Chapter Four
Presley walked into the church for Sally’s funeral and sat down on one of the pews in the back. She didn’t know the woman very well, but she’d been a friend of her father’s, and since he wasn’t around, Presley had to pay her respects. Honestly, she never liked funerals much herself. She was so young when her grandmother died that she couldn’t remember her being buried, but she was certain a child’s mind never forgot something so traumatic.
She knew almost everyone who came, and she received polite greetings as they quietly made their way in. There was a variety of people in attendance, from ranch hands to residents, to Sally’s family members. A few friends from high school came in and didn’t see her and she didn’t make a move to say hello. She and most of her friends had seemed to move on in their separate ways.
Every few minutes she glanced over her shoulder to the entrance, wanting to deny that she was looking for Urban, but it would be a waste of energy. After he’d dropped the bombshell on her last night, the weight of his proposition still weighed heavily on her mind. She had every reason to believe he would come to his senses this morning and realize the validity of his mistake. In fact, she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t see her coming and walk the opposite direction in humiliation. She hoped not. Closing her eyes, she zoned out, monopolized by her conflicting thoughts.
Feeling someone nudge her arm, she brought her chin around ready to complain when she met the fascinating blue eyes of the cowboy who stole all her Zzzs last night. “Urban? What the hell are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m sitting next to my fiancé.” He grinned and rocked her world.
“I’m not your fiance,” she spat.
“Not yet.” He winked. “I can’t understand why someone would want to have a funeral in a church. I mean, I get that it’s a holy place and all, but this is where you visit when you’re alive. When I die, I want everyone to come barefoot, in jeans and wearing their favorite shirts, and banjos playing as a reminder that we should have fun while we’re in flesh and blood.”
She smiled—couldn’t help herself. “I’m sure one of your brothers could make that happen, but don’t you think it’s a bit early for you to be setting your funeral arrangements in stone?”
“If I don’t retire from the rodeo, it might happen sooner rather than later.”
She searched his profile for any humor. “Retiring?”
He held his hat in his lap, twisting it. “That’s what I planned to do with the winning pot. It would have set me up nicely.”
Now this made more sense. “So, the fifty grand from the documentary would help?”
He nodded. “It would definitely help.”
Presley opened her mouth to respond, but the preacher settled behind the podium and began his words of condolences. Neither Urban nor Presley said another word to each other during the sermon. Every now and then, he’d shift and brush her thigh or arm, which had her a bundle of nerves. Following the ceremony, they exited out of the small church into the bright sunlight together. Her phone vibrated from her purse and regretfully because she wanted to stare at Urban a little longer, she answered it. By the time she hung up, she was frazzled.
“What’s wrong?” Urban asked.
“That was Lucas Tanner. One of their horses broke through a fence and ran off. They haven’t found her yet and they’re afraid she’s in pretty bad condition from the blood they found. I’m going to have to run to the clinic, grab my tranquilizer gun and bag, then head over to the Tanner Ranch to help in the search. I’ll have to assess her injury when I get there.”
“I’ll go with you. We’ll take my truck.”
She wanted to argue, but that would be a waste of time. Right now, she needed to get to the ranch and help a hurt horse.
*****
A half hour later, Urban and Presley were scouring the land looking for the missing horse. Cheryl also came along, but she and the Tanner Ranch foreman, Braise, were a bit of a distance away searching. The rest of the search crew, including Weston, Sammie, and the hands were on the west side. They’d split up to cover more ground.
“Wow. Weston and Sammie make a beautiful married couple. They both look happy. I also hear they’re expecting a child.” Presley stepped over a branch, then shot Urban a winning smile.
“I just heard the news recently.”
There was no mistaking that she was the most beautiful woman he’d laid his eyes on, and he’d definitely had the pleasure of meeting a lot of women. He never had a certain kind of woman he liked best. Tall. Short. Voluptuous. Thin. He couldn’t pick just one type he preferred over another, until now. Presley was perfect, from the way her hair glistened in the sun. Her pale skin was a beautiful backdrop for her almond shaped eyes and her pouty-shaped bottom lip, perfect for kissing. She looked amazing in her jeans and simple blouse.
