Her Cowboy's Promise (Fly Creek) Page 2

  She waved the ridiculous notion away. Scratching an itch was stupid. Completely against her life the past three years. A life that she existed rather than participated in. Scratching was stupid. He was one cowboy who happened to look good and who more importantly had happened to look. So what?

  And yet when she opened a drawer to grab some pajama pants, her hand came out with a pair of jeans.

  “Nope. Not going to happen.”

  She replaced the jeans and found the pajama pants. She slid into bed, turned off the lights, and went through her deep breathing and stretches. Everything would right itself. Her memories would return. Her grief-fueled life was exactly as she wanted it to be.

  But when Emily finally closed her eyes, the smile that appeared belonged to a blue-eyed cowboy who had chosen to really look at her.

  …

  On the one hand, having Shelby take Adam up on the offer to deliver Emily’s payment was another boon to his otherwise stagnant plan. On the other was guilt stemming from his excitement to see her again. He needed to focus on the guilt. Drew had loved her despite the circumstances leading to their relationship. His cousin had asked him for one thing—make sure she moved on. Nowhere did that imply acting on an attraction.

  Her store sat smack dab in the middle of Miller Street, the main road through town. Huge picture windows let in sunlight and gave whoever chose to look a view of not only her offerings but also the brick walls that showcased artwork. He guessed hers, but then again maybe she allowed others to display as well.

  Pulling into a spot a block away, he grabbed the envelope off the dash and jumped out. He’d tried to come up with a plan, but nothing seemed appropriate. Asking her to do anything smacked of a date. Baby steps for a woman locked in grief seemed right, but what constituted baby steps when time was ticking?

  Maybe the best he could hope for today was another smile.

  “Mr. Conley?”

  He managed not to swear as he spun around to greet Polly Brooks and her granddaughter, Peyton.

  “Ladies.” He tipped his hat and grinned. He knew dimples were about the only thing that might get him out of this encounter without adding to the Fly Creek rumor mill. Except, one glance at Peyton’s narrowed gaze and pursed lips, and he realized he’d played the wrong hand with the Ice Queen.

  “It’s rare to see one of you hands walking the street in the middle of the week. Is it your day off?”

  “No, ma’am. Just running an errand for Shelby.”

  “Really?” Peyton asked. “She knew I was coming to town.”

  Adam ignored the now calculating gleam in Peyton’s green gaze.

  “Just what errand has you on Miller Street?” Polly asked, moving closer and peering down at the envelope crushed in his hand.

  “Dropping off payment to Miss White. Picked up the painting yesterday and forgot it. My mistake, my fix.” He smiled again. “Now if you lovely ladies will excuse me, I need to drop this off and get back to my rides this afternoon.”

  Nodding at both, he didn’t wait for a response and hurried toward the Painted Glass’s door. He didn’t move fast enough to miss hearing Polly say, “That’s just odd all around, don’t you think?”

  Great, now he had three women all zeroed in on him and his actions. His actions before he left in September were going to cause enough trouble. In fact, his job in regards to Emily might have just gotten that much more complicated.

  He pushed open the door, the cowbell once again alerting his arrival, only this time, Emily stood in front of the register, the sun pouring through the windows and bathing one half of her in filtered light. He shouldn’t notice. Shouldn’t see the beauty encased in a fragile shell. Shouldn’t pay attention to the outline of her figure hinted at through sheer cotton.

  She glanced up and all the color left her face. “What are you doing here?”

  The panic was evident, although he had no idea what his presence had to do with it. Baby steps seemed too high a bar to aim for. Perhaps just a drop and run.

  He held up the envelope, taking small steps in her direction. “Shelby asked me to drop your check off. I should have brought it yesterday when I picked up the painting.”

  Her lips formed an “oh” but no sound came out.

  Adam laid it down at the same time as she reached for it, and her fingers brushed the top of his hand. He closed his eyes, refusing to meet her gaze. Refusing to acknowledge the tremor in her fingers or her sucked in breath. He’d felt that brush to the tip of his boots, leaving awareness in its wake. Awareness that needed to be shut down because she was a promise, a goal, a means to an end. She was a checkmark to getting out of Fly Creek.

