Her Favorite Cowboy. Mary Leo
Читать онлайн книгу.
staring at his grandfather’s sourpuss face for the past several hours Gage could feel his disposition changing for the better.
“Glad I could help,” she said, her voice enticing enough to make him imagine things he shouldn’t be thinking about. Especially since he’d made a promise to himself to steer clear of women until he figured out what the heck he wanted to do with his life now that his divorce was officially final.
It had been one of those messy divorces and had caught him completely off guard. They had been talking about having a baby and buying a bigger place when his wife of four years had sprung it on him during a dinner party at her parents’ house. She confessed that she had fallen out of love with him and “didn’t like who he’d become,” as her dad plated the pot roast. Her two older brothers and their wives were seated around the table as she made clear her intentions. His wife had never liked to do anything major without her family present, and announcing that she wanted to jettison her marriage had apparently been one of those major moments.
Needless to say, the dinner hadn’t gone well after that, at which her mom had literally cried, not because of the pending divorce, but because she had worked all day in the kitchen preparing the perfect pot roast and a seven-layer cake that was “to die for.”
The memory of that dinner party still stung as Gage watched the woman on the bar stool next to him flip her silky hair over a shoulder and blink those steel-gray eyes, as a warm smile creased her seductive red lips.
Oh, yeah, she was way too easy on the eyes.
He drank down more of his soda and once again thought about moving to another spot. And once again she changed his mind.
“You have no idea.”
“How so?”
He wanted to tell her all about his recent divorce and his voluntary extended leave from his lucrative nine-to-five to go on some misguided nostalgic trip with his grandfather in order to reconnect with his youth. But getting into the details of his sordid life was not something he had ever enjoyed doing.
Instead, Gage switched his thoughts back to his grandfather. “I’m thinking the relationship might improve if I try a little harder.”
“By ‘relationship,’ are you talking about a relationship with a woman?”
Gage shook his head. “No. I’m through with women for a while.” He sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “What I mean to say is, my main focus at the moment is on rebuilding a relationship with my grandfather.”
She took a sip of her red wine, and he noticed her dark red manicured nails. They screamed city girl.
“I take it that’s not working out either.”
He shook his head. “Not really. He hates me, and I’m beginning to think he has just cause. I haven’t been a very good grandson lately.”
“How so?”
Gage stared into those big eyes of hers. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you?”
“Only because you seem to want to talk about it.”
He hesitated. Baring his soul had never been easy for him and he wasn’t about to start stripping for a stranger, albeit a beautiful, intuitive stranger.
“Maybe some other time.”
“So you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not really. No.”
She smiled. “I’d ask you if there was any way I could help, but under the circumstances, you may get the wrong idea.”
He chuckled. “What, you mean because you’re sitting on a bar stool, and you’re offering me comfort?”
“Exactly.”
He leaned into the bar and turned toward her, a smirk on his face. “Okay, if it’s not that kind of comfort then tell me what you’re offering?
“A shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it helps to vent. No judgment or advice involved.”
He gazed at her shoulders covered in the crisp white cotton shirt that hugged her petite body, black hair tumbling down the front of her, hiding full breasts, and a delicate gold necklace fastened around her neck sporting a rather large square-cut ruby. He wondered if the ruby had been a gift or if she’d bought it for herself. Either way, it told him she liked the finer things in life. It was a trait his ex-wife lived for and had kept him addicted to, making more and more money for the entire four years they were married.
“I wouldn’t want to get those pretty shoulders of yours all wet,” he told her.
“It’s a warm day. A little moisture might cool things off a bit.”
“Are you always this friendly to strangers, or am I the exception?”
“You have kind eyes. Makes me think you’re a good man.”
“Not very. People I love seem to end up hating me.”
“Hate’s a strong word.” She sipped her wine. “You’re too charming for anyone to hate you.”
A great big grin captured her face and he about melted. The woman was all allure and style...too bad he wasn’t interested. This trip was about his finding his soul again, rekindling a relationship with his grandfather, going back to his roots, remaining sober and deciding what he really wanted out of life. Those were the important things.
It most certainly was not about hooking up with a captivating woman he’d met in a bar.
“You don’t know me. I could be a terrible person.”
“A little misguided perhaps, but definitely not terrible.”
“How can you be so sure?
“It’s right there in your eyes. Besides, I’m a good judge of character.”
Gage turned his back to the bar, to get a better look at his judge in cowgirl boots. “And what kind of character do you see in me?”
“It’s your demeanor, and the fact that you’re covered in dust. I’d say you just parked in the dirt parking lot behind this hotel. You seem a bit shaky, so I’m going to guess you’re coming off a long drive with your grandfather. And, for some reason, you and he have a strained relationship that you’re trying to mend, thus the sparkling water and not a beer or something stronger to hamper your reactions. That makes you a stand-up kind of guy.”
Gage was stunned. “What are you, some kind of psychic or something?”
She laughed. “Not exactly, I just went through almost the same experience with my grandmother. Note the dust on my boots.”
She held out her leg, and sure enough her brown cowgirl boots were covered in a thin coating of white dust.
She said, “I take it you and your grandfather are here for the Zane Grey convention?”
He knocked off the rest of his soda and asked the bartender for another. “We sure are.”
“First time?”
“Yep. Been hearing about this convention for more years than I can remember. Read most every book the man ever wrote. Had to. Gramps wouldn’t let me ride Smokey, my favorite horse, if I didn’t read at least four chapters every day during the summers I visited him. Those were some of the best times of my childhood.”
“Same here, only it wasn’t for a ride on a horse. My grandma made the absolute best cakes and cookies in the entire world, and she wouldn’t teach me how to make them unless I could discuss one of Zane’s books while we baked. My mom and I would visit her every summer for an entire month. Some of my best memories are tied up with that woman.” She held out her hand. “Cori Parker. And you are?”
He took her hand in his, and at once he felt a burning heat slip through his body. He quickly let go.
“Gage