Protect Me, Cowboy (78th Copper Mountain Rodeo Book 2) Read online

She’d hoped if she kept denying it, he’d let it go. Move on and convince himself it’d been a crazy idea. But he clung on with a tenacity that really pissed her off.

  Maybe she was running out of energy to keep denying it, but that didn’t mean she had to confirm it.

  Part of her wanted to tell him the truth, to explain what had happened that night. But the less people who knew who she really was, the better. Not to mention she really just wanted to forget everything that had happened and never talk about it again.

  It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t from Marietta, and who knew how much longer she’d stay in Bozeman. Two more days and she’d be away from this small town.

  She’d just have to stick to her guns and not do anything stupid, like say, sleep with Wyatt Marshall.

  Not going to happen.

  “You ready, kiddo?” Ned asked, coming up beside her.

  Ned, their electric bass player, was probably in his late 50s and definitely had the fatherly vibe.

  “I am. Got a lively crowd out there.” She nodded to the throngs of people gathered in the street.

  Main Street had been barricaded off and decorated for tonight’s festivities. Soft, white lights were strewn about and many tables sat packed full of families who were enjoying the heavenly smelling barbeque.

  Her stomach growled. She’d only been able to eat a bit of her burger at Grey’s. She’d been too torn up about the Wyatt situation.

  Maybe after the concert she’d grab a plate of food if there were leftovers. For now, she’d just stick to water.

  She popped the lid on her green plastic, water bottle and took another long drink. Downing tons of water kind of went with the territory if one were a singer.

  “You might want to grab a jacket.” Ned warned, looking at her outfit. “Might get a little cold with that wind.”

  Her outfit was definitely more for show than practicality. The pale blue sundress with the tiny white flowers had thin straps and barely reached her knees, but at least the faux leather cowboy boots kept her feet warm.

  “I’ll keep one near the stage in case I get cold.” Though the chances were slim.

  She glanced around the crowd out front again and searched for Wyatt. She hadn’t seen him yet, which was better for her nerves.

  “Good evening, folks.”

  One of the locals had jumped on the stage and grabbed the microphone.

  “For those of you who like the music and dancing, we’ve got a treat for you. All the way from Bozeman, give a warm, Marietta welcome to Bourbon and Boots!”

  With the crowd whistling and clapping, Claire and the rest of the band made their way onto the stage.

  She settled in front of the mic, guitar in hand, and counted them into their first song—an upbeat Luke Bryan tune.

  It seemed like half the town was on the dance floor within a minute, dancing and having fun.

  This was the part Claire loved. Watching the audience enjoy themselves because of the band.

  She tapped her booted toe to the beat, strumming her guitar and singing her heart out.

  Three fast songs later, Claire leaned toward the microphone. “All right, folks, we’re going to slow it down a little with my favorite Alison Krauss song.”

  Ballads had been a new experience for her after singing hard rock for so long. When the band had handed her playlist, she’d been a little wary of the slower songs. After a few gigs, though, she could honestly say they were her favorite now.

  She strummed out the intro to “When You Say Nothing at All”, watching the people on the dance floor pairing off into couples to slow dance.

  That was when she found him. Wyatt stood near the edge of the dance area, but he wasn’t alone. A dolled-up redhead was wrapped all around them as they moved to the music.

  A stab of jealousy hit her so fast she was a half-beat late on her entrance for the vocals.

  The words, always romantic and heavy, seemed even more so right now. The song implied that sometimes a person just didn’t need any words to know how someone felt about them.

  Wyatt’s gaze lifted to her and the breath she was using to sustain a note wobbled.

  This was one of those moments where he didn’t need to say anything. He might’ve been dancing with one woman, but it was clear he was thinking about another.

  Her heart did a somersault and her pulse went wild. She squeezed her eyes shut so she could get through the song without completely blowing it.

  Finally, the ballad ended, but unfortunately there was another one after it.

  “Love is Looking for You.”

  This one was a little easier on the heart to sing. A little, but not much. She watched the crowd, carefully keeping her eyes averted from Wyatt.

  He must’ve known, because she caught sight of him off on the side of the dance floor on the left side of the stage. This time, he was alone.

  Unwittingly, her gaze locked on his as she sang. His gaze was narrowed and hard, seeing far more than wished he did.

  Maybe he was just jaded like the song said. Maybe he had been hurt. It broke her a little to think maybe she’d been the one to do it.

  One night. A handful of hours. It shouldn’t have meant anything. But the way he was watching her right now, and the way she couldn’t tear her gaze from his, it meant much more than it should’ve to both.

  Thankfully, the ballad ended soon, and transitioned into a fast song again. It was one that straddled the line between country and pop, and with a bridge that pushed the top of her vocal range.

  It was the last song before they would take a fifteen-minute break, and the realization made Claire nervous. She didn’t want to get down from the stage. To be readily available for Wyatt to come talk to her.

  But they’d be done within a minute, and clearly Wyatt had no intention of going anywhere.

  *

  Not that Wyatt had any doubts that Claire was Sin from Vegas but, if he still had them, the high note she’d held in the last song would’ve wiped it away.