He grinned. After more than twenty years of verbally sparring with her, he was about to embark upon a whole new chapter, his own story, and he couldn’t wait. Hot damn.
Anticipation buzzed through him as he watched with admiration as she moved ahead of him, ducking under low hanging branches and darting around a thorn bush. She had nice curves that did the denim justice. Her long hair bounced over her shoulders and he had noticed here lately that she had been wearing it down more often. Whatever her reasoning, he was grateful.
Although he hadn’t planned to attend the funeral, which wasn’t his kind of thing as Weston usually attended in representation for the family, Urban was glad he had decided to go. He was glad to have any chance to be alone with her, and to talk with her about last night—especially the proposition.
He hurried his pace and caught up to her. “Do you believe in second chances?”
She didn’t look his way “Sure. Who doesn’t?”
“Then I hope you feel that way regarding me. Maybe give me a second chance.”
She brought her chin around. “I wouldn’t call us kissing one hot summer evening by the lake enough to title this as a second chance. We were kids.”
“So, you do remember.” He puffed out his chest. For years he’d suspected that she’d forgotten that kiss. Best game of truth or dare he’d ever played. Good thing no one saw him stop the bottle when it landed on her.
They stepped beyond the shadows of the trees and the sun caressed her face, much like the moon that night he’d kissed her.
“You really thought I’d forget? That was my first kiss. A girl never forgets her first.” She smiled.
He was taken back by the sudden flood of need deep in his gut. Her eyes twinkled in the sun rays. Her pert nose was cute with a slight bump at the bridge. The color of her lips reminded him of pink lemonade, his favorite, and she had on the palest of lip gloss that made them shine. Her thick eyelashes were free of mascara, but still were thick and dark, surrounding her hazel eyes.
Since deciding he wanted to marry her, it had taken over his every existence. It was his one and only goal. He had to have her…and the money, of course. “I was your first kiss?” He dragged himself back into the conversation.
Her gaze was on the field before them, her lips puckered and there was a faint crease on her forehead. “Don’t seem so shocked. I wasn’t the one always stealing kisses back then.” She gave him a firm glare.
“Ahh, the rumors.”
“They weren’t rumors. You certainly had the selection.”
“I’m not as much of a womanizer as you think I am.”
“I haven’t put much thought into it.”
“I hope you’ve put more thought into what I asked last night.”
He could see the flush on her cheeks. “No, not really.”
“I have.”
“Well, you were the one who asked.” She kept her gaze steady ahead. The weeds scrunched under her boots.
“I’d figure by now you’d see that it’s the best for both of us.”
She stopped, a frown defining the fine lines around her lips. “Because you think you can get any woman you want? I’m not one, Urban Jericho. I might have allowed you to kiss me at fifteen, but I’m a grown woman now and my bar is set higher than a wanton kiss by a drunken boy.”
He took a step forward, so close he caught her scent on the breeze and could see the quivering in her bottom lip. “Sweetheart, that kiss might have been for the sake of a game, but it was amazing. The proposal, sure, I didn’t sit around thinking about it, but sometimes if we sit back and take too long, we lose. I don’t plan to lose again.”
She blinked. “What do you mean? You don’t plan to lose again?”
“I wanted you. I wanted us. Just so happened that my brother was older and wiser, and moved a bit quicker. We had a pact that once a girl has dated a Jericho, she’s off limits.”
Her lips twisted. “So that pact no longer exists?”
He reached up and grabbed a tendril of her hair, wrapping it around his finger. Urban enjoyed the golden highlights. “No, the pact remains, but you and he were a five-minute fling. If I’m not missing anything here, you’re not harboring some secret love for him, are you?”
A long second passed. “No. I’m not.”
“I want you as my wife,” he whispered as he took the tranquilizer gun from her clutch, then the bag, and sat them against the tree, lowered his head and kissed her. Her lips were soft and warm and her taste was an aphrodisiac. He half expected her to push him away, maybe even smack him for taking such liberty, but she surprised him by slipping her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his, an invitation to continue the kiss. He certainly would. No doubt.
