Chapter Three
Casey woke with the mother of all headaches and a body that knew it had gone seven seconds with a sixteen-hundred-pound bull yesterday and lost. It took a ten-minute shower, as hot as he could stand it, two painkillers and a shot of caffeine before he even began to feel human again. He packed his duffel and hauled it out to his truck before heading back to the hotel’s breakfast area. He’d coerced Rowan Harper into having breakfast with him this morning—he remembered that much, and the kiss that went with it. But it was already five after eight and it’d serve him right if she didn’t turn up.
She was sitting in the breakfast area, at a table for four—that was the good news. But she wasn’t alone.
Flynn Davis, who toured the circuit as one of the rodeo clowns, sat at the table too, and so did Gisele, one of the new bull-rider wives on the tour. Gisele had come from old money back East and stood out like a prickle on a pumpkin on the tour. Casey looked for her husband, Kit, but he was nowhere to be seen.
“I saved you a seat,” said Rowan as he approached, and he blinked, because that sounded … intimate.
“I told him I’d see him at breakfast so I’d know he didn’t die in his sleep,” she told the other two, and there was the save. Nothing to see here.
“It was only a little concussion,” he protested.
“That’s what they all say,” Ro muttered darkly. “And the next minute they’re dead.”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine in the morning. More coffee, anyone?”
“Not for me. I’m about to take my leave but thank you, Casey,” said Gisele. Manners of a queen, that one, and an accent to match, but she never looked down on anyone and often sought Rowan’s company. Casey nodded and looked to Flynn.
“Gonna get one to go,” said the other man. “The road calls.”
“Black,” said Rowan. “Thanks.”
By the time he returned with two coffees only Rowan remained, and wasn’t that a convenient way to ease into having breakfast with this woman? They hadn’t arrived together; they were just people who knew each other, seeking out a familiar face in a hotel breakfast room. Nothing to gossip about here, unless it was to do with Rowan staying on after her father had loaded up all the Harper bulls and left. Just a breakfast between colleagues.
Why this immediately made him want to lean over and claim her with a kiss was anyone’s guess.
“Four brothers and I still hate sharing,” he muttered instead, and made her smile. “What? It’s the ugly truth. Not that we ever fought over a woman. Well, not to my knowledge.”
“Did your mother ever long for a girl?”
“Of course. It’s human nature to long for what you don’t have.”
Too late he remembered the story Paulo had told him about the Harper family tragedy. “Which would you prefer?” he asked. “Girl or boy?”
“Boy.”
“Why so certain?”
“Because in my family setup, being male is an advantage. Rough stock contracting, bull riding—they’re male domains.”
“You manage.”
“I’m tolerated. There’s a difference.”
“What if you had a son and he wanted to play football or become an accountant?”
“I guess the accounting would come in handy,” she deadpanned. “Not sure about the football. Hard to commit to a team sport when you’re on the road for most of the year.”
“Good thing you’re not a boy who likes football.”
“Yes, but I did want to be a ballerina at one point. That’s not even a sport. It’s art.”
“Right.”
“Have you ever tried to pirouette your way through the snow while wearing snow boots and supposedly shoveling a path from the house to the barn?”
“No.”
“Don’t.”
He liked this woman and the pictures she drew for him, never mind that she hadn’t given him a straight answer when it came to children being encouraged to do their own thing. Or maybe she had given him a very clear answer on that. Any child of hers would be expected to hold the family line.
Now there was a point of difference between them.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Not yet. I slept in. And then I had to dress up to go dress shopping.”
The only difference between today’s outfit and yesterday’s was that she’d ditched the checked flannel overshirt. Her T-shirt was gray and her jeans were the kind of faded that city people paid a premium for. She wore no makeup. She carried no handbag. If he quizzed her, he figured she’d have a wallet or a money clip stashed in a pocket somewhere. “Ready to go buy the perfect outfit?”
She grimaced. “Can’t wait.”
“You should never go dress shopping alone, you know?”
“How do you know?” she asked, which … good point.
“I have girl cousins. I hear talk. And I’m willing to spend the morning helping you out. You helped me out yesterday with my ride—it seems only fair.”
“I am not buying a cherry red dress to match your truck.”
“I’ll have you know I’m doing my very best to let go of that particular fantasy,” he protested. “It’s an excellent one, by the way. I revisited it again last night, after our kiss.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be sleeping last night? Doctor’s orders?”
“I did that too.” But he’d woken with a skull-cracker of a headache and had been up twice throughout the night checking his eyes in the mirror for blown pupils. There was a difference between being bred tough and being born stupid, and he liked to think he wasn’t the latter. The last thing his family needed was another family member dead after a fall they hadn’t taken seriously enough.