  That note could’ve easily been in one of the rock songs she’d sang in Vegas. She hadn’t played the guitar as Sin, but she clearly knew her way around one. Then there was the way she closed her eyes and lost herself in the music. He remembered that all too well. The little furrow between her brow and the way she just seemed to feel each note and word she sang.

  Claire could change up her physical appearance, but as a performer her mannerisms matched Sin’s to a “T”.

  The band finished their current song, and then Claire leaned toward the mic again to announce they were taking a break.

  Wyatt moved, ready to intercept her when she stepped down.

  She crossed the stage, her gaze on his, with slow deliberate steps. She’d changed her clothes for the concert. Whether a punk rock goddess or country girl crooner, she was gorgeous. A woman who just damn near took his breath away.

  He slid his gaze from her head to her toes. Makeup, but it wasn’t the dark rocker look like before. It was glossy pink lips, shimmery eyelids, and long, long lashes.

  Her blonde, loose curls fell down her back and shoulders, untamed. The dress she wore was far more suited to a summer day, than a brisk night on the cusp of fall.

  But thank God she’d worn it. Otherwise he wouldn’t get to see the bit of cleavage and sweet lift of breasts against the flowery pattern. If she’d worn jeans, he wouldn’t be able to see those pale, slender thighs and toned legs that disappeared into cowboy boots.

  He frowned, momentarily distracted. Damn it, but he was going to have to talk to her about getting a real pair of boots. Those wouldn’t hold up ten minutes on the ranch.

  Does it matter? She’s going to be gone after Monday.

  While that thought resounded through his head, he watched Claire take the few steps down from the stage and come to stand in front of him.

  She glanced up at him, through her lashes. “Enjoying the show, cowboy?”

  “Am I ever.” He gave her a slow smile, flashing his teeth. “Be
a lot better if you were down here to dance with me though.”

  “Well that would require me being in two places at once, and I haven’t quite mastered that level of awesome yet.” Her eyes narrowed. “Besides, it looks like you were doing just fine dancing without me.”

  His lips twitched. Was that a hint of jealousy in her tone?

  “Oh, yeah, that was Miss Luanne.”

  “She the one you had a date with last night?”

  He laughed and her eyes widened. Her cheeks filled with color. Oh, yeah, she knew she sounded a little jealous.

  “Wasn’t really a date. We were just having dinner.”

  She made a small harrumph and opened the water bottle resting in her hand, taking a long drink.

  “I can’t decide if you were more gorgeous in Vegas, or right now. I’m thinking now.”

  She sputtered and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

  Before she could spout out another lie or try and deny who she was again, he continued.

  “But you sound amazing no matter what you sing. You’re probably one of the most talented singers I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, Sinclair.”

  He’d said her full name deliberately, wanting to incorporate both of her identities. From the soft sigh she made and the way her shoulders fell slightly, he suspected she’d picked up on that.

  She glanced out at the dance floor and lowered her voice. “People are watching us.”

  “Of course they are,” he agreed. “This is a small town and people talk. You’re the pretty stranger who’s been seen getting cozy with Wyatt Marshall.”

  “You’re referring to yourself in third person. Should I worry?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  She smiled and then slid her gaze away. “So what about Shelby? Is something between you two?”

  “Shelby?” He brows rose and he gave a belly laugh. Where the hell had that come from? “Nah, the girl is like another sister to me. We’ve been friends since we were kids. We’ve roped as a team off and on since high school.”

  Claire searched his face and then nodded. “I see. She’s very pretty.”

  “She is. And I’m sure her boyfriend appreciates that.” He paused. “Would it matter, though? If I was dating Shelby? Or Luanne? Or any woman for that matter?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, and seemed to be thinking about how to answer that. “It shouldn’t matter.”

  “But it does.”

  “It does. And I don’t know why.”

  He caught her hand, so soft and small, between both of his squeezed gently.

  “Here’s what I don’t know, Claire. I don’t know why you’re lying to me.” He lowered his head so his mouth was just above her ear. “I don’t know how you happened to just turn up in Montana. I don’t know why I still want you after what happened that night.”

  She tried to turn away, but he caught her arm.

  “What I do know, is this attraction between us is damn near combustible.” The last words had his lips brushing the shell of her ear. She trembled. “And what I want more than anything is for you to trust me, Claire.”

  He couldn’t prove it, but he was pretty sure she was running from something. There was an edge about her. The ways she seemed to constantly be looking over her shoulder. The gun she’d had. A thread of fear she tried to hide behind emotional wall and fierce confidence. But she’d let both slip long enough now and then to show her vulnerability.

  And right now she seemed to be on the edge of doing it again. She sagged into him just a little, pressing one palm against his shoulder.

  “Wyatt…”

  “Let me drive you back the ranch after the show. We can talk.”

  She gave a feeble laugh. “Talk?”

  “That’s all I’m asking for. For you to talk to me. To trust me.”

  She was still for a few moments, then slipped out of his grasp and moved toward the stage again. At the steps, she hesitated and then turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Wait for me after the show, cowboy.”

