher Creek Café. And now that she was aware of it, not a night with him went by that she didn’t notice that haunted look cross his face at least once. As soon as it revealed itself, it was gone and he was back to being easygoing, happy Matt.
Talk to me, she wanted to press. What is it, and does it have to do with why you won’t let me into your life?
But she never did ask because she couldn’t get him alone no matter what she tried. She couldn’t even get him to dance with her tonight. Irritation flared, but she tamped it down. There she went, making everything complicated. Maybe interest had nothing to do with it. Maybe he didn’t know how to waltz. He’d nailed the Watermelon Crawl, but partner dancing was a whole different bale of hay.
She swished her skirt with her hands as she debated the merits of a trip to the ladies’ room to save her from standing there awkwardly for much longer. This was one of her least favorite parts of being single—never knowing if she’d have a partner for the next dance. Nothing brought her aloneness into starker focus than when she was prevented from doing the thing she loved most because she didn’t have a man in her life.
Salvation came fast on the heels of those dark thoughts in the form of a cute, young cowboy flaunting a starched red western shirt and shiny belt buckle. He was too good-ol’-boy for her taste, complete with a wad of chew puffing his cheek, but she smiled invitingly anyway. Dancing a waltz didn’t bind her to the guy for life.
“Care to dance, miss?”
Her answer was on the tip of her tongue when Matt appeared at her side, a proprietary hand sliding around her waist. Well, well, well . . . perhaps all he’d needed was a rival to remind him she wasn’t going to wait forever while he made up his mind.
“Sorry, man. She’s spoken for on this dance.”
Jenna bit back a swoon. Lord have mercy. She’d never thought she had much use for testosterone-fueled machismo, but the aggressive edge in his tone called to the feminine part of her psyche in a way she hadn’t expected.
Doing her best to turn her smile apologetic, she mouthed a sorry to the young cowboy, but he was already wandering off, scanning the crowd for another potential partner, leaving her free to concentrate on the big, solid man at her side. She ran her gaze along her shoulder, then up Matt’s body until it landed on his face. “I don’t remember you asking me to dance.”
He turned her in his arms and took her right hand in his, his eyes flashing down the length of her. “Some things don’t need to be said.”
It was the first time their hands had touched outside of a handshake. His hand was strong, with calluses she hadn’t expected to feel on a lawyer. With a motion so slow it seemed to stretch time, he dragged his thumb over the back of her fingers as though cradling her hand in his wasn’t nearly enough friction to satisfy him.
She responded with a slow crawl of her other hand up the muscles of his arm to settle into closed hold position. His body was unyielding beneath her touch—deliciously hard and male. A fantasy flashed in her mind of the two of them in her bedroom, standing together like this but without a stitch of clothing. Without any of the barriers that presently stood between them.
A corner of his mouth kicked up into a wolfish grin. “I guess we’d better get to waltzing before the song ends.”
Before she could answer, he stepped her back into the swirl of dancers and let the lilting rhythm of the music carry them away.
The lights had been dimmed to blues and purples, hushing the party crowd, while a disco ball gave life to the dreamy lyrics about summer love under a blanket of stars in the big old Western sky.
When they reached the far end of the dance floor, the arm at her waist pulled her nearer. His mouth dipped close to her ear. “Are you ready for Amy’s big day, Miss Wedding Planner?”
His breath lighted across her neck, igniting a tremor of sensation through her body. “I’m ready, all right, but by the skin of my teeth. I thought six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding reception. What a joke. Now I understand why people plan these things a year or more out. There was no convincing Amy and Kellan to take their time, though.”
“I’ve known Kellan going on ten years, since I was a T.A. in an oil law course he was taking, and he’s always been the jump-in-with-both-feet type.”
No wonder he and Amy were perfect for each other. Amy gave new meaning to the term full steam ahead. Jenna turned her face to meet his eyes. “But you’re not like that. You’re more of a wade-in-slowly kind of guy.” If their relationship moved much slower, they’d be going backward.
He tipped his head, considering. “I guess I am. Wasn’t always that way, but I suppose I’ve gotten more cautious with age.”
“That makes you sound old, but you’re only, what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
He guided them around a couple who looked brand-new to the world of country-western dance, staring at their legs and counting the steps aloud. “I’m thirty-three.”
“Still too young to be cautious.”
His expression turned teasing. “I know it’s taboo to mention a lady’s age, but pardon me if I have trouble taking aging advice from someone who hasn’t even hit thirty yet.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t let on that I only just turned twenty-four in June.” He got quiet, probably doing what everybody else did when they realized how young she was. She beat him to the punch. “I had Tommy when I was nineteen.”
He was gentlemanly enough to mask his shock, but not before his eyebrows flickered up.
“I know, so young.” With a flippant wave of her hand, she smiled warmly to let him know it was okay for him to be shocked. She’d been pretty darn shocked when she’d first found out too. “I guess I’m way too fertile for my own good.”
Matt’s shoulders stiffened. “Most people are.”
What an odd comeback. In all the times she’d made that same joke about her pregnancy, she’d never heard a response quite like that. She was in the process of formulating a question, when, without breaking his impeccable rhythm, Matt added pressure to the hand at her waist, her cue that they were about to get fancy with their dancing.
Bring it, she thought as he lifted the hand she held, then expertly partnered her through a triple spin into a reverse that erased the questions from her mind. She nearly laughed with the giddiness at performing the complicated steps and the deftness of his execution. Now this was how dancing was supposed to be.
Breathless, she met him in closed hold once more. His hand slipped to her back with the control of a man who’d spun a lot of women around the dance floor in his day.
She shoved the petty thought aside. After all, she’d been spun around the dance floor plenty of times by plenty of men. And she refused to hold anyone else to their pasts when she hated that she couldn’t escape her own.
“I didn’t know you could dance like this,” she said.
His cocky, lopsided smile sent a flash of heat through her. “One of my many secrets.”
Before she could respond to such a baiting remark, he spun her in a double turn that twisted into a side-by-side shadow hold. Swinging her chin over her shoulder, she met his warm, confident smile. Hot damn, this man lit her fire.
With a wink that told her he knew exactly how good a dancer he was, he launched them into windmills and reverses. A bit flashy given the prying eyes surrounding them, but it satisfied her womanly sensibilities that he was showing off for her. It would be nice for a change to have the good folks of Catcher Creek spreading rumors about her for something other than her days as a wild youth or the identity of Tommy’s missing father.
When they’d returned to closed hold, J. . .
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How to Rope a Real Man
Melissa Cutler
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