Strong and Steady Page 2

  “What were you two talking about when I interrupted?”

  He shifted his eyes off me and onto Bob/Bill, who seemed to turn green around the gills, clearly afraid to say. Propositioning this man’s significant other was not good for his health.

  “Oh, um…” Bob/Bill grabbed the knot of his tie and wiggled it, finding it extremely tight all of a sudden.

  “Oysters,” I said, willing to spare Paul’s cousin a possible slow and merciless death. He was pretty sleazy but harmless enough, especially with Mr. Cowboy, aka the gorgeous cowboy, beside me. Mr. Cowboy somehow made me feel protected, sheltered and safe from any of Bob/Bill’s less honorable intentions. He made me feel… feminine in comparison to his ultra-masculine presence. It could have been that I only came up to his shoulder or that his bicep was the size of my neck.

  I darted a brief glance again at Paul across the room. He winked at me then was pulled back into a conversation. He had sent this guy over to save me from Bob/Bill.

  “Oh, you like Rocky Mountain Oysters? I’m not that much of a fan of eating fried bull testicles. I’ve cut enough of them off to know what they look like first hand for me to want to eat ‘em.”

  “Fried…” Bob/Bill glanced at his plate, swallowed hard.

  “You don’t look too good.” Mr. Cowboy gestured with his chin at Bob/Bill who now had beads of sweat dotting his brow to go along with the off pallor. “Ready?” he asked me, his eyes raking over my face and giving me a wink of his own. “I thought we could sit outside for a spell.”

  Without waiting for me to answer, he took my hand and all but dismissed Bob/Bill. His hand was so big, mine was all but swallowed up. While I could feel callouses on his palm, his touch was gentle, which was surprising for a man who seemed so… aggressive, as if the calm exterior was just a façade, and he had tension and energy coiled and ready to be unleashed, especially when aimed at a man who bothered me. When his thumb brushed back and forth over the back of my hand, a chill went down my spine.

  Ready? To go off with a hunky cowboy?

  2

  EMORY

  * * *

  Nodding, I faked a smile and let the cowboy lead me through the bar. Everyone seemed to be looking at us, at him, for he had the bearing and presence that screamed Get out of my fucking way.

  I placed my glass on an empty high top as we walked by. Mr. Cowboy let go of my hand—he had a drink in his other one—to push open the door to the outside patio and held it for me. The seating area wrapped around three sides of the building although windows only flanked the wall that faced the mountains.

  The air was warm, a striking contrast to the air-conditioned interior. It wasn't the hot day that made me overheated. It was for an entirely different reason. As the door closed behind us, the noise of the restaurant and bar became muffled. The sun had set behind the mountains, but twilight would last awhile and change color until darkness took over. The lights of the downtown buildings around us were coming on, and the view reminded me why I loved living in Colorado.

  Couples and small groups chatted by the railing and around small arrangements of patio seating areas, so he pointed with his drink-filled hand around the corner. There, it was quiet, and I moved to sit in one of two chairs that looked out over the pretty view.

  Since Christy was in love, she wanted everyone else to be too, but guys like Bob/Bill weren’t making me eager to change my Facebook status to In A Relationship. Regardless, she and Paul had tried to get me back out there now that Chris was away at college, but using this guy—holy hell.

  My life had been about raising Chris for so long, I didn’t know how to be just me, the woman, not the mom. And now, it was just me and this insanely good-looking guy, and I didn’t know what to do. It was one thing to talk to Bob/Bill, but I was flustered and tongue tied and overwhelmed by this man.

  “Would you mind if I sit with you?” His voice was deep, cool and calm, patient.

  My heart did that whole leap-into-my-throat thing as I looked up at him. Only a few feet away, he appeared a tad dangerous. His nose had been broken. I’d been right about that. There was also a scar that sliced through his left eyebrow, the whiteness of it a stark contrast to the short, dark hair. He smiled and waited.

  “Oh, um. Sure.”

  Gripping the back of the chair and leaning in, he murmured, “You don’t seem so sure.”