  *

  The rest of the set flew by for Claire.

  By the time the last note rang out and the band had begun tearing down, she was more than a little exhausted. Mentally and physically.

  During the second half of the performance, Wyatt had been waiting at a table nearby talking to his brother, who she’d only seem briefly at Grey’s.

  Once the music finished, though, he jumped up on the stage and helped tear down and remove equipment and take it to the van.

  They had the stage was cleared, clean, and everything loaded into the van in just about fifteen minutes. Her bandmates all came to say goodbye, casting sideway glances at Wyatt before leaving in their own vehicles.

  Besides a handful of people folding up chairs and tables, they were nearly alone under the string of lights that lit the street in a soft fuzzy glow.

  “You didn’t even warn me it was coming.” Wyatt’s accusation held no anger, but instead wonderment.

  “Warn you what was coming?” She grabbed her denim jacket that was near the stage and slipped it on over her dress.

  “That last song. It was incredible.”

  She flushed, pleased he’d enjoyed it. “That’s new. We just added it to our set.”

  “Loved it. A blue grass version of Guns and Roses ‘Paradise City’. Awesome.” He placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her away from Main Street toward his truck.

  The simple touch sent a rush of warmth through her slightly chilled body.

  “Your idea or someone else in the band?”

  “Mine. You can take the girl out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the girl.” She laughed. “You really didn’t think it was too much?”

  “Nah, people went absolutely wild for it. You guys should keep that one on your set list.”

  “I think we will. Mix it up a little.”

  He opened the passenger side door and helped her climb up into it. Soon he pulled the truck away from the curb and made his way out of town.

  Her pulse kicked up a notch and she glanced out the window. “So where are we going?”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I really don’t know any places around here, but you said you wanted to talk.” She took a deep breath. It was time. “Let’s talk.”

  Claire heard the exhalation of relief he made. Saw the tension in his body ease at her words.

  “All right. I’ve got a place in mind where we can go.”

  They fell into silence as he drove his truck out of the town, over a small two lane road, and finally up through the trees on a winding incline. He took a right and the truck bounced down the rutted dirt road.

  It was pitch black as he slowed to turn onto a beat-up, dirt road. The headlights bounced off the thick pine trees that lined the road.

  She shook her head and gave a nervous laugh. “It’s a good thing I trust you, Wyatt. Or I’d be pegging you for a serial killer right about now.”

  He gave a low, sexy chuckle that made the butterflies in her stomach wake up.

  “I admit it’s a little freaky out here at night, but I promise the view is worth it.”

  Not long after he said that, he backed the truck into a small clearing and then killed the engine.

  “Come on.” He opened the door and then came around to open hers.

  He caught her hand and walked her around to the bed of his truck. He opened the tailgate and helped her up to sit on the edge, then sat down beside her. There was a slight chill in the air and she was glad she’d slipped into her denim jacket.

  “Wow.” It was the only word she had at the moment.

  Why he’d brought her up here now made sense as she stared out at the view in front of them.

  The shadow of mountains stretched before them, with Marietta resting in the dramatic valley between. It was dark, save for the occasional twinkle of light from a house or street lamp.

  “This is amazing,” she finally said. “I bet it’s
even more beautiful up here during daylight.”

  “It’s a toss-up. A little more romantic at night probably, with all the stars.” He chuckled.

  She lifted her gaze to the heavens again, taking in just how brilliant and bright the stars were. She’d thought they were great in Bozeman, but out here it was even more breathtaking.

  “Thank you for bringing me here. How did you even find this place?”

  “Well now, that’s not such a romantic story.” He grimaced. “It’s my uncle’s property. His house burned down about five years ago and he hasn’t rebuilt. Moved his butt to Idaho and let the lot become abandoned for now. Katie’s been trying to get him to sell her the lot ever since.”

  “It’s a shame. A house with this kind of view would be priceless.” She slid a glance his way.

  “Agreed.”

  “How many girls have you brought up here over the years, Wyatt Marshall?”

  The moment the question was out she wanted to kick herself. Why the hell had she asked it?

  He was silent for a bit. Probably counting, the thought made her a little depressed.

  “One. You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought up here.”

  She started to laugh and then caught the somberness in his tone. “Wait, you’re serious?”

  “Absolutely. This is my little spot where I come to think.” He caught her hand and laced his fingers through it. “Maybe have a few beers and pass out under the stars.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  He drew his thumb across her knuckles and a shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t from the cold.

  “So you trust me, huh?”

  He was going back to that serial killer comment, prodding her to open up about what had happened in Vegas. The ball was in her court.

  “I think so, which… I need to tell you, I don’t trust easily.”

  “Good. You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, Claire. I only want to help.”

  “Thank you.” Her throat tightened with emotion. “I owe you an apology.” She looked to where their hands were connected. “More than one actually. For standing you up that night in Vegas. And for lying to you about it since we met again.”

  His fingers tightened around hers, and when she glanced up at his face she watched his eyes close briefly. The admission had meant more to him than she’d figured it would.