Barbara Dunlop - In Bed With The Wrangler

“His name is Hargrove Alston,” she found herself telling Royce.

Royce gave a nod of thanks to the man and lifted both glasses. “Shall we find a table?”

The suggestion startled Amber. She gave a guilty glance around the lounge, feeling like an unfaithful barfly. But nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to them.

She’d started dating Hargrove when she was eighteen, so she’d never taken up with a stranger in a bar. Not that Royce was a stranger. He was the best man, brother of her father’s business associate. It was a completely different thing than encouraging a stranger.

She slipped off the bar stool. “Sure.”

At a quiet, corner table, Royce set their drinks down. He pulled one of the padded armchairs out for her, and she eased into the smooth, burgundy leather, crossing her legs and tugging her gold dress to midthigh.

“Hargrove Alston?” he asked as he took the seat opposite, moving the tiny table lamp to one side so their view of each other was unobstructed.

“He’s going to run for the U.S. Senate.”

“You’re marrying a politician?”

“Not necessarily-” She cut herself short. Wow. How had that turned into real words? “I mean, he hasn’t been elected yet,” she quickly qualified.

“And what do you do?” asked Royce.

Amber pursed her lips and lifted the fresh drink. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

She shook her head. It was, sadly, the truth. “I graduated University of Chicago,” she offered.

“Fine Arts?” he asked.

“Public Administration. An honors degree.” It had seemed like a good idea, given Hargrove’s political aspirations. At least she’d be in a position to understand the complexities of his work.

“You’ve got my attention,” said Royce, with a look of admiration.

“Only just now?” she joked. But the moment the words were out, she realized what she’d done. She was flirting with Royce.

His blue eyes twinkled with awareness. Then they darkened and simmered. He eased forward. “Amber, you had my attention the second I laid eyes on you.”

She stilled, savoring the sound of her name, wrapping her mind around his words as a dangerous warmth sizzled up inside her. The rest of the room disappeared as seconds ticked by, while he waited for her response.

Then his smiled softened, and the predatory gleam went out of his eyes. “I take it that was an accident?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted.

“Well, let me know when you decide.”

If flirting with him wasn’t an accident, it was definitely a mistake. She needed to get herself back under control. “Tell me about Montana,” she tried. “I’ve never been there.”

He drew back, tilting his head to one side for a second, then obviously deciding to let her off the hook. “What do you want to know?”

“Your ranch,” she rushed on. “Tell me about your ranch.”

“We have cattle.”

A cocktail waitress set a small bowl of mixed nuts on the table and took note of their drink levels as Royce thanked her.

“How many?” asked Amber as the woman strode away.

“Around fifty thousand head.”

“That’s a lot of cows to babysit.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Horses?” she prompted, determined to keep the conversation innocuous.

“Hundreds.”

She plucked an almond from the clear bowl. “I took dressage lessons when I was eleven.”

His wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. “In Chicago?”

“Birmingham Stables.” She nibbled on the end of the nut. “I didn’t last long. I wasn’t crazy about sweat and manure.”

“You’d hate Montana.”

“Maybe not. Tell me something else about it.”

“My sister has a horse ranch up in the hills. It has huge meadows with millions of wildflowers.”

“Wildflowers are nice.” Amber was pretty sure she’d like fields of wildflowers. “What else?”

“She jumps Hanoverians.”

“Really? Is she good?”

“We expect her to make the next Olympic team.”

“I bet she loves it.” Amber tried to imagine what it would be like to be so passionate about something that you were one of the best in the world.

Royce nodded. “Ever since she was five.” The glow in his eyes showed his pride in his sister.

Amber sighed and took a second almond. “I wish I loved something.”

He considered her words for a few seconds. “Everybody loves something.”

She dared to meet his eyes and rest there. “What do you love?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Going Mach 1 in a Gulfstream. On a clear night. Over the Nevada desert.”

“Get to do it often?”

“Not often enough.”

Amber couldn’t help but smile. “Are you good?”

His gaze flicked to the low neckline of her dress as his voice turned to a rumble. “I am very, very good.”

“You are very, very bad,” she countered, with a waggle of her finger.

He grinned unrepentantly, and the warmth sizzled up inside her all over again.

“Your turn,” he told her.

She didn’t understand.

“What do you love?”

Now, there was a question.

She bought herself some time by taking a sip of her drink.

“Designer shoes,” she decided, setting the long-stemmed glass back down on the table.

He leaned sideways to peer under the table. “Liar.”

“What do you mean?” She stretched out a leg to show off her black, stiletto sandals.

“I’ve dated women with a shoe fetish.”

“I never said I had a fetish.”

“Yours are unpretentious.” Before she knew it, he’d scooped her foot onto his knee. “And there’s a frayed spot on the strap.” His thumb brushed her ankle as he gestured. “You’ve worn them more than twice.”

“I didn’t say I was extravagant about it.” She desperately tried to ignore the warmth of his hand, but her pulse had jumped, and she could feel moisture forming at her hairline.

“Try again,” he told her.

“Birthday cake.” She was more honest this time. “Three layers with sickly, sugary buttercream icing and bright pink rosebuds.”

He laughed and set her foot back on the floor.

Thank goodness.

“How old are you?” he asked, scooping a handful of nuts.

“Twenty-two. You?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why?”

She shrugged, hesitated, then plunged in. “Hargrove is thirty-three, and he seems a lot older than you.”