  “I… I just wondered why,” I replied, sheepishly. My insecurities were showing. While I felt confident in myself as a mother, at my job, when it came to men like him and the blatant selection of younger and more nubile women at the bar, I felt lacking. With me safely away from Oyster Man, he could return to the bar, his chivalry accomplished for the night.

  He frowned and a little crease formed in his brow. “Why?”

  “Why you want to stay here… with me.” I pointed in the direction of the bar. “I’ll tell Paul you saved me, which you did, so thank you. You’re off the hook.”

  He sat then, leaning forward, so his forearms rested on his thighs. The corded muscles were hard to ignore, and I had to wonder what the rest of the tattoo looked like, partially hidden beneath his snap shirt. All of his attention was once again squarely on me, as if there wasn’t anyone else he wanted to talk to, to look at. To be with. “Maybe I don’t want to be off the hook.”

  Oh. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t do anything but realize he wanted to sit with me—me!—and I felt something shift inside. Something good. “Oh.”

  “I brought you another drink.”

  He held a highball glass, filled with an icy concoction with two lime wedges floating on top. Condensation trickled down the sides.

  “Thanks, but I was drinking—”

  “Water,” he cut in, finishing my sentence and placing the glass on the low table in front of us. His dark eyes once again watched me closely, calmly. It was as if he could shut out all the other patrons of the restaurant, the noise of dishes being stacked, even the subtle music, and give me every ounce of his attention.

  “Yes,” I admitted, my eyes widening. How did he— “You’ve been watching me.”

  Paul gave this guy his seal of approval, but everyone who heard their neighbor was an axe murderer swore they had no idea after a gruesome murder. I didn’t see an axe although there was no question by his solid, hard, amazing body he could hurt someone without one. I felt wary and nervous now… in a completely different way. I didn’t want him to be a creep.

  He leaned back in his chair and held up his hands in front of him. “Oh, hey, I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to pick you up.”

  My spine stiffened, and I felt my cheeks heat. “Of course not.”

  Why would he waste his time picking me up when there was the bevy of easy women inside? Surely, he just needed to crook a finger, and they’d come to him panting. He was… really, really attractive. Intense. Bob/Bill was pretty handsome, and he was a creep. This guy was more. He had presence. Confidence. He dripped testosterone from his pores, and the way I was practically panting over him, no doubt pheromones as well. He wasn’t working it here—he didn’t have to. He just… was.

  He grinned, and that changed his entire demeanor. Relaxed by my sarcasm, he leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. I, on the other hand, sat ramrod straight and ready to bolt.

  “Shit, that was really bad, wasn’t it?” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he winced. “Insulting even. Sorry. I have to admit, you make me a little nervous.”

  My brain stalled. “Me?” Both my eyebrows went up. “I make you nervous? You’re so far out of my league,” I admitted with a frown. Now, he’d leave.

  He looked down at his feet then back at me. “Yeah, I know.” His voice was quiet, almost resigned.

  “Wait.” I shook my head, held up my hand. “You think I’m… no way. Have you seen some of the women here tonight? They’re so… young.”

  His dark eyes raked over me, from my—most likely—wayward hair to the
tips of my polished toes and back. “And you're old?” He didn't give me time to respond. “Trust me, I’m right where I want to be.”

  Oh. I couldn’t help the little internal sigh at his words.

  He leaned forward once again, rasped a hand over his chiseled jaw. He'd probably shaved this morning, but he needed to do so again. Not that I minded. I wanted to run my fingers over his whiskers and see if they were soft or prickly. “Let me start over. Okay?”

  I cocked my head and noticed his chagrined expression. I nodded, curious.

  “I’m Gray, Paul’s personal trainer.”

  “Trainer? I thought…”

  Paul’s trainer? Besides the snap shirt, or beneath it, he looked like one. Fit. But fit like he lived that way, not just by pumping iron. His arms were corded with muscle, his hands rugged, fingers long. With the scar and tattoos, he looked downright dangerous, more like a fighter than a simple trainer. Perhaps he’d competed in the past. Boxing? Rodeo? He looked like he could toss bales of hay with one hand tied behind his back. Ride a bull for eight seconds and see another day.

