Making A Texas Cowboy (Home at Last Texas #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

S he watched him stride across the room toward her, and people cleared his way as if he had some magical power. A ridiculous thought, but the first one that came to her. And in that moment, she could see him as any fictional hero she could think of, and making it work. Maybe that was why it worked, because at the core, he was who he was, and that didn’t change, just as it didn’t in the character he played. It was only the trappings that changed. The heart was pure hero.

She remembered what he’d said about never having played—or wanting to—a bad guy, and she could see now why. Because no one would ever believe this man was evil at heart. She’d been misled by her own assumptions, and it had kept her from seeing the man behind the role, the real man.

But she saw him now.

And when he suggested they get out of the crowd, she never hesitated.

They’d come in his rental SUV. He’d said he’d gotten to where he could find his way around in daylight, mostly, but nighttime was another experience altogether and he needed to learn.

“You actually have nighttime here,” he’d said. “I’ve forgotten how dark it is without a gazillion city lights to wipe it out.”

“Do you miss it?” she’d asked.

That was when, his hand on the gearshift, he’d turned to meet her gaze head-on. “Not. One. Bit.”

Whether it was the way he said it, each one-syllable word with such emphasis, or the way he’d looked at her when he did, she didn’t know, but she felt a flood of such warmth she quickly turned away, afraid of what might be showing in her face.

And now, as they drove through that darkness, she pondered. It was strange for her to feel so uncertain. She never had before. She tried to write it off to how she’d felt about him in the beginning, how she’d disliked him on principle. But now that she knew better... she didn’t know what to chalk the emotions he stirred in her up to.

Well, except for the obvious, of course. That she’d fallen in with a few million women across the country who were infatuated with actor Jackson Thorpe.

She gave him a quick sideways glance and shook off that thought easily now. Because when she looked at him, she didn’t see the actor who’d stolen hearts across the country. She saw the guy who had walked away from the kind of stardom others would kill for, for the sake of his son. The guy who had moved halfway across the country in the hopes it would help his son. The guy who, even though he could well afford to do nothing, hated the idea and essentially worked as a ranch hand, because he wanted to. And because it helped her father.

That was the man she’d fallen for.

Her breath caught as the words formed in her mind. Had she? Really?

She tried to put out of her mind who he was—or had been, before he’d come to Last Stand—and picture what it might have been like if she’d met him someplace like the feedstore. Or the bookstore, knowing him now. She was honest enough to admit that just his looks would have caught her eye. The voice would still have hit that spot deep down that set up an echoing vibration in her. And the eyes... well, she could admit those deep-blue eyes would have had her wondering what it would be like if they heated up looking at her.

And she could admit that, if he’d been a local, or a Hill Country guy, or even just a Texan, she would have been immediately interested. Very interested.

So what was she now?

When they arrived at the ranch, seeing that all the lights in the house were out, she gave a startled glance at the clock in the dash of the vehicle. She couldn’t quite believe it was after midnight.

He pulled up in front of her wing of the house. When he shut the engine off, it seemed almost unnaturally quiet, especially after the constant buzz of a Friday night at the Last Stand Saloon. He unfastened his seat belt, then turned in the driver’s seat to look at her. And waited.

And suddenly, that quiet was alive, humming between them as if he’d said something startling. Shocking. Suggestive? Was he waiting to be invited in? If he was, would she invite him?

Nicole Baylor was not an indecisive person. She’d always known what she wanted in life and went after it. But now she couldn’t seem to speak or move. And Jackson was just... looking at her. Waiting.

She groaned inwardly. She had to get away from him. She couldn’t think straight when he was right there . Almost on her thought, he turned away and opened his door. She was a little stunned at how empty the vehicle suddenly felt, and it took her a moment to realize he’d walked around to open the passenger door for her. She ordered herself to snap out of it. She belatedly undid her own seat belt and turned to get out. She was not used to such uncertainty and, somewhat embarrassedly had to admit she didn’t know what to do.

There was another frozen moment, with her staring up into those eyes, trying to read him. And for that moment, he was looking at her the same way, assessingly, as if he were trying to gauge if she—

He stepped back, and the cold night air rushed in between them. She’d waited too long. And as if the chill had numbed her, she silently walked to her front door, regret already bubbling beneath the surface.

Why couldn’t she find the words? True, she hadn’t been in this situation for a very long time, alone with a man she was attracted to—okay, beyond attracted, a man she flat-out wanted—with nothing to keep them from pursuing this heat that seemed to spark between them. She had kissed him once, and he had kissed her back, after all. But now he politely followed and waited, like the gentleman he obviously was at heart, until she had it open.

So here she stood, Nicole Baylor, well-known trainer who’d dealt with some contrary horses in her time, including one pretty ornery stud, and she had no idea what to do. And thinking of Jackson in conjunction with that fiery stallion, who knew exactly what his purpose in life was, completely derailed any logical thought process.

He leaned in and whispered something she was too befuddled at the moment to process. And it wasn’t until he was back in the SUV and headed up the hill that the words—and the meaning—registered.

If you change your mind, you know where I am.

She watched the taillights recede, then vanish at the turn toward the hill house.

If you change your mind, you know where I am.

That had to mean he felt the same, didn’t it?

For a moment she almost wished he was one of those guys who’d try to convince her with a swarm of kisses and touches until she was too hot to say no. But for all that he came out of Hollywood, he obviously was not one of those. He’d been a perfect gentleman, a Texas gentleman, as her mother would have said.

Her mother. Who had orchestrated this whole night. Who had sent them out together, hoping for... what? What had Mom hoped to accomplish?

The answer should have hit her back when Mom had first said it, which was a measure of how disconcerted she was. Because it was crystal clear, now.

Jeremy can stay overnight . . .

Also belatedly, it hit her that Jackson could have gone in and gotten Jeremy to take him home. But he hadn’t. He’d left him here, with her folks, and headed home. Alone. The only night alone he’d had since he’d arrived.

And who knew when there’d ever be another one? There might never be another chance like this one.