  He stepped back and ran his hands down his jeans. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

  “Wait.”

  He glanced up. Huge mistake. She’d come from around the counter, and her pale face was now flushed with pink. Her eyes, the ones he’d looked into yesterday and seen the grief and something more, a wanting, searched his face. Today that wanting was more powerful than the cloud. Today her hazel eyes looked brighter and full of curiosity.

  “How did the delivery go?”

  “Good. Shelby’s pleased and happy to see it hanging in the lobby.” He ran a hand down his neck. “It’s a pretty spectacular piece.”

  Her face lit up. Yesterday had been mere sparklers. This morning was the grand finale at a Fourth of July event. It was a glimmer of the woman he bet Drew had fallen in love with. It was what he needed her to be all the time. Engaged with her world and happy. All by September.

  “I’m glad she’s happy.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’ll send some business my way. Did you make sure to use the wire in the back to hang it?”

  Adam nodded. “Shelby mentioned something about art classes. You should take her up on it.”

  The smile dissolved. The spark extinguished. He’d forgotten about baby steps and taken a leap off the cliff.

  She picked at the hem of her shirt. “The shop keeps me really busy.”

  “I’m sure it does.” And then because he figured he’d already jumped, “Have you taught classes before?”

  She shook her head and then nodded. He waited to see what might be the right answer but she continued to pick at her shirt.

  “Well, maybe classes are something to consider for the future?”

  “Maybe,” she said, but Adam knew it was for show. This woman wasn’t focusing on a future. This woman was existing. Smiles might be a step, but he had a long way to travel before his promise was fulfilled.

  She headed back around the counter, the shut-down Emily once again in charge. “Thanks for bringing it by.”

  “No problem. See ya around.”

  The door closed behind him, and Adam forced hot summer air into his lungs. He didn’t know whether to count this encounter as a win or a bonafide mess and which scared him more.

  Chapter Three

  Another swell of river water raised her up.

  “DREW!”

  Kicking furiously, she tried to turn toward the overturned canoe, but the river current pulled her away. Another swell, another huge breath.

  “Drew!”

  “I love you, Emily,” floated along the water.

  Emily started and shoved the memory back deep inside.

  The whiskey came back into focus. The sounds of the Wooden Nickel bar rushed by her ears like a lap at Talladega. Before she slid off the stool and walked right out the door, Emily tightened her hold around the tumbler and lifted it to her mouth. One large swig later, and the amber liquid lit a fire down her throat and around her belly, relaxing the instinct to bolt and allowing her another moment to reinforce all the reasons she was here in the first place. Or rather the one reason she’d come. Scratch. That. Itch. She forced her eyes not to find her target who was hanging out somewhere behind her.

  “Do you want another?”

  She lifted her gaze and nodded, never really focusing on the woman whose name she was pretty sure was Candy.

&nbs
p; The door opened, and three people spilled across the threshold. Faces familiar yet not friends or even acquaintances. One met her gaze, and the widened eyes weren’t unexpected. Emily didn’t come here. Or, well, she hadn’t come here in the three years since she’d moved to Fly Creek. But the rules she’d lived by to manage her grief had changed. Or maybe she had changed. Two brief interactions with a cowboy opened the slightest glimmer of a chance. A chance to reacquaint herself to physical need.

  Emotionally, she would never be whole again, something she’d made peace with several years ago. But her twenty-seven-year-old body had reawakened physically, and it had focused on a pair of hands and a set of knowing baby blues. And no matter how hard she tried over the past three days to repress the need and slip back into her grief, she was thwarted. Adam Conley had fractured her shell just enough to let sensations, or more specifically the desire for them, to slither right in.

  She wanted those hands—wrapped around her in a dance, cradling her face in a sweet kiss. She wanted his eyes to really look at her. See Emily White for the messed up, grief-fueled wreck she was. She wanted…well, it would be a moment-by-moment thing.