  “That I wrangle cows all day?”

  I bit my lip, then smiled. “Yeah.”

  What did I know about cowboy stuff? The last time I’d ridden a horse was in camp when I was eleven. Brant Valley wasn’t a metropolis like Denver, but it was still a city. Gray didn’t fit any mold my mind tried fitting him into. I just knew what I could see, what he told me. With the combination of brooding danger and a wicked smile, he was lethal to my senses and made my heart skip a beat.

  He held out his hand, and I reached for it, shook it, but he didn't let go right away. Instead, he kept our fingers touching, held the connection.

  “I’m Emory. Christy’s friend.”

  “Emory,” he repeated, as if trying out my name, finally letting my hand go. “There we go. I didn’t screw that up.”

  I rolled my eyes and smiled—I couldn’t help it—as I tucked my hand back in my lap. Every time he set me on edge, he put me at ease. “I guess I should officially thank you for rescuing me.” I angled my head toward the restaurant.

  He nodded. “Paul asked if I’d step in with his cousin. Told me he was a slime ball.”

  My eyes widened. “Paul said slime ball?”

  Gray grinned, and the little lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “He had a more… choice word, but I don't swear in front of a lady.”

  The man was hot and a gentleman. What was wrong with him? Nothing that I could see.

  “Even across the room, both of us could tell you weren’t enjoying yourself, and when the guy put his hand on your arm and you flinched…”

  He didn't finish the sentence, but I saw the way his jaw clenched.

  I looked down at my fingers. I offered a noncommittal sound because there wasn’t much to say about Bob/Bill. “I should have ditched him before I needed rescuing. I mean, he thought he was eating real oysters.”

  The corner of his mouth tipped up. “But you’re too nice, aren’t you, Emory?” he commented, as he watched me smooth my dress over my thighs. “He didn’t do anything, did he? Say anything to hurt you?”

  I glanced up at him through my lashes. “Are you going to go beat him up if he did?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. At least teach him some manners.”

  Wow, he was intense—his complete focus on me worried about me. It was exhilarating. With his dark eyes on mine, I couldn’t look away. I had no doubt if I told him the guy had put his hand on my waist, Gray would have gone back inside and broke his fingers.

  “No, he didn't do anything. Really,” I added because he didn’t seem to believe me. I gave a small, dry laugh. “I could have gone to his room with him.”

  Both of Gray’s brows went up at my mocking tone. “I can take you back if you want.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the bar. I could see a humorous gleam in his eye.

  I pursed my lips, trying not to smile. “He was really interesting actually. I now know the months to eat oysters. Actual oysters.”

  He held up his hands in front of him. “I can’t compete with that.”

  I grinned at his ridiculous words. Gray had no competition, none at all, as far as I was concerned.

  “Clearly, I’ve been out of the game since I walked away from that winner,” I replied, my tone dry.

  He frowned, not picking up on my sarcasm. “Game?”

  “Parties, mingling, meeting people.” I circled my finger in the air. “Meeting men.”

  “You hooked the oyster guy.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Oh yeah, Bob/Bill is a great catch.”

  “His name is Bob Bill?” he asked, surprised.

  This time I laughed outright. “No. I don’t remember what it is. It starts with a B though.” I shrugged. “An auditor.”

  “You’ve had lots of guys proposition you at bars?” He watched me closely, perhaps a little intently, for the answer. He made it seem as if this was something of a test.

  I frowned and pointed at myself. “Me? Really?”

  He crossed his fingers over his very flat belly as if settling in. He didn’t answer my question but posed another one of his own. “If that guy doesn’t do it for you, what are you looking for?”

  He’d said he wasn’t trying to pick me up, so he wasn’t really interested in me. Perhaps for conversation, but that was it. My awakened libido would just have to go dormant once again. Perhaps this knowledge had me relaxing, for I could talk with a man, but I couldn’t talk with a man. A man who might actually be interested in me. I just had to think of Gray as Paul’s trainer and forget he made my panties damp and my heart thrum and my cheeks flush. And think twice about cowboys in the future.

