Kiss Me Cowboy (Cowboys of Crested Butte 3)

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Nothin’.”

“You have somethin’ on your mind, say it.”

Billy shook his head and looked toward the kitchen, where Liv and Paige stood with Irene and Willow.

“It’s nothin’,” he murmured. His gaze shifted back to Mark, who’d also picked up on what was transpiring.

Jace stood and went outside. Where had Tucker taken Blythe and why had they been gone so long?

If he was smart, he’d let go of this thing between the three of them before it went any further. It already felt too much like it had one other time, with another girl they were both drawn to. He’d learned the hard way then what happened when he and Tuck wanted the same woman. And at this time of year, the memories were especially strong.

Jace had felt a spark when Irene introduced him to Blythe, and thought she had, too. When he felt it, he knew this would be more than a game, she’d be more than a girl he and Tuck would woo and try to win, only to forget about once they had.

If only he could force himself to deny his attraction to her. But, like before, she had taken hold. He couldn’t let go yet, even knowing what might happen.

Blythe would be on shaky ground with him and his brother. Shakier than she’d realize. She wore her insecurity on her sleeve, and Tucker would use that to his advantage. Tucker’s broodiness might sweep her up, but Jace knew she’d respond to his softer side too. Where Tucker sometimes lacked a certain gentility, Jace was a cowboy and a gentleman. Cowboys had a code when it came to women. Actually, cowboys had a code about everything, but women in particular.

Find her, protect her, spoil her, dance with her, and never stop loving her. Or someone else will.

Blythe looked like a woman who had never been treated the cowboy way, and he was just the man to show her how that felt. He’d let it go for tonight. He had at least two more days to woo Miss Blythe away from his brother, and he intended to make the most of it.

The other truth of it was, he needed the distraction. It hurt like hell to watch Irene embrace a life without him in it. When he came home from Spain a few weeks ago, all he could think about was seeing her. He had such plans for them. And then, in less than twenty-four hours, he realized she’d never be his. There hadn’t been any point in fighting for her. It only would’ve prolonged the inevitable.

Again with the damn cowboy code. He chose to be honorable. He’d called Billy Patterson himself and told him how to get his girl back. Not that Patterson had needed the advice.

3

If Tucker’s aim was to woo her, he’d picked the perfect place to do it. The setting was intimate and romantic. Tucker knew a lot about wine and chose the perfect red to complement the small plates the restaurant was known for.

“What are these?” Blythe asked him when the waiter brought another plate to the table. “They look like jalapeños.”

“Close. They’re shishito peppers, which are from the same family, but these are sweet rather than spicy, and stuffed with almonds.”

A few minutes later, the waiter delivered another plate with what looked like a thin-crust pizza. “And this?” she asked.

“Catalonian flatbread.”

“Renie mentioned you were recently in Spain. Do you miss it?”

“I did, until I met a fascinating and very beautiful girl in Colorado.”

She blushed. “And what are these?” She pointed to something on the flatbread.

“Those are dates and caramelized onions, sprinkled with blue cheese.”

It was all so good, Blythe couldn’t eat another bite, until Tucker ordered blood orange sorbet. It was light enough that she could allow herself a decadent spoonful or two.

All evening he’d watched every move she made. At first she found it disconcerting, but it hadn’t taken long before she began to enjoy it. No man had ever paid this kind of attention to her.

As much as she’d wanted to leave earlier, to get away from Renie’s criticism, now she was glad she hadn’t. Spending time with Tucker tonight made up for Renie’s indifference ten-fold.

At first she was nervous, and tried to initiate conversation. When he told her he didn’t want to talk about his brother, she asked about his scar.

“Not something I talk about,” he’d responded, but not in a way that made her feel self-conscious for asking.