Cathy Thacker - One Wild Cowboy and A Cowboy To Marry - One Wild Cowboy / A Cowboy to Marry

Dylan exhaled. “You reap what you sow, sweetheart.”

The warning in his tone sent a chill down her spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. “I’m not interested in being one of your little projects.”

Despite her desire to stay cool, calm and collected, Emily’s heart beat faster. “Excuse me?”

Dylan eyed her seriously. “I wasn’t in town five minutes before I heard all about how the beautiful Emily McCabe likes to bring home ‘strays’ and fix ’em up...and then gets them to fall in love with her before she dumps them.”

More like the guys dumped me, Emily thought glumly.

But not about to correct Dylan on that, she let the misconception stand.

She gave him an arch look and started to turn away. “I don’t deny I was trying to help you, too.” My mistake!

He caught her by the elbow and reeled her back. “By ensnaring me in your web so you could make me over, too?”

“You could use a few more manners, not to mention a haircut and a decent shave,” she said tartly. “But that’s hardly the point.”

He snorted in exasperation. “Then what is?”

“Your horse-training business here in Laramie is only a couple of years older than my business.” Searching for a theory he might accept as plausible, she continued making it up as she went. “I know you’re constantly trying to improve the facilities and equipment on your ranch, and I thought free meals here might help your bottom line.”

He glared at her. “First of all, I’m paid very well for the problem horses I diagnose and train—and I have no shortage of work coming my way. So my bottom line is fine, thank you very much.”

And yet, Emily noted, she had somehow struck a nerve with her mention of money....

Her pulse inexplicably picking up, she angled her head at him. “If business is so good, why don’t you hire some cowboys to help you?”

Dylan grimaced. “I like working alone. I don’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s livelihood. And most important of all, I don’t ever want to invest so much in a piece of property that I can’t pick up and move the whole operation if—and when—I feel like it.”

Emily had the feeling he was talking about much more than just his ranch now. She shook her head in mocking censure. “That’s a crying shame, cowboy. You’ll never put down roots that way. Never belong. Probably never marry and have a family, either!”

Although why that should bother her, she did not know. It wasn’t any of her business!

Dylan’s broad shoulders stiffened. “I don’t want roots. Or marriage. Or any of the happily-ever-afters you’re peddling, because that’s never been for me, either. I want my freedom. Which is why I would never—and I repeat, never—hook up with a down-home family gal like you.”

Emily inhaled the sandalwood-and-spice fragrance of his cologne. “I don’t deny I love my family, but I am my own person.”

A victorious light gleamed in his golden brown eyes. “Then how come they all feel they need to find your boyfriends for you?”

Emily bit down on a most unladylike oath. She threw up her hands in frustration, hating the fact she had to practically beg this temperamental cowpoke to cooperate. But the fix-up currently being engineered by her parents—not to mention those of her three brothers’ machinations—remained a very big problem. One she was determined to solve.

Hopefully, with his help.

Emily inhaled deeply and said in the softest, most feminine voice she possessed, “Look, Dylan, all I ask is that you pretend for just a little while longer that you and I are an item.” She added persuasively, “It shouldn’t be that hard, after the way you just kissed me.”

He lifted an eyebrow, said nothing.

“My offer for free meals at the café still stands.” Telling herself the end justified the means, this once, Emily lifted a hand airily and recklessly gave herself permission to go crazy. “You can have as many breakfasts and lunches as you like...as long as you cooperate with me.” There, that ought to do it. A gal couldn’t get more magnanimous than that.

He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked forward on his toes. “That’s very generous of you, Miss Emily.”

Emily flushed at the sudden moniker of respect. “Thank you.”

He lowered his handsome face until they were nose to nose. “But if I were to agree—and that in itself is a long shot—that is not the payment I want.”

Oh, dear heaven.

How was it he knew just what buttons to push with her? “Then what compensation do you want?” she asked sweetly, fearing she already knew.

“This.”

Bringing his lips even closer, he cupped a hand beneath her chin. Emily could not believe he was about to kiss her again. Or worse, that she was welcoming his attentions! What kind of fool did that make her? She knew this didn’t mean anything to him. Not what it should have anyway, for someone kissing her with this much passion.

Behind them, a bell rang.

Abruptly aware they were no longer alone, Emily turned her head slightly without actually stepping out of the circle of Dylan’s arms. To her dismay, her parents walked in the door.

* * *

DYLAN STEPPED BACK as Shane and Greta McCabe stared at him in mute amazement. He could hardly blame them. What had gotten into him? He was usually so controlled.

Whenever he was around Emily, he acted like a hormone-driven teenager—and she was behaving just as badly. Except right now, she looked as if she wished a hole in the floor would open up so she could sink right through it.

He felt the same.

This was not the way he wanted the respected horse rancher and his accomplished wife to see him. Especially given all he now had at stake, with a soon-to-be-announced deal Emily apparently knew nothing about. Otherwise, Dylan was sure she would have mentioned it.

Not about to apologize for kissing Emily—even if it would smooth over what was an incredibly awkward situation—Dylan nodded at the older couple. He said formally, “Mr. and Mrs. McCabe. Nice to see you.”

“Good to see you, Dylan,” Shane and Greta McCabe replied, in unison.

“Emily.” A cautioning lilt was in Greta McCabe’s tone as she took in her daughter. “Your father and I just met the proprietor of the new restaurant.”

“I hope he’s not the guy you’re planning to fix me up with,” Emily said.

For some reason, Dylan noted, that notion seemed to amuse them.

“Ah—no,” Shane said finally.

Unconvinced, Emily narrowed her eyes at her parents. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Greta said, her tone definitive.

“Because I can see how that would seem to make sense to you,” Emily continued, working up a head of steam. “Me and the new diner owner, becoming a thing.”

“Believe us,” her mother said firmly, “the two of you are not a match your father and I would ever try and make.”

“That’s too bad,” said a smug teenager with trendy, bleached-blond hair, catching the tail end of their conversation as he sauntered in to join them.

He was just under six feet tall, wearing a burnt-orange Cowtown Diner T-shirt, jeans and the most ridiculously expensive and ornate pair of ostrich boots and gold belt buckle Dylan had ever seen.

Ignoring him, the kid grinned at Emily and extended his hand. “Because I would very much like to get to know...and date...you!”

* * *

EMILY’S JAW DROPPED even as she did the polite thing and accepted the proffered greeting.

“Xavier Shillingsworth, owner of the soon-to-be-open Cowtown Diner.” The teen continued holding her hand long after it would have been polite to let go. He leaned in even closer, inundating Emily with expensive cologne. “And you must be the Emily McCabe, head chef and owner of the Daybreak Café, that I’ve heard so much about.”