A Cowboy's Pride

“Dead wrong.” Cole raised his bottle for a drink to shield his expression. Travis was as sharp-eyed as a hawk, reading people and situations in an instant. A good trait for a sheriff. Not so good in a brother when you were hiding something...

Was he covering up feelings for Katie-Lynn?

Attraction—yes. But emotions?

No.

Not a chance.

“I hope so.” Travis’s jaw squared. “Just remember what happened after she left you.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Except you disappearing for three months.”

“I was driving cattle.”

“Sleeping out on the range, never coming home...”

Cole drained the last of his dark malt and handed it to a passing waitress. “Are we done here, Sheriff?”

Travis pinned him with a steady, hard look before nodding. “You’re free to go...with a warning.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t repeat a mistake you already learned from. Anyone messes up once. Doing it twice is just plain stupid.”

“Stupid I’m not,” Cole said, eyeing Katie-Lynn’s animated face as she smiled up at another one of their old high-school friends, her hand on Lyle Carter’s arm.

It didn’t bother him. Not one bit. Yet he found himself closing the distance between them in fast, long strides. “Don’t mean to interrupt. Katie-Lynn, I believe this is our dance?”

Lyle tipped his head, returned another friend’s wave and headed to a crowded pool table.

“Hey... I was talking to him...” Katie-Lynn protested as Cole snagged her around the waist and guided her onto the dance floor.

“Who?” he asked, the side of his mouth hitching up when her expression went blank. “You don’t remember his name.”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“It’ll come to me,” she grumbled.

“Thought you would have forgotten everything about Carbondale.”

“Not everything,” she said obliquely then lined up with the other dancers as Heath’s band swung into “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” “In fact,” she shouted over the driving song, “I’m about to prove I remember more than you by winning our dance-off.”

“Good luck, darlin’,” Cole said in her ear. He tapped the floor with the heel of his left boot twice, then the right along with the hooting, clapping group on the dance floor. “You’ll need it.”

“Don’t think so,” Katie-Lynn hollered back, kicking her left heel up before turning with him, their bodies in sync.

“Not half bad.” They did a grapevine to the right, stopped and clapped. “For a Hollywood-type.”

Katie-Lynn rocked forward four steps, lassoing an invisible rope overhead. “What’s a Hollywood-type according to you?” she asked directly into his ear before they pivoted again.

“All about money. Fame.”

“Nothing wrong with being ambitious,” she shouted as they hopped backward. “You never got that.”

“What about fake?” he challenged once Heath strummed the last note on his six-string. “You changed who you were.”

“For the better.”

“That’s one opinion. Your freckles are scraped off.”

“Lasered.” She shoved loose strands of her white-blond hair off her glistening forehead and squared off against him. “And they’re not gone-gone. If I’m out in the sun without protection, they’ll come back.” She mock-shuddered.

“’Cause looking like your real self would be a fate worse than death, I’m supposing,” he drawled.

“Almost as bad as having to socialize with people instead of cows and cattle dogs,” she countered, her eyes glittering bright blue beneath a black fringe of lashes. “Right?”

“Guess we understand each other.”

A short, humorless laugh escaped her. “Doubtful.”

“Seein’ as we never did.”

“Except at our Say Anything tree,” she added.

Their gazes locked for a brief, heart-pounding moment before she suddenly got engrossed smoothing her shirt fringe.

Sierra gave them both a thumbs-up as Heath strummed the opening counts to “Achy Breaky Heart.” Cole clamped his jaw. He had to beat Katie-Lynn. Otherwise, he’d spend the next couple of weeks up close and personal with her while she bunked on his ranch.

Worse, he’d owe her some sort of favor.

TBD, she’d said.

To be determined...

As they slid, twirled and stomped through the Billy Ray Cyrus tune, his body was acutely conscious of her curvy form beside him. If he closed his eyes, he’d picture them doing these exact steps ten years ago, a couple in love and altar-bound. But love didn’t always guarantee happiness. His pa was a case in point. Close to the band, Boyd ushered Joy Cade through the song, repeating every step while keeping one protective hand on the small of her back.

Cole smiled at the sight of his father’s open, happy expression. It’d been a long time—if ever—since he’d seen Pa smile like that, no worry darkening his eyes, no concern deepening the lines on his face. He’d been miserable married to Cole’s mother, and deserved happiness at long last.

By reopening wounds and stirring up controversy, Katie-Lynn might mess up the former high school sweethearts’ second chance. She’d promised Pa to keep things aboveboard, but Cole wasn’t so trusting.

“You two can dance,” Sierra shouted once the song ended, fingers cupped around her mouth. “Too close to call yet.”

“Do I get extra points for style?” Katie-Lynn angled her borrowed, black, leather-tooled boots. “These feel like walking on clouds. I’m always in heels.”