Chapter Nine
By the time Josh grew bored with poker—Nate said it was only because he was losing—Tony’s back room was beginning to fill up. It was a Friday night, of course, but to his surprise, there seemed to be a lot more women than normal.
Not that he, or any of his buddies, were complaining. He knew some of the women, of course, like Julie Jacoby, the redheaded summer hostess at the Halftime Sports Bar, and Shannon Russell, a paralegal who could really dance. Of the rest, some were strangers, a rarity at Tony’s, which was too close to the highway to attract tourists. He managed to grab the pool table before any of the newcomers did, and was chalking his cue when Adam, his opponent, came up to him, and said, “Are we getting some unusual stares here?”
Surprised, Josh glanced around. Whenever he met someone’s gaze, they smiled and waved, not all that unusual. “I don’t think so. It’s a Friday night, and we’re single guys.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Well, how would anyone know, where you’re concerned?”
Adam rolled his eyes, said, “Everyone knows,” and walked away to put money in the coin slot.
Josh grinned. “True, my sister can’t exactly keep that sort of thing secret.”
They racked the balls, and when Josh bent over to line up his shot, he heard this resounding cheer. Straightening, he glanced at Adam, who looked both disbelieving and amused at the same time, then behind him, to his “audience.” The women, instead of looking embarrassed or laughing over their joke, were all openly displaying… interest. Toying with their hair, for God’s sake, batting their eyelashes like Southern belles. Some of them were women he’d spent his life talking to in the grocery store, ordering a drink from at a bar—and was that his dentist, older than him by ten or fifteen years, displaying her slow, naughty grin?
Josh faced his buddies and spread his arms in confusion. Nate spread his hands back with a shrug.
All right, he was being paranoid—or something. People must have just started drinking early. He leaned back over the table. An even louder cheer erupted, followed by a hoot or two. Before he could decide what to do, even more women crowded into the back room, but only one of them did he wish would cheer at his butt.
Whitney, Monica, Emily, and Brooke paused as they came through the doorway. Josh’s eyes were drawn to Whitney’s tight white jeans and the bright pink sleeveless top with ruffles spilling down between her breasts, a blue sweater draped over one arm. She looked as delicious as a pastry. Monica, who stared around the room in surprise, checked her watch like she’d gotten the time wrong.
“Is there a party we don’t know about?” Brooke called, as Adam approached her.
He swung her into his arms for a quick kiss, then, keeping his arm around her, turned so that Josh could hear him. “We’re clueless. All we know is that Josh is popular tonight.”
Josh looked over his shoulder, and someone actually called, “Oh, Josh, let me buy you a drink!”
“Now Mrs. Chong, aren’t you still on the school board with my mom?” he asked patiently.
Many of the women laughed, but Mrs. Chong put her hands on her wide hips. “Don’t go spoiling my Girls’ Night Out, Josh Thalberg.”
He shot Whitney a bemused look, and to his surprise, she laid the newspaper on the pool table, open to the second page. And there he was, sitting around like he had nothing better to do than keep his shirt unbuttoned while he ogled a camera. He did look pretty damned ridiculous—except Whitney liked it, he reminded himself.
“Geneva put an ad in the paper?” he asked.
“Nope, it’s a whole article about the ‘cowboy artist.’ ” She looked past him at the women, biting her lip.
He knew she was trying not to laugh, and he didn’t blame her.
“Guess your fans read the article and hunted you down.” Her last few words wavered, and she broke into a laugh at the end.
The Sweet brothers were right behind her, and even his own brother joined in. Will grabbed the newspaper, and all his buddies crowded around to read, but Josh found himself watching Whitney in appreciation, the way her gray eyes shone with happiness, the deep dimple to the right of her mouth that made her look young and carefree—when he was beginning to suspect she had more on her mind than Leather and Lace.
“I think I can get some action from this,” Will said, looking inspired even as he eyed the array of women.
Brooke rolled her eyes at Josh. “So now you’re a celebrity?”
“What do you think, big sister? Should I unbutton a few buttons?”
He didn’t think he was talking loudly, but a few more whoops of excitement erupted from behind him, and he started to chuckle himself.
“Ew.” Brooke turned to Adam. “Hey, Marine, buy me a drink.”
They walked off together, arm in arm. Nate pulled Emily onto his lap and whispered something in her ear that made her blush and giggle. Monica faced down Will and challenged him to a game of pool, as if Josh wouldn’t dare bend over the table again.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, anyway.