  “You’re speaking of appearance only?” I asked.

  He considered. “Sure. We can start with that. You can’t use your husband or boyfriend’s description though.”

  I wasn’t out of the game that much to know he was fishing.

  “I’m divorced,” I told him, making it clear, perhaps more to myself than Gray that Jack was long, long gone. I had every right to sit here with a hot guy and talk.

  Gray knew he was caught and grinned sheepishly, little crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. How could he look so forbidding and dangerous but be so… damn cute at the same time? “Good to know.”

  I just looked at him, arched a brow.

  “Oh, you’re waiting for me.” He pointed at himself, putting the fingers of his left hand on his chest, so I could see he wore no ring. “Single, never married.”

  I nodded, reassured I wasn’t poaching on some woman’s territory. Not that I was doing any kind of poaching. I was having a conversation. That was all. I doubted he was going to grab me and press me up against the restaurant's wall for wild monkey sex.

  “Well?” He stretched his legs out in front of him as if he had all the time in the world. His doing this allowed me to notice how his jeans stretched taut over very muscular thighs. It was possible I could see an outline of his… oh crap.

  Realizing I was ogling there, I looked up, his dark eyes held mine then roved over my face. Self-consciously, I smoothed down imaginary wrinkles in my yellow dress once again. I felt my cheeks heat. I hadn't checked out a guy's package in… well, forever.

  “What am I looking for in a guy?” I repeated, trying to get my mind back on the conversation and out of the gutter. A personal trainer who dressed like a cowboy. You. I could totally be into you. Gray pushed every one of my hot buttons, but no way was I telling him that, for it would be mortifying to have it be officially one sided when he laughed at me and walked away.

  “Yes.”

  I gave a little shrug of indifference, my long hair shifting. I’d put clips in to hold it back from my face, but since my hair had never done anything I’d wanted of it my entire life, the soft waves were falling loose. “That’s easy. I’m not looking.”

  It was the truth. I had no interest in finding a man. After Jack left town with his paralegal four year
s earlier, I’d been in single-mom mode. He’d not only divorced me but pretty much ditched his then-fourteen-year-old son as well. Dealing with Chris and his anger toward his father, high school, moving back in with my parents, college applications, life, work, I hadn’t lifted my head up to get some air let alone look around. Now, with Chris away for his first year of college, I had more time on my hands than I knew what to do with. I was, for the first time since I was nineteen, on my own. I was an empty nester, and that term meant old. Early bird specials and discount admission.

  “Really?” He crossed his ankles. “I think you’re the only woman in the restaurant not on the prowl.”

  “And Christy,” I added. My friend had prowled enough and found her man. “What about you?”

  “I look,” he admitted. “I saw you, didn’t I?”

  “You rescued me,” I countered. There was a big difference. Paul asked him to save me. He hadn’t sought me out on his own. Still, I could feel my cheeks flush, and I glanced away, uncomfortable with his words.

  “I’m not looking either, but I’m not not looking as well.”

  I paused, thought about that. “Surprisingly, I follow you.”

  “Don’t you want your drink? It’s still pretty hot out.”

  I glanced at the glass, the condensation beading and sliding down the sides. The air was still quite warm, even though it was well after eight. It was the throes of Indian summer, for the sharp bite of fall was usually in the air right about now.

  “I don’t drink from glasses given to me by strangers.”

  Oh my God. Had I said that out loud? I pinched my lips together, afraid something else horribly bad would pop out. I was a complete and total dumb-ass. I’d just baldly accused Gray, who’d only been nice to me, of drugging my drink with a date rape drug.

  Christy was right. I had zero skills in interacting with guys—I talked oysters with Bob/Bill, so maybe I was the dud not him—but too much experience with my job had made me jaded. I’d seen too much of the real world pass through the ER to make me wary, even in a small city like Brant Valley. It was a university town. Lots of twenty-somethings doing stupid things. Domestic violence. Car accidents. Drugs. Bad stuff happened everywhere. Besides, some people weren't nice. In fact, lots were downright cruel. I saw lives destroyed on a daily basis.