So Tough to Tame (Jackson Hole 3)

Sounded fair to him. Walker headed for the tack room first, to wash his hands and scrub a damp towel over his face and neck to catch any stray dust or straw. He took off his shirt and shook it out for the same reason, then sniffed to be sure he still smelled decent. But leading horses around in a circle was hardly strenuous activity. He still smelled fine, thank God, so he shrugged his shirt back on, made sure he looked presentable and headed off to dance for money.

“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. He’d never thought this would be on his résumé. At least he wasn’t dancing for tips, though. He assumed.

The barn was darker inside now, and more sparkly, but it didn’t take him long to spot an older woman in a lacy dress tapping her foot next to the dance floor. “Ma’am,” he said as he approached. “Care for a turn around the floor?”

Three dance partners later, he spotted a miracle. It was Charlie, of all things, standing only a few feet away in a stunning low-cut silver top, laughing at something with the man beside her. Walker nearly stumbled during the waltz, but caught himself just in time to make a joke to his partner about tripping over his own boots. She patted his butt in response. Fair enough.

When the song ended, he wound his way back to the spot where he’d seen Charlie. She was gone, but he caught the flash of her silver top moving through the crowd and followed as she made her way toward the bar.

r /> Her shirt was a thin, metallic fabric that flowed around her as she walked, flashing through the crowd like the glimpse of trout beneath water. “Charlie!”

She swung toward him, the shirt clinging now, reminding him of the shape of her body beneath her clothes. “Walker?” Her face lit up and she jumped forward to give him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Working. What are you doing here?”

“The same. Networking for the resort.” The flowing sleeve of her shirt started to slide down her shoulder.

“Here.” Walker slipped it back up, watching his rough fingers against her smooth skin, entranced for a moment. “It’s good to see you.” He smoothed his thumb over her collarbone, fascinated by the contrast. She was so soft. So damn soft. It was as if they weren’t even the same species.

Her hand came up to cover his and hold his fingers there.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked.

“Right now?”

“It’s just a two-step.”

She shook her head. “I’m working.”

He didn’t want to take no for an answer. “Me, too. Come on.” He tugged her toward the dance floor as she laughed.

“Maybe one dance.”

“Just follow me,” he said, but before moving any farther, he stopped, pulled her against him and kissed her. It didn’t occur to him that he had no right to. Not until she stiffened against him and he thought she might pull away. These were her people...coworkers and potential clients and people in higher social circles than he’d ever be. She couldn’t be seen kissing the help. But before he had time to regret it, Charlie relaxed, and her hand curled around his wrist, and she kissed him back.

The relief that swelled inside him felt surprisingly close to his heart. He’d never be her man, but at least he could have this for a while. That was enough.

* * *

WALKER’S MOUTH BRUSHED hers again, and Charlie sighed against him. She wanted to melt into him. She wanted to slide his hand down to her breast and open her mouth for his tongue and make him wild. She couldn’t even believe he was here, and now she was weak-kneed and wet for him, before even a minute had passed.

“Charlie,” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

He tugged her forward and she followed, still dreaming of more, but then she realized he was leading her toward the dance floor again. “I’ve never seen you dance, Walker.”

He only grinned and swung her into his arms. “It’s not so hard.”

One of his hands curled around hers, and the other curved around the nape of her neck. “Ready?”

Walker stepped her into the flow of dancers. Considering that she’d been dancing at the saloon the night before, she felt oddly stiff as she moved. It was Walker, after all. And she’d spent quite a few hours of her teenage life imagining that he might ask her to dance at homecoming or some other formal. This seemed momentous.

He must have felt her tension, because he whispered, “Relax, Charlie.”

She tried to. She made herself stop thinking. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t see the horror on his face when he realized his mistake and made an excuse to dance her back to the sidelines. In high school, she’d been an athlete, never a dancer, never the pretty, graceful girl. She’d feared those school dances just as much as she’d hoped for that attention.

But this wasn’t high school, she reminded herself. She was a girl who danced now. She was a girl who faced her fears. And now...