“You can buy me a drink,” Whitney said. “Might quiet some of your fans.”
“But this isn’t our big date,” Josh warned her.
“No? Hanging out with you and your”—she dropped her voice—“groupies might be the thrill of a lifetime.”
Over the next hour, he ignored his “groupies” and watched cool, elegant Whitney begin to unwind amidst all of his friends. She laughed at Chris’s dry sense of humor, let Will tease her about being the object of Josh’s lust in the newspaper photo, discussed the progress of the latest home Adam was renovating for a vet, and was even persuaded to dance with Brooke and the other girls before Josh could get around to asking her.
But he didn’t mind, leaning back in his chair and watching as she moved her hips and swayed to the music, occasionally catching the beat with a bump that set his heart thumping. Those white jeans practically glowed in the low light. He politely turned down several offers to dance because he couldn’t stop looking at Whitney. How would that be fair to another woman?
Her dark hair swayed about her shoulders, and the layers brushed her cheeks and chin. He was uncomfortably aroused but could hardly adjust himself in front of everybody. She glanced at him once, paused, then returned her gaze to him again and again. He was starting to feel like they were the only two people in the room, focused on each other, feeling the heat and power of passion.
Had he ever fallen for someone so hard and so fast?
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he got up and approached her just as a slower dance started, and as if she’d been waiting, she turned into his arms. He saw the knowing looks as his friends stepped away, but he didn’t care. He and Whitney swayed against each other, his one hand low on her back, the other holding hers. She wasn’t shy about letting her breasts brush his chest. He responded by occasionally sliding his thigh between hers, saw her intake of breath, and the needy way she met his eyes.
“Why, cowboy,” she murmured in a husky voice, “you seem pretty eager. Are you trying to wrangle an invitation to my bed?”
“Nope.” He rested the side of his jaw against her hair so she couldn’t see in his eyes how desperately he wished the opposite. “I think courtin’ a woman is half the fun.”
“So I’m being courted,” she mused. They moved in a slow circle for a minute before she continued. “You know that’s not necessary. I’m a big girl from the big city. I’ve always been very casual with the men I dated.”
He didn’t like being equated with such “casual” men, but he understood she’d been raised differently than he had. “What does that mean?” he asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity.
Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “I’ve never had someone long term. The men I’ve been with are just like me—we know it’s temporary, dinner after work, the occasional movie or play, then sex. No big deal.”
He lifted his head to look down at her. “No big deal?”
“Not at all. We’re adults who know what we want, and a little fun is always good for everyone—as long as we know the score.”
She was saying things he should be glad to hear—but he wasn’t. He didn’t plan on being “no big deal” to Whitney Winslow. Not that he looked down on the type of relationship she was talking about; he’d had plenty of those himself, just two people having fun. But this time, he wanted more than fun.
“Have you ever had a long-term girlfriend?” she asked, a smile turning up her lips as she gazed up at him.
He moved her easily through the crowded little dance floor. “In high school. Jill and I lasted two years. I used to sneak out to meet her, and we’d ride for hours.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Our horses,” he insisted.
She grinned. “Thanks for the explanation.”
“We did other things, too. Then she went off to college, and swore she’d still be my girlfriend, but I wasn’t surprised that we drifted apart.”
“Were you hurt? Were you planning marriage?”
“She was honest with me.” The music transitioned into another slow song, and Josh ignored the many women who looked as if they were considering cutting in.
“But there’s something more,” Whitney said.
“I’m told I’m not all that transparent,” he answered, mildly surprised.
“So tell me. I’ve just told you I’ve had more than a few partners. That’s pretty revealing. You can’t hold back.”
“It’s nothing that mattered in the end. We had a scare our senior year when Jill suspected she was pregnant.” He heard her inhalation, but she said nothing. “She lost the baby before we even had to confess the truth to anyone.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Sorry? Most people would say we were lucky. We learned a lesson and were far more vigilant after that.”
“I guess I’m sorry because I know how you feel about family, and I know you probably planned to marry her, and probably would still have married her, pregnancy or not, if she hadn’t found someone else in college.”
The memory was momentarily painful, in the way of old wounds long since healed, but still surprisingly able to affect you. Whitney read him too well, and he didn’t take that as a bad sign. He dipped her a little, making her clutch his arms with a gasp. “I don’t want you thinking you always know what’s coming. You’re way too sure of yourself.”
“Any women since then?” she continued.