  Three years ago, the thought of another man would have buckled her knees in guilt. Hell, even three days ago she would have predicted the same reaction. But now? Now, it seemed time to feed the side of her she’d neglected since that day. Her hand tightened on the tumbler. It would always be known as “That Day.”

  The band started tuning, and a wave of movement filtered across the wooden floor as everyone partnered up. Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “You wanna dance?”

  Emily slid around on the stool and faced her offer, scrambling for the man’s name. He had visited the shop with his sister a couple of times. “Thanks for asking, Chuck, but I think I’m going to warm this stool a little while longer. Maybe later?”

  Tipping his hat, Chuck smiled and approached Becky Jane, the local veterinarian. The band finished warming up, and the first chords danced across the room as Chuck twirled Becky into a two-step, falling behind the other couples moving about the floor.

  Emily followed the dips and sways, a small smile forming, but a dark-haired guy in plaid had that smile dissolving on a burst of pain. Emily sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. He looked like Drew. It put her right back in the water, fighting to find him. She’d gotten better over the years. She knew her trigger points, but she’d also been hiding, so it was easier to avoid them. Tonight she was out, and triggers could be anywhere.

  She should go. She should forget this night and Adam Conley and his damn hands. It would be easy to let herself continue the way she had.

  Rubbing her palms down her jeans, Emily nodded firmly to herself. She could do this. She wanted to do this. And she would continue down the path she’d been on. This was just a momentary, lust-directed detour around a stump.

  She let her gaze sweep across the couples and on to the upper area of tables. Adam was there, leaning against the split rail, one hand cradling a Corona, the other tucked in his back pocket. Heat flushed her body, and she wriggled her shoulders in anticipation.

  Why him and why now she’d asked herself over and over the past three days. It seemed ironic that the moment of change in her life happened while she tried desperately to hold on to the memories of the worst day of her life.

  Adam laughed, and Emily admired the carefree attitude. It seemed so easy. Had she laughed recently? No, but she’d wanted to that first day in the store with him.

  Yep, things had changed. But that didn’t mean a permanent change. Just a one-night throw-off. Then right back into the shell.

  She glanced around and noted some of the looks directed at her. She was used to it, although not in such a public setting. After all, she was the eccentric owner of the Painted Glass, an art gallery and supply store. She ran a business and not much else. She kept to herself, helped out when she could, but socially was as invisible as the black ice that coated the roadways during winter. And probably as welcome.

  She shrugged and looked down at the tumbler. Gossip didn’t bother her. Gossip wasn’t why she ran away three years ago. She could handle gossip as well as she used to handle five-year-olds with paintbrushes. No, it was pity that broke through her hardened shell and spilled every ounce of hurt out on the sidewalk like shards of bloodied glass.

  But there would be no pity tonight.

  Adam’s two visits to the store opened up a small thread of curiosity. Of exploring one night with a man who made her want to throw off her shell and poke her head into the world of the living. A man who had made her want to laugh. A man whose dimpled smile instantly appeared when she thought of it.

  So tonight there would be dancing and kissing with a cowboy. An unmarried and, as far as she knew, unattached cowboy. Of course, he’d only been in the town just shy of six weeks, but the way Fly Creek worked, if you went out with someone on a Friday, word had spread by the time you were trying for that good-night kiss. And no word had reached her ears.

  Emily glanced his way again. Adam finished his beer and set it down on the tray of a passing waitress. Tonight, he wore a simple gray shirt molded to his body. It tapered into the waistband of jeans wrapped around an ass so perfect it was no wonder every female eye in the bar seemed drawn to it. Perched atop his mess of curls was the requisite Stetson everyone inside the Wooden Nickel wore. Her body reacted to the visual appraisal, the pull beginning low in her belly and fanning its way through her limbs until her fingers itched to touch him.

