Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(23)

“According to some, that makes me a coward.”


“Bullshit.”


His gaze snapped back to hers.


“I’m a coward, for staying as long as I did after you boys were out of the house. I shoulda left him after you turned eighteen and moved out. I shoulda left him after Luke died when it became apparent we wouldn’t grieve our son together. The only reason I found the guts to do it at all was because of Brandt and Jessie. They deserved the happiness and love they found in each other.” She looked away. “I’ll admit I’m a big part of your dad’s bitterness. I felt staying with him was my penance for the way I trapped him into a marriage he didn’t want.”


They’d never talked about how or when his parents had met. “Have you talked to your counselor about how you’re still takin’ the blame?”


“Son, I willingly admit my part. Not all, but I’m not blameless.”


“I’m glad you’ve got your own life now.”


“There are times I miss the ranch.” She took a sip of water. “Did you miss it when you were traveling?”


“The people more than the place. Did I miss the work? No. Not because I’m lazy, but even the work dynamic changed when Jess and Georgia became involved. I did my own thing. Still got grief for it. Probably always will.”


“So how long will you be in Sundance?”


“No set time frame. A couple of things came up I need to handle. Truth is, I wasn’t looking forward to spending the entire winter in Montana. I hate the feeling of bein’ stuck. When it snows two feet at a time in the mountains, it’s unavoidable.”


“Would Rory Wetzler bein’ back in the area have anything to do with that decision?”


Dalton pushed his plate away. “Yep.”


She laughed. “That’s all I’m gonna get outta you?”


“Not much to tell.” He grinned. “Yet.”


“I see you haven’t lost the McKay charm in your world travels.”


His grin vanished. But his mother didn’t notice; she’d started picking up plates.


“So what would you like to do tonight?” she asked.


He shrugged. “I’m good hanging out.”


“What about going out? To a honky-tonk just up the road. Do a little dancin’. There’s a great band playing this week. You up for that?”


Dalton kept his shock in check. His mom wanted to go out dancing? Didn’t seem like her thing. Then again, she had a different life now and this was his chance to see her in action. Since he intended on taking Rory dancing soon, it’d do him good to brush up on his two-step skills. “I could be. Is your boyfriend gonna be there? ’Cause I don’t want you to ditch me in some strange bar so you two can suck face in the corner.”


“Dalton Patrick McKay! I would never do such a thing!”


He laughed. “Kiddin’, Ma. But I will need your help with something before I leave in the morning.”


Chapter Seven


Two knocks sounded on Rory’s office door.


She highlighted the section of proposed state regulations—easy to get lost in repetitive government double-speak—and said, “Come in.”


Glennis, the receptionist, poked her head in. “Rory? There’s a man out front who’d like to speak with you.”


She frowned. “Why didn’t you just send him back?”


“Well, ah…I wasn’t sure…” Glennis’s cheeks grew flushed.


Why was the receptionist blushing? Then Rory knew.


Dalton.


“The man in question looks like Charles Manson? Don’t let the crazy beard fool you. He’s harmless.”


Glennis appeared startled. “This guy doesn’t have a beard. And he insisted you come out to the reception area.”


Not Dalton after all. Not an unusual request, either. Some men she dealt with believed their questions about certain programs would be less official if they weren’t asked in her office. Made no sense, but mindsets around here were off center anyway.


Rory pushed back from her desk. “Thanks, Glennis. I’ll handle him.”


“I wouldn’t mind handling him,” Glennis muttered.


She headed down the hallway, her brain still mired in processing the morning’s paperwork. She glanced at the man standing in front of the windows with his broad back to her. Not that she minded; his rear view was excellent. Dark Cinch jeans—which she preferred to Wranglers—a black wool vest worn over a crisp white shirt and a black hat.


“Sir? You wished to see me?”


He turned around and Rory froze. Good thing she’d locked her knees or she might’ve ended up falling to them.


It was Dalton. Without a beard.


Holy, holy, holy crap.


She’d always considered him a level beyond cute in that baby-faced way, with his dimpled smile, big blue eyes and full lips. This Dalton…goddamn. He defined hot and rugged man—all man.


“Rory?” he asked softly.