Good Time Cowboy

“Good afternoon,” Wyatt returned, leaning back in his chair and tipping his cowboy hat back on his forehead.

“I’m here to discuss brochures,” she said, feeling her lips tighten up as she spoke the words.

It was weird. Standing in front of them in a pencil skirt, wearing high heels and standing like she had a rod bolted into her spine.

She’d trained herself to be this way. She’d grown up in a trailer park with hand-me-down clothes and a mind-set of fending for herself. She might not have learned how to be fancy growing up, but she’d learned to take care of herself.

When she’d met Damien, she’d put her survival skills to good use. He’d paid attention to her, given her the kind of love she’d imagined a girl like her could never earn. In return, she’d figured out how to blend into his world. She’d wanted to be an asset to him, not a disadvantage. So she’d put this sleek, beautiful armor on.

She was still doing it now. But she ran a winery, so honestly, the learned behavior was on theme.

“You could have just sent me an email,” Wyatt said.

“I did,” she responded, through clenched teeth. “I sent two emails. A week ago. You didn’t respond to them.”

“Sorry, I don’t check my email all that often.”

“Then why did you suggest that as a method of communication?”

“Better than any other.”

“I have brochures,” Lindy said, reaching into her purse and pulling out two of the aforementioned items.

They had decided that they were going to do two-sided brochures that would be placed in the cabins at Get Out of Dodge and in the tasting rooms for Grassroots. But, she needed Wyatt to approve them before she had them printed.

“Lindy, I really don’t care about the font or whatever is on a brochure.”

“Well, I need you to care.”

Grant, who she had always liked, extended his hand. “I’ll have a look,” he said.

She shot Wyatt a triumphant glare and walked across the room, placing one in Grant’s hand. “That’s option one,” she said.

“Let me see,” Bennett said.

She had always liked Bennett too.

Bennett was the youngest of the Dodge brothers, newly engaged, and a veterinarian, well respected in the community of Gold Valley.

Grant worked on the ranch. A widower, he was talked about often in hushed tones the moment he left the room. But then, his romance with his late wife had made literal headlines at the time. A teenager marrying his dying high school sweetheart. It made for a great story. Though, it had been something of a crushing reality. And one that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

She had an inkling of how that felt. Not the grief part. But the being a topic of conversation part.

She was the divorced one. People whispered about her behind their hands, talked about what a shame it was that husband of hers had turned out to be a no-account. Or they talked about how that had been her plan all along. A gold digger. Nothing but trailer trash who had married above herself and hadn’t been able to keep the man happy. Who had taken him for all he had, and had ended up with money she hadn’t earned.

The honorable Leighton family should never have been parted from their family property. Obviously. Regardless of the fact that a judge had disagreed with that assessment.

Yes, she knew what it was like to be whispered about.

Sadly, she could find no such connection, empathy or respect for Wyatt.

But then, in fairness, he didn’t try to earn it.

Finally, Wyatt stood up, slowly. And as he did, her mouth went dry. He was tall. Very, very tall. The tallest of all of the brothers, which was saying something, as they were all over six feet. She was used to large, strapping men. Hell, her brother was one.

But Wyatt Dodge was not her brother. He was infuriating. He was obnoxious. He was friends with Damien.

He was definitely not her brother.

And not ugly. Regrettably.

Not even close.

Wyatt Dodge was one of the most magnetic men she had ever met.

Grant and Bennett were handsome like movie stars. Grant bearded, Bennett clean-shaven. Symmetrical. Brown eyes and square jaws and all of that. Wyatt was rugged. He had a scar running through his chin that she was sure he had gotten doing something stupid, because bull riders never did much of anything smart.

He always had just a little bit of stubble on that firm jaw of his, and it looked like it would be prickly if she touched it. His boots were always dusty, and his jeans usually had holes. Unless he was dressed up, and then he put on some slightly nicer jeans and boots that she suspected were made from snake. She wished she didn’t know that. She wished that she hadn’t retained those details.

She knew that he had more than one black cowboy hat, though you could be forgiven for thinking they were all the same. And that he had one that was tan, which usually went with his nicer clothes.

She also had the first moment they’d met branded into her memory.

She knew way too much about him, having seen him from afar over the years when Damien was doing PR for the circuit and she was still his wife.

And then, she had relearned a lot of it over these past couple of months while the two of them had been forging something of a business relationship.

None of it made her feel at ease around him. She was decidedly easeless in his presence, and she didn’t know what to do about it.

He reached out and took both brochures from his brothers, his large, weathered hands making the brochures look...well, wrong.

Like maybe he needed information carved on a stump of wood with some kind of sharp, rudimentary object.

Damien had been something of a rhinestone cowboy. He dressed the part, but that was so he fit into his surroundings. He didn’t do ranch work.

Wyatt was as real as it got.

And it shouldn’t matter to her at all. Only in the sense that it was probably good for business. And the more business that came out to the ranch, the more traffic it would drive to Grassroots.

Plus, they had a deal. Get Out of Dodge was going to serve Grassroots wine exclusively, and that would draw people in to buy more as well.

He turned the pamphlets over, examining them, and for some reason, Lindy felt that examination in a close personal way. She shifted awkwardly, attempting to ignore the strange, hollow feeling between her thighs.

“It all looks good to me, Melinda,” he said, using her full name, which no one ever did. He only knew it because they had gone out drinking once after a big win for Wyatt had resulted in a good endorsement deal that Damien had helped Wyatt net. And the subject of middle names had come up, which had brought up the subject of her full name.

And now, years on, he sometimes used it to irritate the hell out of her.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping everything smooth and serene on the surface, while internally she was flipping him both middle fingers.