Crystal Green - The Hard-to-Get Cowboy

Was there anything this Texan didn’t see? It was as if he could read her through and through.

Yet she refused to dignify his question with an answer. She knew when a troublemaker was stirring it up.

He chuckled, just as the jukebox went silent, leaving only the laughter from the bar patrons.

She crossed her arms over her chest.

“We both know that there’s no way you’ll end up with a nice guy like Pritchett.” He put the glass to his lips, drinking.

His throat worked with every swallow.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t stop herself from thinking what it would feel like to have her lips against that throat, the warm skin roughened by stubble from a five o’clock shadow.

But she managed to pull her gaze away before she offered evidence that he was right about her being attracted to a bad boy over a good one.

“I may not end up with Cade,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I’d put myself in the position of ending up anywhere with you.”

He put down the drained mug. “Shot through the heart, Miss Laila. You’ve got some excellent aim.”

“And you don’t know enough about me to go around predicting who’s my type and who’s not.”

“I can sure guess.” He sat back in his chair, long-limbed and laconic.

A wise girl would have gotten up from the table by now, heading through the door for home, where it would be safe. But here she was flirting with him.

And she didn’t want to stop.

He said, “I surmise that, all your life, you’ve dated men who are steady. Men who drive just five miles above the speed limit—and that’s their idea of living dangerously. And yours, too.”

He didn’t even seem to be expecting a response—not judging by the long, cocky stare he was fixing on her, one that suggested he knew how madly her blood was flying through her veins, just from being near him.

When had she ever felt like this before?

Was it curiosity that was keeping her here? Or was it because the big 3-0 was looming above her like a net, ready to drop and wrap her up in the great unknown?

Whatever it was, she finally, quietly dared to say, “And just what would a man like you have to offer on a…date?”

Jackson lowered his ankle from where it’d been resting on his knee. “I drive a whole lot faster than the speed limit, for one thing.”

“And you’ll be driving just as fast out of town, once you’re done with your business here.”

“So I will. But a woman who doesn’t aim to settle down wouldn’t care so much about my leaving. We understand each other’s philosophies on that.”

Was he saying that they had something in common? That because she didn’t have any plans to get married, she was just like him?

The notion should’ve disturbed her, but instead, it sent a shot of adrenaline racing through her body.

“Come on, Laila,” he said, leaning toward her even closer. Charmingly. Devastatingly. “One date. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She swallowed. “That’s all?”

What was she doing?

“One date is all…for now.” He stood to his full height, towering above her, then leaned down until his words brushed her ear with warmth. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll find that one date won’t be enough.”

And, with that, he ambled away, not even bothering to get her phone number or arrange a time to pick her up.

Just as cocky—and tempting—as he’d been when he’d entered the bar.

“Seriously?” said Laila’s best friend, Dana Hanson, while sitting in a chair by Laila’s office desk the next day. “You’re actually going out with that pugilist?”

Laila closed the glass door that separated her working space from the rest of the bank, which bustled with people during lunch hour. Dana, who was wearing her sandy hair in a conservative upswept style that artfully hid the purple streak she’d decided to add last weekend, had pushed her decorative Clark Kent glasses to the crown of her head in her awe of Laila’s situation.

“I think I have a date with the pugilist,” Laila said, staying near the door where she could keep an eye on things.

“How is it that you’re not sure?”

“Well, he asked me out then just sort of…left me hanging.”

“A proficient tease. He sounds like an all-around bad seed.” Dana waggled her eyebrows. “I would go out with him, just for the adventure.”

“I’m not sure I should, even though I kind of said I would.” Laila shook her head. “He has me all confused.”

“Then that’s why you’re into him. He’s different. He’s the guy who makes our straight-arrow golden girl feel like she could get a little tarnished. And he throws you for a loop when you don’t normally get riled up by men.” Dana pointed at her. “That’s why you like him.”

“Technically, I didn’t say yes to a date.”

“But you didn’t refuse.”

“I should’ve.”

“Why?”

Laila gave up trying to make sense out of any of it, then motioned to the suit she was wearing—a black and white advertisement for dedicated businesswomen everywhere. “Because of this, Dane. Because maybe I’m a little…”

“Bored with it all?”

Nodding, Laila leaned her head against a wooden reinforcement by the door. All around, her office seemed so bland, with its chrome touches, the fake potted flowers in strategic places. Real ones would’ve been prettier, but it took commitment to maintain them.

“I know, life’s rough,” Dana said. “Every man wants the beauty queen. It must be a slog, fending them all off.”

“You know what I mean by bored.”

“Yeah. And I’d have some compassion if you weren’t you.”

She knew her friend didn’t mean anything cruel by that; Laila had tried all her life not to be smug about her looks, appreciating what God had given her while always working for more.

“I have to say, though,” Dana said, “that when the Pritchett boys and then this Traub fellow proposed at Miss Frontier Days, I did feel for you. I actually regretted entering you into the pageant…for about two minutes.”

“No major harm done.”

“So if he does take you out, where do you think it’ll be?” Dana asked, not even remotely off the subject of Jackson. “Bowling? Cow-tipping in the fields?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’ve totally been thinking about your choices.”

Lying was futile, and Dana was smirking now.

“What?” Laila asked.

“You’re fidgety about this. Laila Cates, I’ve never seen you so nervous, not even back in our junior year, when you had your very first date, with Gary Scott.”

Nervous? Her?

Couldn’t be.

Laila opened the door, smiling caustically at her friend. “Isn’t it time for you to get back to the loan desk?”

Dana smoothed down her red skirt and headed for the exit. “You’re affected, Laila. A-F-F-E-C-T-E-D.”

And she left, still smirking.

Laila tried to get back to the paperwork on her desk, plus the million-and-one to-do items on her list, but she just couldn’t focus on work. So it was almost a relief when she saw the bank’s elderly owner, Mike Trudeau, walking by the windows of her office.

She’d been waiting for her boss to come in for hours and, even before she went to him, she marked him off her to-do list, then rose from her seat. With a smooth gait, she went outside, following him to his own office, which was decorated with a huntsman’s touch, featuring kitschy, homey things like a mallard clock and a painting of buffalo roaming a prairie.

He was standing behind his desk, accessing his computer when she walked in.

“Morning, Laila.”

Casual, friendly, with the silver hair of a grandpa…He shouldn’t have intimidated Laila in the least, especially since he’d shown up to check in on his business dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, just as laid-back as usual.