Shotgun Vows. Teresa Southwick
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“One, maybe it’s about time I tried interacting with them. Two, I could be an uncle soon, and kids are still a real mystery to me. And reason number three—if I hang out with kids, maybe I can figure out what makes you tick,” he said, watching her face and waiting for the sparks to fly. He wasn’t disappointed.
Her gray eyes darkened with something that wasn’t quite anger, but was damn defensive. Or maybe it was a defense mechanism. “And why, pray tell, would you want to get to know me better?”
“Beats the heck out of me,” he said. “But I do.”
Oddly enough, he found that he did want to get to know her better. Something about her intrigued him. Her pride. An indomitable spirit that came through loud and clear. She was barely a woman, but he sensed a strength of character beyond her years.
She met his gaze for several moments, gauging him. Finally she said, “I have to give you points for honesty, Mr. Prescott.”
“Dawson, please. I feel old enough without you making me feel like my father.”
He winced at his own words. After the thoughts he’d had about her, he was hovering way too close to his father’s shortcomings as it was.
“All right, Dawson. It’s your funeral. But I would appreciate an extra pair of hands. Thanks,” she said grinning.
“You’re welcome, I think.”
She stood. “I’ll say good-night then.”
“Yeah. I guess it’s about that time.”
“Oh? And what time would that be?” she asked, the doubtful note in her voice causing her friendly smile to waver.
“Curfew,” he answered.
The words produced exactly the effect he’d intended. Her shoulders stiffened, her gray eyes narrowed and finally her full lips thinned. Oddly, he found himself longing to have her sunny smile back.
“I didn’t have a curfew even when I should have,” she snapped.
“Then what’s your hurry? And don’t insult my intelligence by saying ‘nothing.’”
She peeked over her shoulder as if she were trying to elude surveillance. Then she met his gaze and sighed. “All right. Griff is gone. I suppose it can’t do any harm to tell you. It’s poker night.”
Her brother was right. If she’d known he was a stand-in bodyguard, she would have shut down tighter than a convent school when the fleet was in. “Would you like to expand that explanation a tad?” he asked.
“The ranch hands play poker one evening a week. Tonight’s the night. It’s an open game. Anyone’s invited. I’ve been dying to learn, but Griff would never let me go. Now’s my chance.”
“To learn the game?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yes. And get to know the guys better.”
“Guys like Ethan McKenzie?”
“Yes.”
“The game is open?” When she nodded, he said, “Then no one will mind if I tag along.”
He started to walk past her, and she grabbed his arm. “Not so fast, buster. Someone will darn well mind.”
“Who?” he asked innocently.
“For starters, me. Why would you want to play poker with a bunch of cowboys? I bet not one of them knows what a tilde is.”
“Could be I just want to play poker.”
“Yeah, and it could be I’m a high-priced fashion model,” she said sarcastically. “Why in the world would you want to spend the evening with a bunch of ranch hands?”
“Like I said before, we haven’t had a chance to get to know each other since you’ve been here. This is as good a time as any.”
“For whom?” she asked.
“For me. After all, if I’m going to help you with the kids tomorrow, it seems to me that we would be a more efficient team if we knew each other better.”
“We’re not a team.”
“We will be.”
“When snowballs survive in hell,” she said.
He ignored her remark and said wistfully, “It’s been a long time since I’ve played poker.”
“Why?” She tipped her head to the side and studied him. “Don’t you have any friends of your own?”
“Of course I have friends. What would make you ask that?”
“Now that Zane and Gwen are married, you must be pretty lonesome.” She gave him an impertinent look.
She thought he needed to make friends? She actually thought Zane Fortune was his only friend? She couldn’t genuinely believe that he had no one to hang out with. He cringed at the idea. When Griff got back, they were going to have a long talk about indebtedness. This favor was getting more complicated all the time.
And on top of her zingers, she was actually starting to appeal to him.
“No, I’m not lonesome. I have my spreadsheets to keep me warm,” he said. Not to mention thoughts of her long legs…. That image made him hot all over. “I just like to play cards. Okay?” he asked more abrasively than he had intended.
“Even if I’m there?”
Especially if you’re there and your brother isn’t, he thought. “How can you ask that?” Before she could answer he took her arm and said, “Let’s go, Mattie. Seven card stud awaits.”
“Huh?”
“No worries,” he said, imitating her. “You’ll find out.”
But he didn’t miss the gleam in her eyes at the word stud.
The ranch hands lived in a bunkhouse about three-quarters of a mile from the main house. With Griff around, she’d never had a chance to see the inside. But she’d heard the guys talking, and knew it was Ethan and Bobby Lee’s turn to host tonight’s poker game. Mattie wanted to jump into the truck she used to get herself around the ranch, but Dawson insisted on walking. It seemed odd to her, since there was a chill November wind blowing. But then, it seemed odd that he was with her at all.
She’d been half joking when she’d said it, but maybe he really didn’t have any friends. That, along with the fact that he was cooped up inside far too much, pushing around all those numbers, made her feel kind of sorry for him. It could explain why he wanted to hoof it to the bunkhouse. He must have a fresh air deficiency.
It wasn’t easy keeping up with his long stride. She was slightly winded by the time they stepped onto the wooden bunkhouse porch. Low voices drifted to them from inside. Now that she was here, Mattie was a little nervous. She was almost grateful that Dawson was with her so she didn’t have to walk in alone. It was a bit like going to a school dance with one of her brothers, except that Dawson Prescott would mind his own business and not hers once they were inside. Anticipation chased away her nerves.
She was about to knock, then glanced at him. The light next to the door picked up the angles of his face, making it look rugged and very masculine. And quite attractive. Her heart gave a strange little lurch. When she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless. From their sprint over here, no doubt, she thought. Because she couldn’t believe that he was starting to look good to her.
“You don’t have to do this if you’re tired,” she told him.
“On the contrary. I’m looking forward to it.” He looked at her uncertainly. “I should warn you about something.”
“What?” she asked.
“Cowboys don’t like to play cards with a woman.”
She