Mr Taken. Danica Winters
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the weekends they usually have a few people dancing.” But it was a far cry from the country-style bar that always seemed to fill the movie screens in which everyone was dancing and there was a mechanical bull in the corner. The Dog House was one step away from being somebody’s garage. In fact, it would have made sense if that was what the place had once been.
Ms. Fancy Pants sighed so loudly that Whitney wondered if the woman had put her mouth directly on the mouthpiece. “I guess it will have to do. And I won’t even bother asking about restaurants. I’d rather go hungry than eat anything this town has to offer.”
Whitney’s dislike for the woman mounted with each of the woman’s passing syllables.
“We’ll be right over.” She hung up the phone, unable to listen to the woman’s prattling for another second.
There wasn’t a snowflake’s chance in July that she was going to face the woman who’d just called. She dialed the number for the housekeeper, but the phone rang and rang, and she left the girl who was supposed to be working a message about the towels.
She set down the phone and stared at it for a moment. On second thought, maybe she could ask Colter to help. He didn’t work for the ranch, but if he was as interested in her as he seemed to be, he might jump at the chance to come to her aid; and it might get him out of her hair for a bit and give her the time she needed to get back to center about him and her feelings.
She sighed, content with her plan, as she opened the door. There was a black Chevy truck parked in the lot, and a tall, thin blonde had her arms draped around Colter’s neck. As Whitney watched, the woman threw her head back with a laugh so high and perfect that it bounced around the courtyard until it was finally, thankfully swallowed up by the dark barn.
It was stupid to stand there and watch as the woman flipped her hair and then ran her fingers over the edges of Colter’s jacket collar, but she couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Sure, the woman was coming on to him. Whitney could understand a woman’s attraction to the trim firefighter with a gift when it came to making people at ease, but she couldn’t understand the swell of jealousy and unease that filled her as she watched.
He had held her hand, yet now his hands were on the blonde’s hips. Was Mr. Eligible Bachelor really Mr. Taken?
Had he been playing her? He had to have been. Heck, he was probably thanking his lucky stars right at that very moment that she had turned him down in time for Ms. Blonde in Tight Jeans to come and wrap her model-ish body around him like a thin blanket.
She gritted her teeth, making them squeak so loudly that it was a wonder he hadn’t heard them even at a distance.
The mysterious woman moved to her tiptoes and gave Colter a kiss on the cheek.
It was the last straw.
Whitney turned around and went back inside, slamming the door in her wake. That was fine. If Colter wanted to be with every one of the town’s available women, that was fine. He could be with all of them except her. She had better things to do with her time.
On the wall, just beside the door, was a picture of Colter in his bunker gear, a smile on his face. It was ironic. Here was a man who was sent into the flames to save people’s lives, but the best thing he had done for her was to save her from falling in love.
Colter squirmed out of Sarah’s grip. At one point he wouldn’t have minded having her hands all over him, but not now—not with everything that had happened between them. That attempt at a relationship had crashed harder than the housing market. She cared about only two things: her catering business and how she could make herself happy—no matter the cost to others. Sure, the blonde chef was cute, but beauty was a depreciating asset; being genuine, kind and selfless was far more important than any outward attributes.
He glanced back over his shoulder toward the office where Whitney was working. He could have sworn he’d heard a door slam, yet thankfully, she was nowhere in sight. He would have hated for her to get the wrong idea.
“Colter, when are you going to take me out again?” Sarah asked, running her finger down the buttons on the front of his shirt.
He took hold of her hand and lowered it gently as he gave her a firm but unwavering smile. “It was fun, but—”
“But what?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.
He hated this kind of confrontation. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her or lead her on, but she was making it difficult.
“But we just don’t fit. You know what I mean?” he said, trying to take the path of least resistance.
“I bet we could fit together if we just tried, Colter,” she said, her voice soft and airy. “I just... You know when we went out, I had just broken up with Kent. I wasn’t at my best. I’d like another shot.”
“It’s not you—”
“It’s me.” She stepped back from him. “Get a new line. Or at least just learn how to tell the woman the truth. If you’re not into me, that’s fine...” Sarah flipped her hair back off her neck and straightened her jacket like she could simply brush off his rejection.
“Sarah, it really isn’t you. I’m just not looking for anything right now.” He glanced back to the ranch office as the weight of the lie rolled off his tongue and fell hard. Sarah was right; he wasn’t into her. He didn’t know why he was bothering to lie other than to save her feelings. The woman he really wanted was Whitney, and she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.
“When you are looking...I’ll be waiting,” she said, her playful smile returning as though she thought there was still room to hope.
He gave a resigned sigh. “Why are you here?”
“I need to finalize the catering details with your mom. Is she around?”
He motioned to the house. “I think she’s inside.”
“Are you coming to the party?” Sarah asked.
There was no right answer. If he said no, she would see him there and be upset, but he knew if he admitted he was going to be there, she would pressure him for something. He didn’t feel like dancing around another come-on.
His father walked out of the house and made a beeline for the barn. “Actually, I need to run along and help my father set things up.”
Her face fell with another rejection, but before she could say anything he jogged toward his father.
“I’ll see you at the party, then?” she called after him, but he didn’t bother to turn around; instead he slipped into the safety of the barn.
Throughout his life this kind of thing seemed to be a recurring theme—the women he didn’t want were desperate for him to commit to them, but the women he really wanted to date wouldn’t give him the time of day. He dated a lot, but it seemed like things never went too far. With the last woman, he’d gone on one date and she’d spent the entire time talking about her job. They had hit it off all right, they had been able to talk, but, like all the other women he’d gone out with, the woman wasn’t what he was looking for. The way things were going, he was never going to have another serious relationship.
Maybe he was just destined to be on his own. To some degree, he liked it that way. His fridge carried only the staples—meat log, cheese and mayonnaise. It was just like the rest of life—simple, uncluttered and what some people might have considered a bit habitual. If he did end up finding himself in a relationship, he’d have to give his routine up—women were never simple. None being more complicated than the curiosity that was Whitney Barstow.
He chuckled as he imagined her walking into his house. She’d probably turn around and walk right out if she saw how bare the place was.
It was just easier this way,