It was his turn to shrug. “I haven’t lacked for dates, but no one special. What about you?”
“The same. I don’t think men thought of me as the marriage type.”
“You mean you didn’t give them that impression?”
She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. “I’ve made no secret of how focused I’ve been on work.”
“No secret with me, either. But I must be more stubborn than most.”
“You have me at a disadvantage. I’m not in my element and, therefore, in a weakened state.”
He chuckled. “Not possible. But I do agree you’re not in your element. I could have sworn I saw chalk on the sleeve of your sweater.”
He saw the happiness leach right out of her expression, and he found himself pulling her a little closer.
“What happened?” he asked.
Her hesitation spoke volumes, as if she debated revealing whatever secret was hurting her. He touched his lips to her forehead.
“I don’t like to see you unhappy,” he murmured.
She sighed. “It was not very important, and after last winter, I guess I’m used to it.”
“Used to what? Don’t make me pull every detail from you.”
Her smile was as faint as a ghost, and just as sad. “Someone wrote in chalk in front of the building, telling me to go back home.”
“Graffiti?” he asked in disbelief? “Someone hiding in anonymity?”
“You can’t be surprised.”
He frowned. “But I am. You know Sylvester and his friends—right up front about their disagreement with your store.”
“Disagreement?” she echoed, but her amusement seemed forced.
“Opposition, whatever you want to call it. But childishly scrawling angry words on your sidewalk? That just doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not denying that. But it happened. I cleaned it up, but it’s making me wonder whether even the town council’s support can change the feelings of some people in Valentine. I’m just not sure I’ll have enough customers if I stay here.”
“But in Aspen, you think it might be different,” he finished for her, knowing she had even more reason to consider Birdsong’s offer.
She gave him a brief hug as the dance ended, and stepped back. “Thanks for listening. I didn’t tell anyone else about the graffiti, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t either.”
“You know I won’t.”
“Thanks.” She paused, regarding all their friends with a faintly pained look. “I should get going.”
“It’s still early—and a Friday night.”
She looked at him speculatively. “Why don’t you drive me home?”
As she sat quietly in the dark pickup, Whitney considered all she’d confided in Josh—not just the graffiti incident, but her history with men. And he’d told her about his one meaningful relationship, too. Communication between them was far too easy, leading her to think how good they could be together in more physical ways. Even their dance at Tony’s Tavern had felt as erotic as one could be when fully dressed.
And for a man whose private life was about to be invaded—in a way she understood far too well—he was surprisingly nonchalant, as if nothing fazed him. That kind of demeanor was far too appealing to someone like her, used to Type A men who had trouble relaxing, except in bed. And it was there, she realized, that she’d been able to control them.
Was that what she’d been trying to do with Josh from the moment they’d realized their chemistry? She’d made a pass at him, and he turned it back on her, dictating the terms of their relationship. And since then, she’d felt nothing but out of control around him, aroused and needy and frustrated.
By hoping to get him in bed, was she trying to prove something to herself? What did that say about her? His offer of a courtship was sounding more and more appealing.
He pulled up in front of the B&B and studied her by the faint glow of the dashboard lights. “Why are you smiling? I haven’t done much to ease your mood.”
“A good dance with a cowboy will do that to a woman.”
They stared at each other, an electric silence sizzling around them. Whitney wasn’t used to waiting when she wanted a man; it was strangely arousing.
“I guess I better go,” she murmured, reaching for the door handle.
He opened up his door. “I’ll walk you in.”
“That’s not necessary…” But she didn’t sound very convincing.
After slamming his door shut, he was already rounding the hood of the pickup; she wouldn’t crush his male pride by opening her own door. Instead, she smiled and took his hand as if she were too delicate to alight to the curb unassisted.
He continued to hold her hand even as he opened the gate in front of The Adelaide, then remained at her side up the path. The foliage rose higher than their heads, and the scent of roses was intoxicating and romantic.
At the porch, he came to a stop, and since she was already up a few steps, she met him eye to eye. “I thought you were escorting me in.”
He shook his head, and said huskily, “I don’t trust myself.”
With a moan, she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him, long and openmouthed, until they were both breathing hard. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” she whispered against his mouth.
Taking her waist in his hands, he held her for a moment, then set her away. “Nope. Work in the morning. Animals never take a day off, so we can’t either. Good night.”
Aching, she watched him walk away, then silently cursed whatever morals were rising between them.
But at least he’d taken her mind off her troubles for a little while…