  She caught Candy’s eye, ordered a Corona, and slid off the stool on to two steady, if not nervous, feet. She knew she was being dramatic, but it was as if her exposed back drew every pair of eyes. Lord, was she providing the Wagon Train fodder for tomorrow morning. Hell, probably for tonight as well, but it didn’t matter.

  Coming up behind him, she said, “Hey, Cowboy.”

  Emily extended the bottle in Adam’s direction, waiting for his gaze to meet hers. When it did, she released some of the tension she held. The brightened blue eyes and faint lift to his lips told her he at least wasn’t unhappy to see her.

  Adam took the beer from her hands, careful to avoid touching her. The move gave her pause, but a quick glance at his long fingers loosely cradling the bottle had her tucking the small doubt away and reinforcing her goal. If her timing was right, she had about a minute of small talk to get through and then came her next move. Bold thy name was Emily White.

  “Thanks.” He tipped the beer in her direction.

  “You’re welcome.”

  His gaze dropped and scanned the dance floor. “You here with friends?”

  “No.”

  He nodded and waved to a group of guys in the far corner.

  Lord, had she read this whole thing wrong? Sure, she was rusty and her heart wasn’t even in the same solar system as the rest of her, but her heart had nothing to do with tonight. She swore she’d noticed the interest the other day. Adam checking her out when he thought she wasn’t looking. Damn, now he seemed to be…

  “Are you looking for someone? Hot date tonight?”

  His blue eyes met hers and one brow lifted. On cue, the song ended, and the beginning strains of a slow dance strummed out on the guitar.

  “No date.”

  She plucked his beer out of his hands and placed it on the table. “Good to hear. Let’s dance.”

  …

  Adam let Emily lead him to the dance floor while his brain played catch up and guess the picture at the same time. Emily White was here, in public, being social. He didn’t know what to do with the abrupt change of focus. Or the fact that the attraction between them, the one he’d convinced his body to forget, was suddenly flaring bright. That way was madness with a whole lot of crazy and guilt mixed in.

  They reached the corner of the floor, and she turned readily into his body, leaving them a breath away from each other. Sliding an arm around her, his fingers brushed the smooth skin of her exposed bac
k, and nerves he hadn’t known he possessed shouted, “woo-hoo.” She tensed and then moved closer, relaxing in his hold as she laid her head on his shoulder. Their height was almost identical, and Adam focused on the wood-paneled wall while his mind whirled, trying to make sense of the moment.

  Six weeks he’d been in Fly Creek. Interacted with her on two occasions. Sure, he’d kept tabs on her before that. After all, how could he keep his promise if he didn’t know anything about her? How could he plan if he didn’t evaluate the situation? But never in his six weeks had he noticed her desire to interact socially with anyone, including him.

  She appeared to be the resident loner. Solitary even in a crowd. He learned that she worked long hours, contributed to the town financially as she could, but wasn’t social beyond being nice. But tonight she was here, in his arms, dressed to kill, and sending his body into a dilemma of ethical proportions.

  Emily shifted, her chest rubbing against him, and his fingers pressed tighter on her spine. He needed a plan. A way out of any offer she might make that would still leave the door open for him to spend more time with her. He needed to spend more time with her if he was to keep his promise.

  That promise was the only thing standing between him and his leaving. Because the one thing he knew for sure was that the home he so desperately sought couldn’t be found in a town like Fly Creek.

  He rested his cheek on Emily’s hair. The scent reminded him of the beach back east. She was warm in his arms, light and supple just like her long, lean body. No doubt a product of the yoga he’d learned she preferred.

  None of the sensations pulsing through his veins helped his brain come up with a way forward. What Adam needed was for Emily and him to be friends. The kind that involved no benefits, no matter what his body begged for.

  Even as they danced across the planked floor his mind scrambled to answer why now? Why tonight? Their first encounter at the shop hadn’t seemed like anything more than a business transaction. An awkward, fumbling one, but still nothing earth shattering. The next day they’d shared that moment. The slight change in awareness, but she’d retreated almost immediately. Neither instance could have predicted her showing up to the local bar on a Friday night dressed to kill and apparently targeting him.