“I don’t understand your desire to watch me buy clothing,” she said with a frown crease between her eyes. “Do you expect me to make a fool of myself? Is it something to tease me about? Do you think I’m going to look all wrong?”
“Do you?”
She shrugged and dropped her gaze. “I’m not exactly known for my femininity.”
“The work you do doesn’t define you, Rowan. People only have to look beneath your ball caps and big sunglasses to know you could be breathtakingly feminine if you wanted to be. The foundation’s there. You just have to want to go there—either for someone else or for yourself.”
She nodded, but still wouldn’t look at him.
“And I don’t have to go shopping with you—don’t mind me. I’m aware some journeys are more personal than others. And now I’m going to go raid the breakfast buffet for bacon and pancakes and more syrup than I deserve. May I get you some?”
“Look at you with the manners and the thoughtfulness.” She was smiling again and that was how he wanted her. “Who’d have guessed?”
“Exactly,” he said agreeably. “Although my mother might have guessed. She spent enough time drilling manners into us when we were kids. Not a lot of use for them on the back of a bucking bull, but I remember them well enough when I’m out of the arena and not halfway concussed. Do I need to apologize for last night?”
“Apologize for what?”
“Pushing too hard, declarations of intent, inappropriate kisses …” He watched color steal into her cheeks and figured he might not have to apologize for those kisses after all. “Possibly other things.”
And then her chin came up and her gaze met his. “No need to apologize.”
Well, all right then.
Rowan headed for the buffet and Casey followed, traveling his own path once they got there, filling his plate with proteins and fruit and going easy on the carbs. His exercise and nutrition plan wasn’t as rigorous as Jett’s when it came to muscle development and weight gain or loss, but he still had one, and he’d pit his core strength and balance against his brother’s any day.
Rowan had a robust appetite for someone so small. She ate fast and didn’t make small talk, looking up when she was done to find him only half-finished. And he’d been trying to keep apace with her.
“Shit,” she said as hot color stole across her cheeks. She picked up her still-folded napkin and wiped her mouth and hands and then tucked her hands beneath her legs and looked away and colored some more.
It occurred to him that she’d never had a mother like his, one who’d been in full command of the riot at the dining table, telling them to slow down and keep their elbows to themselves, drumming the appropriate use of silverware into them whether they wanted to learn about cutlery choices or not.
He put his knife and fork together on the plate—some teachings could never be forgotten—and stood up. “Ready to shop?”
Because he was done making this woman feel uncomfortable.
She was more skittish away from the bulls, less confident, more vulnerable, and it called to every protective instinct he owned. If she wasn’t careful she’d bite straight through her bottom lip and that would be a shame.
“Ready,” she muttered, looking for all the world as if she was headed straight for the gallows.
“Want me to come?”
Rowan shrugged. “I’ve no idea where to look or what kind of clothes I want, which suggests it might take forever, but you could come along and give your opinion if you want.”
“I want.”
*
Twenty minutes later they stood at the corner of a downtown high street that looked promising when it came to boutiques full of women’s clothes. There was the western store on the corner that seemed to specialize in fancy cowboy boots and men’s clothes too, as well as women’s clothes both casual and fancy. There was the boutique that specialized in making businesswomen look businesslike. There was a shop for jeans, a shop for tops, a shop for teens and a bar and grill. Rowan could park him here and come back when she was done and he wouldn’t complain, but that wasn’t what he’d signed on for so he dutifully followed her inside the boutique that caught her eye.
It was one of those stores where the colors of the clothes were all muted grays and tans, liberally sprinkled with white linen jackets and the occasional skirt or elegant black cocktail dress. The shop assistant was a tall, blonde woman in her fifties and she stared at Rowan curiously.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for a dress. For me,” Rowan said with a nervous smile.
“What sort of dress?”
“Ah—”
“Something formal? Evening wear?”
“No.”
The woman tried again. “A day dress to wear to a meeting? A sundress to feel pretty in?”
“The last one,” said Rowan.
The woman nodded and cast a quick glance at Casey. “Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to save you the trouble of trying anything on that’s in this shop and tell you outright that my clothes are not going to suit you—and that’s not an insult. You’re too petite and these clothes are built for tall women with plenty of curves and confidence. In other words, my clothes are going to swim on you. Moreover, they’re designed for a … shall we say more mature clientele? Like me. May I ask what lured you in here?”
“The blue of that dress.” Rowan gestured toward it and the woman nodded.
