A Wedding in Wyoming. Deb Kastner
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just grinned. He was baiting her—again, as if he enjoyed making her blush.
Maybe he did.
“You have a point,” she conceded slowly. “I suppose there must be something. Er—uh—holding hands once in a while would be appropriate, and I g-guess you can put your arm around me from time to time.” She hated how she stammered through that sentence, but she couldn’t help herself.
“I feel honored,” Johnny said, using his fingers to tip the rim of the hat he wasn’t wearing. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was teasing her again. His voice was serious, but his midnight-blue eyes were dancing with merriment.
She frowned. “I’m serious. And one more thing. Absolutely, positively no kissing. Not even so much as a peck on the cheek. Are we clear on that point?”
His gaze widened, and for the longest moment she thought he might object, but in the end he just nodded. “Done,” he said firmly.
She let out a sigh. He had no idea of the relief flooding through her. Because, even though she didn’t know this man at all, she believed he meant what he said.
She shouldn’t. She knew better.
She’d keep her guard up, no matter what. At least he’d agreed to the ground rules in theory, and her gut instinct was to take him at his word. Time would tell.
At least he hadn’t asked for details, or questioned her rules. Most women, she supposed, probably threw themselves at the handsome cowboy. He probably wasn’t used to a woman being as reserved as she was.
She wasn’t being mysterious, only cautious.
Johnny couldn’t possibly understand the truth. No one could.
“Now for the backstory,” Jenn said, happy to change the subject. “You know I’m a social worker in Denver, and I know you’re a wrangler in Wyoming. I have absolutely no idea how we could possibly—and plausibly—have met.”
“That should be an interesting concoction,” he said, reaching his arms up and lacing his long, leather-callused fingers behind his neck. “I’ve been wrangling cows with your brother for a month.”
Jenn blew out a breath. “This is impossible,” she stated, as she twisted her index finger through her golden curls. “How on earth would I have ever even met a cowboy, much less have started dating one?”
Johnny winced inwardly. The way she said cowboy said it all. She wasn’t the type of woman, Johnny realized, who would be remotely interested in a down-home, backward cowboy.
Only, he wasn’t a wrangler.
Far from it.
If she knew who he really was…
No. That would ruin everything.
“Well, I’m doubting you took a trip to Wyoming to hang out with us cowboys,” he said in a soft drawl, stressing the word with the same emphasis Jenn had given it.
She chuckled. “Hardly.”
“Which means I must have come to Denver for some reason.” Johnny was starting to enjoy this, concocting this crazy story with her. A small wave of guilt passed through him—not the larger, more convicting stabs he’d had earlier, but more like the ones he’d had as a teenager, afraid he’d be caught sneaking out of his foster parents’ house late at night.
He welcomed the adrenaline rush that accompanied the thought. “I don’t have any family, so…”
“You were visiting friends,” she prompted. “Mutual friends, between you and me, as it turned out. I have a dozen married friends my family knows are always trying to set me up. That wouldn’t be so far-fetched.”
“We met, were instantly attracted to one another, and have been calling and e-mailing and seeing each other whenever possible.”
The instantly attracted part wasn’t a lie, anyway—at least on his end, Johnny thought. Jenn was beautiful, with her golden curls bobbing about her face and her blue eyes blazing with delight as the two of them solidified their story.
What man wouldn’t want to spend a little more time in her company, maybe get to know her better?
She frowned, pursing her lips together in the cutest way, like a toddler who’d been told no. “What about Scotty?” she asked with a tilt of her head that sent those curls afloat in the most enchanting way. Johnny was having trouble concentrating on her words.
“What about Scotty?” he asked belatedly.
“It seems an obvious enough problem to me. You guys have been together all month. How did our relationship slip past my brother? Wouldn’t you have said something about it—about me?”
Johnny chuckled. “For someone who studied human behavior, you sure don’t know men very well. We don’t talk a lot on the range, and when we do, it’s not about our relationships. Besides, it appears to me he’s taken to the ruse as much as anyone here. If he asks about it, we’ll handle it. Trust me.”
“I can’t believe I—we’re doing this,” Jenn said. She sounded a bit hesitant, but Johnny saw the excitement brimming in her eyes.
She had her reasons for playing this out, and he definitely had his own. It was harmless enough playacting. No one would get hurt.
Besides, he was doing her a favor.
Wasn’t he?
The fair damsel in distress, rescued by her knight in shining armor—or rather, in well-worn boots and a dusty old Stetson.
He stood and reached a hand to her. “Come on. Let’s go out and face the dragon.”
Chapter Three
Jenn didn’t know what she expected, but obviously she’d come to the wrong conclusion about this cowboy. Dinner that evening, at the big dining room table, with her grandmother’s best china and crystal, was enlightening in ways Jenn couldn’t possibly have imagined.
One thing was for certain—Johnny Barnes cleaned up well. When he walked in for dinner, he was clean-shaven, dressed in a crisp red Western shirt with pearl snaps, and a fresh pair of blue jeans, held up by a belt fastened with the inevitable oversize buckle that proclaimed he’d won some rodeo event at some point in his past. He’d even scraped the mud off his boots for the occasion.
Jenn found she almost had to pull her jaw off the floor, she was surprised by how good he looked. If Johnny was handsome with a week’s worth of sweat and dirt covering him, he was triply so now, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him, which of course he immediately noticed, if his teasing wink was any indication.
Jenn wasn’t the only woman in the room to notice him. Auntie Myra, Granny and even, to Jenn’s horror, her own mother began complimenting Johnny left and right, not even allowing him to get a word in edgewise.
“My, what a lovely shirt that is,” crooned Auntie Myra, hooking an arm through the young cowboy’s.
“Thank you, ma’am, I—” Johnny was immediately cut off by Granny.
“And just look at that extraordinary belt buckle. What were you, son? A bronc buster? A bull rider like our Scotty here?”
“A roper, but—”
“And look at that nice square jaw you were hiding under all that scruff,” said her mother.
“Amanda,” Jenn’s father warned, but to no avail.
Johnny just quirked his lips and shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.”
“His hat is still dirty,” Jenn pointed out, knowing she was grousing but not caring.
Every eye turned upon her, and everyone but Johnny was frowning their displeasure at her comment.
Johnny, of course, was grinning