Melissa Cutler - Cowboy Justice

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 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 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 notes of a waltz. Jenna’s favorite dance.

Even so, she refused to ask Matt or even look his way with hopeful anticipation, 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 shadowed look flash over his features before. 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 since that she didn’t notice that dark look of anguish 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.

Jenna 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-ole-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 never thought she would have 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 fingers 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. She filled her lungs with air and released it gradually, regrouping, before she could find her voice. “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 so perfect for each other. Amy gave new meaning to the term full steam ahead . She 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 feet’s stiff, boxy moves 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.