Her Rancher Rescuer. Donna Alward
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Wondered if he really did have a rescue complex. There had to be a flaw somewhere. Jack Shepard was just a little too perfect.
“Come dance with me. Otherwise you’re just running with your tail between your legs. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always preferred a good fight to a quiet retreat.”
Easy for him to say. She’d be here in town long after he was gone. She’d be the one going to a bleak and dismal home night after night when what she really longed for was some color and excitement. With a sinking heart, she realized tonight would only be more ammunition for those people who would make her a laughingstock.
She remembered the news reports in the sports pages after Jack’s ski injury. They hadn’t always been kind. They’d said something like “Fast on and off the hill.” Jack had faced a fair bit of nasty press in his day but he’d risen above it. She could do worse for a champion, she supposed.
And then there were Callum and Avery, the bride and groom, and Jack’s sister, Taylor, who’d been surprisingly nice to her at Avery’s wedding shower. And her boss, Melissa Stone, who’d given her a chance with her job. She was pretty sure that working with Melissa had snagged her the invite to the wedding in the first place.
But could she do it? Could she face them all with her head held high? It was a tall order, when she’d been aware of the whispers for years. Since she was ten and her dad had walked out. She’d heard the rumors that he’d left them for someone else. Had no idea if they were true or not, because her mother wouldn’t speak of him.
“That’s a crazy idea.” She still had the urge to collect her coat and flee. It would be easier....
“Probably. But if you run away, they win.”
And then he smiled, a conspiratorial sort of grin that climbed his cheek and warmed the depths of his eyes. Like they were in cahoots. And in that moment Amy realized that she didn’t just think Jack was okay. She really, truly liked him. He would be a good person to have on her side.
Her heartbeat quickened with nerves. “One dance, and then you’ll take me home?”
“Cross my heart.” He made the motion over his left breast and then held out his hand. “Shall we?”
She swallowed tightly, her throat constricting as she braced herself for whatever was on the other side of the door. “I’m game if you are.” The words sounded more sure than she really was.
She put her fingers in his and squeezed. Lifted her chin and shook her hair back over her shoulders. He returned the squeeze of her fingers, giving her confidence. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
Amy refused to look anywhere but straight ahead as Jack unlocked the door and swung it open. Half a dozen people were standing around, and out of the corner of her eye she saw someone from the club maintenance crew coming around the corner—presumably to unlock the locked door. She felt heat climb her cheeks but then Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked the room at large, tugging her behind him. She gaped. How could he sound so casual? So effortlessly charming? She hurried to keep up with him, which was difficult considering his long legs and her high heels. She could feel the stares on her back and had the oddest urge to giggle. Considering all the times she hadn’t wanted to make a spectacle and had anyway, this moment was surreal and more than a little comical. She’d pegged Jack as a lot of things—handsome, charming—but she hadn’t considered him chivalrous. There really was no other way to describe his actions tonight.
She got her footing and evened out her stride, keeping her chin defiantly raised. Jack was right. This felt much better than slinking away as if she were guilty of something! The only thing she was guilty of was trying to help.
The song playing was a fast one, so Jack steered her toward the bar first. “Tonic and lime for me, champagne for the lady, please,” he ordered, and in seconds a glass of fizz was placed in her hand. “Cheers,” he said, touching his glass to hers. “Come on.”
He took her hand again and led her to the fringe of the floor. They paused and she took a long drink of champagne, enjoying the bubbles as they exploded on her tongue. The last time she’d had champagne it wasn’t real champagne at all but the cheap fizzy stuff from the liquor store that cost less than ten dollars a bottle and was far too sweet. This was drier, with a bit of bite, and tasted expensive.
And just like that she was reminded once more that Jack Shepard was a millionaire. Maybe even a billionaire. Not that he put on airs or anything, or threw his money around. It was easy to forget when he was here, in a place like this, dressed like all the other groomsmen. Truth be told, on a regular day 90 percent of the guys here would be in boots and Stetsons. Jack’s sporting goods empire was huge and he ran some sort of outdoor adventure ranch in Montana. He’d been an Olympic downhiller, just missing the podium in his one and only games before going on to make his mark in the business world. And she’d been locked in a bathroom with him for a good ten, fifteen minutes.
The nervous giggle she’d been holding in slipped out.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she answered, draining her glass of champagne and looking longingly at the empty flute. It would be gauche to ask for another, but oh, my, it was delicious.
She noticed Jack give a nod to the DJ, and seconds later the song changed to something slower.
He took her hand and led her to the floor. His fingers gripped hers, his other hand placed firmly on the hollow of her back as he drew her close. In her heels, she only had to tip her head a little to have her lips at the bottom of his ear. “You are used to people taking your orders,” she observed as their feet began to move.
“Yes, I am. But only when I’m being reasonable.”
“Are you ever unreasonable?”
He lowered his chin and looked down at her, his expression unexpectedly serious. “Not as often as I used to be.”
Something delicious swirled around in her tummy. “You mean you’ve left your bad-boy days behind?”
“Mostly.”
She blinked. “Mostly?” What did that mean?
“Well, locking myself in a bathroom with you probably wasn’t the most reasonable move. Though I must say I did behave myself. Even you can’t deny that.”
She was about to laugh when he said, “More’s the pity.”
And the laugh died in her throat, replaced instead by an acute awareness of what could have happened in that bathroom. What everyone probably thought had happened....
“They were going to talk regardless,” he said quietly, his lips against her temple as he read her thoughts. “This way they talk about you sneaking away with me instead of locking yourself away crying over him.”
He was right. And she would rather that, than everyone view her as pathetic, as they normally did.
As his hand rode perilously close to her tailbone, she recalled the scandal that broke just prior to the fall that messed up his knee for good. There’d been a photograph of him and a woman.... His coach’s wife, if she remembered correctly. Had he been in love with her? Licked his wounds in private? What secrets was Jack hiding beneath his cool, confident exterior? There had to be more to the man than what she saw. No one was that perfect.
“Do you love him, Amy?”
“What? Who?” she asked, confused.
They danced along to the music, feet moving in perfect rhythm. “Rhys Bullock. Are you in love with him?”
“God, no.” The denial came swiftly to her lips. Rhys was attractive, and for most of the women in Cadence Creek, the ungettable get. They’d gone on exactly one date and while he was nice enough, they hadn’t clicked at all. Catching the bouquet had been pure chance. And Rhys hadn’t exactly pushed her away during the dance. Rhys was a challenge to the female