A Town Called Valentine(2)

And then the cowboy gave her a slow smile, and she saw the dimples that creased the leanness of his cheeks and the amusement hovering in those grass green eyes. “Yes, ma’am, it’s well past my bedtime.”

She bit her lip, ready to finish her burger and scurry back to her car, like the old, properly married Emily would have done. But she wasn’t that person anymore. A person was made up of what she wanted, and everything Emily had thought she wanted had fallen apart. She was becoming a new woman, an independent woman, who didn’t need a husband, or a mother, to make a success of her life.

But tonight, she was also just a single woman in a bar. And who was that hurting if she was? She could smile at a man, even flirt a bit. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the part, in her black sweater and jeans, but the cowboy didn’t seem to mind looking at her. She felt a flush of reaction that surprised her. How long had it been since she’d felt desirable instead of just empty inside? Too long.

“You’ll hear this a lot if you stick around,” the cowboy continued, “but you’re a stranger around here.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, taking the last swig of her beer. Her second beer, she thought. “I’ve just driven from San Francisco.”

“Been here before?” he asked.

She grinned as she glanced at the mounted hunting trophies on the walls. “Not right here. But Valentine Valley? Yes, but it’s been a long, long time. Since my childhood in fact. So no one will know me.”

“Don’t worry,” he said dryly. “Everyone will make it their business to fix that.”

She eased back in her chair, tilting her head as she eyed him. “You don’t like that?”

He shrugged. “It’s all I’ve ever known.” Leaning his forearms on the table, he said, “Someone waiting for you tonight?”

“No.” A little shiver of pleasure stirred deep in her stomach. She wouldn’t let herself enjoy this too much. She was a free woman, flirting in a bar to pass the time after an exhausting day. It didn’t mean anything. The bartender brought over another beer, and she didn’t protest. “None of my family lives here anymore.”

For a moment, the cowboy looked as if he would question that, but instead, he glanced at the bartender. “Tony, since the dartboard’s taken, mind if we use the back room?”

Emily gaped at him.

The cowboy grinned as if he could read her mind. “Pool table. Do you play?”

She giggled. Oh, she’d really had too much to drink. But it was dark and raining, and she had no family here, and no one who cared what she did. She got to her feet and grabbed her beer. “Not since college. And I was never good. But if you need a reason to stay up past your bedtime . . .”

His laugh was a pleasurable, deep rumble. As she passed his table, he stood up, and for the first time she got a good look at the size of him, the width of his shoulders thanks to whatever work he did, the flannel shirt open over a dark t-shirt, those snug jeans following long legs down to well-used cowboy boots. Damn. He could really work a pair of jeans. And who would have thought she’d find cowboy boots hot? She’d always been drawn to a tailored suit and the subtle hint of a well-paid profession.

The back room was deserted on this stormy night. Low central lights hung over the table, brightly illuminating the playing surface but leaving the corners of the room in the shadows. Emily set her beer down on a nearby table, and the cowboy did the same.

He chose a cue stick. As she was pulling her hair back in a quick ponytail, he turned and came to a stop, watching her. His hungry gaze traveled down her body, and though she realized her posture emphasized her breasts, she didn’t stop until her hair was out of her face. It had been so long since a man looked at her with admiration and desire and need. Surely she’d be flustered—if it wasn’t for the beer.

She took the cue stick from him and smiled, saying, “Thanks,” knowing he’d chosen for himself.

He laughed and put several quarters in the table to release the balls. She watched him, drinking her beer and having a handful of mixed nuts from a basket on the table. Normally, she never would have eaten from food that could have been sampled by anyone. Tonight, it didn’t matter. She was a new woman.

“Do you have a name, cowboy?”

He’d been leaning over the table to rack the balls, but he straightened and looked at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Nate.”

No last names. She felt a thrill of danger. “Emily.”