“It’s a beautiful gray-blue, a favorite of mine too, but it’s going to do nothing for you.”
“Oh.”
Stripped of what little confidence she’d started with; that was what Rowan was in that moment. Casey saw it but didn’t know how to fix it. The saleswoman woman saw it too.
“Try the blue frock on, by all means. Try anything you want on in here and I’ll help you make the best of it,” the saleswoman continued with utter confidence. “But if you don’t mind taking my advice and spending a bit of money, I’ll tell you to make a beeline for the western boutique on the corner instead. Ignore the brightly colored embroidered pieces, forget the suede, and head for the back of the shop behind the boots section. You’ll find a collection of crushed chiffon sundresses with spaghetti straps and fitted bodices. The dresses will fall probably to your knees and you might want to take the hem up, but the rest should work for you. Now, they don’t have them in blue, but they do have one in cream with caramel accents and that’s the one for you. Dress size zero to two—that’s your size, in case you didn’t know. Pair it with deep-red fancy boots and then and only then take a look in the mirror. Tell them Nancy sent you.”
This time it was Casey who nodded as he opened the door and held it for Ro. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yes. I—thank you.”
“My pleasure.” The woman held the door open for them both. “You’re going to look beautiful.”
*
If Rowan hadn’t been so embarrassed she might have made a better show of thanking the woman. As it was, only Casey’s presence stopped her from fleeing the shopping strip altogether and heading for the nearest wide-open space.
“She seemed nice.” Casey looked at Rowan from beneath his cowboy hat. “Although it could be she typecast you because of my hat. Do you want western clothes?”
She had no idea.
“Because you don’t have to follow her suggestion. I can see you in Audrey Hepburn clothes too.”
“You’re a movie buff?”
“Blame my mother. She used to iron to Breakfast At Tiffany’s. You’ve got that same look about you as Audrey Hepburn had. Pure thoroughbred.”
Rowan blinked. “You can’t be serious.”
“Maybe not the tiara,” he offered casually, and then they were at the door of the western store and those doors slid open all by themselves.
Inside was more like a department store than she expected—a department store with a western slant. They found the boots easily enough. Women’s to the left and the men’s boots on the right. Casey found the men’s belt racks. Rowan found the dresses, and they were far more ethereal than the woman had described and more expensive than Rowan could have imagined. Beautiful though, and she rubbed the silky material between her thumb and fingertips. So soft and almost sheer, and the tag said 100% pure silk, which might explain the price.
Casey, meanwhile, had attracted the attention of not one but two of the female shop attendants.
Figured.
She found her size and caught the eye of an older woman in the menswear section. Rowan took the dress from the rack and gestured with it toward the nearby change rooms. The woman nodded in assent but otherwise made no fuss of her.
Maybe this was her kind of place after all. In and out fast, no spotlight. Dress purchased.
She was standing there in panties, with the dress halfway over her head when a youthful voice came at her from the other side of the curtain.
“Ma’am, this is Wendy. The cowboy with the eyes to die for asked me to find out your shoe size.”
Eyes to die for. There was no denying that particular description. Rowan didn’t even begin to try.
“Size six,” she said from beneath the layers of material.
Guess Casey had been paying more attention to the other woman’s words than she had.
“How’s the dress size?”
“Okay. I think. I haven’t actually got it on yet.”
“I’ll be back in a little while. Take your time.”
You too, Rowan wanted to say, but she tugged the dress over her head instead, and shimmied into the surprisingly snug bodice. Oh, so that was why there was no need for a bra with this dress. It had built-in support beneath the silk that lifted things and made things seem bigger than they were.
Fine by her.
“Ma’am? Wendy again. Try these boots with the dress.” The bottom left-hand corner of the curtain twitched and moments later a hand appeared, with a pair of red cowboy boots with fancy tan stitching. “Stocking socks are in the left boot,” Wendy said. “And I’ve a very nice two-tone tan boot here, with red and orange stitching. You want to see them too?”
“Sure.”
A second set of boots appeared beside the first. “There’s a mirror out here when you’re ready.”
There was a mirror inside the cubicle too. Granted, it wasn’t large but she could make do.
She reached for the red boots first and then hesitated. The tan ones were nicer and the toe was neatly rounded. The heel was a little higher too.
Couldn’t hurt to try them on first.
And then she couldn’t see everything in the mirror after all, so after a quick check for people, Rowan slipped from the dressing room and stood in front of the other mirror.