“That’s because I’m a pilot-daring and carefree. He’s a politician-staid and uptight. No comparison, really.”

“You’ve never even met him.” Yet the analysis was frighteningly accurate.

Royce’s expression turned serious. “Why are you hiding out?”

“What?”

“When I first saw you over at the bar, you said you were hiding out. From what?”

What, indeed.

Amber took a deep breath, smoothing both palms in parallel over her hair. She scrunched her eyes shut for a long moment.

She was hiding out from the glowing bride, the happy guests and the pervasive joy of happily-ever-after.

But even as she rolled the explanation around, she knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t begrudge Melissa her happiness.

Truth was, she was hiding out from herself, from the notion that she was living a lie, from the realization that she’d wrapped her life around a man she didn’t love.

The truth was both frightening and exhausting, and she needed time to figure it all out. More than an evening. More than a day. Even more than a weekend.

She needed to come to terms with the colossal mess she’d made of her life and decide where to go next. Ironic, really. Where Royce dreaded his ranch in Montana, she’d give anything-

Her eyes popped open, and she blinked him into focus. “Take me with you.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Take me with you to Montana.” Nobody would look for her in Montana. She’d be free of dress fittings and florists and calligraphers. No more gift registries or parties or travel agents.

No more Hargrove.

The thought took a weight off her shoulders, and the knot in her stomach broke free. Not good.

“Are you joking?” asked Royce.

“No.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” Was she crazy? This certainly felt insane. Unfortunately, it also felt frighteningly right.

“I’m not taking an engaged woman with me to Montana.”

“Why not?”

He held out his palms, gesturing in the general vicinity of her neckline and the rest of her dress. “Because…Because…Well, because your fiancé would kill me, for one.”

“I won’t tell him.”

“Right. That plan always ends well.”

“I’m serious. He’ll never know.”

“Forget it.”

No. She wouldn’t forget it. This was the first idea in weeks that had felt right to her.

She pulled off her diamond ring, setting it on the table between them. “There. No more fiancé. No more problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be on your finger to count.”

“Yeah?” she challenged.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“What if I wasn’t engaged?” Her words cut to absolute silence between them. The other sounds in the room muted, and time slowed down.

His gaze took a methodical trip from her cleavage to her waist, then backtracked to her eyes. “Sweetheart, if you weren’t engaged, I’d say fasten your seat belt.”

She snapped open her handbag. “Then how about this?” Retrieving her slim, silver cell phone, she typed a quick message and handed it over to Royce.

He squinted in the dim light, brows going up as he read the typed words.

I’m so sorry. I can’t marry you. I need some time to think.

“Press Send,” she told him. “Press Send, and take me to Montana.”

“There you are, pumpkin.” Amber’s father stepped up behind her, and his broad hand came down on her shoulder.

Shock rushed straight from her brain all the way to her toes. She whipped her head around to look up. “Daddy?”

“The limo’s at the curb.” Her father’s glance went to Royce.

Royce placed the cell phone facedown on the table and stood up to hold out his hand. “Royce Ryder. Jared’s brother.”

Her father shook. “David Hutton. We met briefly in the receiving line.”

“Good to see you again, sir.”

“You’ve been entertaining my daughter?”

“The other way around,” said Royce, his gaze going to Amber. “She’s an interesting woman. You must be proud.”

Her father gave her shoulder a squeeze. “We certainly are. But it’s getting late, honey. We need to get home.”

No, Amber wanted to yell. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay here with Royce and completely change her life. She wanted to break it off with Hargrove and escape to Montana. She truly did.

Royce picked up the phone and slipped it back into her purse, clicking the purse shut with finality then handing it to her. “It was fun meeting you.”

Amber opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Her father scooped a hand under her elbow and gently urged her to her feet.

She stared at Royce, trying to convey her desperation, hoping he’d understand the look in her eyes and do something to help her. But he didn’t. And her father took a step, and she took a step. And another, and another.

“Amber?” Royce called, and relief shot though her. He knew. He understood. He was coming to her rescue.

But when she turned, he was holding out her engagement ring.

“Amber,” her father admonished, shock clear in his tone.

“My hands were swelling,” she answered lamely.

Royce didn’t bother making eye contact as he dropped the diamond into the palm of her hand.

“Who was that?” Stephanie’s voice startled Royce as he watched Amber exit the lounge on her father’s arm.

Tearing his eyes from the supple figure beneath the gold-and-red dress, he turned to face his sister. Stephanie looked young and unusually feminine in her ice-pink, strapless, satin bridesmaid dress. It had a full, flowing, knee-length skirt and a wide, white sash that matched her dangling, satin-bead earrings.

“Are all women crazy?” he asked, trying to recall the last time he’d seen Stephanie in anything other than riding clothes.

“Yes, we are,” she answered without hesitation, linking her arm with his. “So you probably don’t want to upset us. Like, for example, turning down our perfectly reasonable requests.”

Royce sighed, steering her back to the table as he pushed the bizarre conversation with Amber out of his mind. “What do you want, Steph?”

“A million dollars.”

“No.”

“Hey,” she said, sliding into Amber’s vacated seat as the cocktail waitress removed the empty martini glass. She kicked off one sandal and tucked her ankle under the opposite thigh on the roomy chair. “I’m a woman on the edge here.”

“On the edge of what?” He pushed his half-full drink away. Had Amber’s text message been an elaborate joke? If so, how warped was her sense of humor?