Shoulders that hadn’t seen sunlight for years glowed pale and creamy beneath the trick lighting of the store, but there was no denying that the dress suited her, bringing out the deep brown of her hair and the whiskey color of her eyes. The boots gave her more height and the fabric seemed to fall right no matter which way she turned. She even had breasts, thanks to the magic bodice and the extra layers of fabric there.
And then Casey and one of the young shop attendants appeared, and—in for a dollar, in for a thousand-dollar spend, what with the boots—but the outfit was feminine and pretty and not entirely uncomfortable. “What do you think?” she asked.
“I think the woman in the other shop knew what she was talking about,” Casey said in a voice that sounded a little gruffer than it had at breakfast.
“Here,” said the girl, Wendy, and handed her a long silver chain, with delicate links that were bigger than normal. A silver heart dangled from the center of it and it was too long and came almost to her belly button, but Casey smiled when she put it on, and there was that look again, the one that warmed her all over.
“Let me show you a trick with this one,” said Wendy, and shuffled them both back into the change room and shut the curtain behind them. “You need to take the hem up but do this for now. You do the front; I’ll do the back.” And she turned Rowan around and very gently began to tuck some of the flowy part of the dress up beneath the bodice. “Two inches ought to do it.”
Two inches later and Rowan stood in front of the mirror once more. The dress was coming home with her—that was a given. And so were the boots. And the necklace, which would undoubtedly find its way to the back of a drawer, never to be seen again. “I’ll take it all.”
“We have a top in this fabric too. Put your jeans on and the red boots and I’ll bring it in.”
The top was pale gold with cap sleeves and a modest V neck. It too was a little long in the bodice and she resigned herself to taking off another two inches all around.
The red boots were gorgeous, and there went another seven hundred dollars, just like that.
Casey was over at the counter, doubtless being chatted up, and then his gaze met hers, and he smiled slow and sure as he took in her outfit and gave it a nod.
Beside her, Wendy sighed. “He looks familiar.”
“Pro bull rider.”
“That’ll do it,” said Wendy with an even happier sigh. “Is he any good?”
“Better than good, but don’t tell him I said so. It’ll go to his head. I’ll take the top and the red boots as well, and please don’t show me anything else or my credit card will have a fit.”
“Are you sure? The other outfit’s already paid for. I say go for it. One more necklace. I know just the one. It’s a bit of cord with a ceramic cross on it in red and bronze. You can hang on to it and pray when you watch your guy ride.”
“He’s not—”
Her guy.
And she was going to have to find a way to give back the money he’d spent on her. He needed it for his study fund. She fished out her credit card from her pocket. “Put these on this card. Put them all on this card but don’t let him know.”
“These ones I can put on your card,” said the ever helpful Wendy. “But your cowboy there paid in cash, and for what it’s worth, he didn’t even flinch.”
Shit. Rowan slipped out of the boots and the top and Wendy whisked them away. By the time Rowan got to the counter Casey had wandered off again to look at some hats and Wendy had found the necklace with the cross and it was every bit as pretty as promised.
Rowan left the shop laden with bags, more than a little giddy at finding clothes and accessories that looked good and made her feel just right. Girl clothes, yes. Softly feminine and pretty.
“Not that I’ve ever been dress shopping with a woman before but that was pretty quick and relatively painless,” Casey said. “Are you happy with your purchases?”
“Yes. Less happy with you paying for some of it.”
“I had to in case you decided not to buy them. You would have regretted it. Worse, I would have regretted it. I have a new bet,” he said. “If I cover Eggs For Breakfast you have dinner with me while wearing those boots and that dress.”
“They don’t match your Chevy.”
“Oh, but they do,” he muttered with no little reverence. “I had a vision in the shop of exactly that.”
“You have a very rich inner life,” she said, and Casey grinned.
“No, I have eyes. Where to next? More shopping?”
“I doubt I could cope. You’ve already spent half your weekend’s winnings on me.”
“True, I wasn’t exactly in the money this weekend. I’ll try harder next time.”
He gave every ride his all, no matter what. It was why people paid to watch him ride. Why people would get behind him all over again and want him to go all the way and win the championship buckle. Also, he was so goddamn gorgeous at interview. The camera ate him up and he could string two words together and he never trash-talked anyone else. Poster boy for the sport—right up until the end of last year when he’d bailed and neglected to tell anyone that family tragedy was the reason for it.
“You realize I need to pay you back for the dress and the boots.”
“No you don’t. It was my pleasure.”
But she refused to be beholden to him for this. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t her. “Will I see you in Atlanta? I’ll fix you up there.”
He nodded. “I’ll be there. I’ll be there to win.”