He took a step forward and she took one away, her back pressing the tree as he glided his tongue into her mouth. His body hardened and his zipper stretched, and he was lost under a Presley Dean spell. He’d never been happier—never wanted another woman more.
Not sure where the line was drawn, he continued holding her, kissing her sweet, beautiful lips. He could feel her ribs and spine through the thin shirt and he instinctively dragged her in tighter, encircling her tiny waist with one arm while he moved the fingers of his other hand through her hair. Holding her was much better, more pleasurable than he could have ever imagined. Her curves were soft and warm, seductive. Her muscles were sinewy and solid, proving that she was fit and could ride a horse—ride a cowboy.
She pulled back and stared up at him, diamonds in her irises and questions left unspoken on her lips. He was engulfed in the most overwhelming heat that left him breathless…mindless. It reminded him of the first ride of spring when everything was new and fragrant and blossoming. Melting away the last remnants of a harsh winter and offering fresh beginnings.
The rapid waves inside him calmed some as he stared down into her stunning face, a hypnotic effect. He became aware of her chest rising and falling, her firm breasts pressing against his body. “You alright, darlin’?”
Her hazel eyes were full of emotion. He could read her story through the windows of her soul because he felt many of the same things.
An unexplainable energy flowed between them, an intimacy between two people that set them apart from all others. It was genuine and organic…an arresting of his mind and body. He’d never allowed a woman to get too close, or reach parts of his heart. In his business, he’d realized long ago women mostly liked the rodeo star cowboy and not the real cowboy who had fears and flaws. With Presley though, he wanted to get closer, open all the hidden portals. Her touch felt so…well, right. Belonging. Although he’d started on this path because he thought they could help each other out of tough predicaments, he now understood he’d wanted more from the very beginning.
Hell, who was he kidding.
He knew the second he’d asked her to marry him that he’d want to share things with her that men and women do together. Things like conversation, long walks, watching movies. When had he ever connected with this side to him?
“I’m good.” She dropped her hands to his forearms, still looking at him. Still sucking him into her silken web.
He knew he should let go, but he couldn’t. Urban studied her face, learning every sweet gentle curve and the slight flush of her flawless cheeks.
Presley would make him a wonderful wife. He had become bitter, even angry, and he had missed all the good women on his trail. He’d missed Presley. He needed more than just his brothers to believe in him. Urban needed a soft heart to allow him in. She made him think of all the things he could have, and everything he’d been missing out on. A future.
He stared, uncertainty making a nest in his chest. He was supposed to be a bad ass, rough and tough, head on straight. Here he was, getting all ooey-gooey after kissing her.
“Presley? You there?” Her two-way vibrated at her hip. She grabbed the walkie and pushed the button.
“Yes, Cheryl. I’m here. Over.”
“We found the horse. She’s by the old windmill.”
“I got you. We’ll be there in a minute.” She pushed the radio back on the clip.
“I guess I’d better step back.” Urban sighed.
“Yeah, I guess you should.”
He finally pulled away and together they made their way toward the windmill where the horse was spotted. Walking close, but not touching. A book of curiosity and questions lingering between them.
They came upon Braise and Cheryl who were standing along the edge of the woods.
“Are we going to tranquilize her?” Braise asked.
“Let’s not jump the gun. I want to make this as easy as possible for the mare. Using the tranquilizer will be the last resort. I need to get closer and check out that leg.”
“What do you need me to do?” Urban asked. No chance he was going to hang back and let her do this alone. He’d been in situations like this before and knew how dangerous a wounded horse could be, especially when they were spooked.
“I know how good you are at roping. Think you could get the rope around her?”
“I can certainly try.” He took the rope from Braise and holstered it over his shoulder. Pulling out his gloves from his back pocket, he was glad he came prepared.
“Braise, I see you brought an apple. Good idea. Maybe that’ll entice her if anything. You’re also a familiar face to her. Cheryl, hold this and keep it steady.” Presley handed over the gun. “Don’t make any moves until I give you the go ahead. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Let’s do this.” Urban led the way and the horse’s head popped up, eyeing him and Presley as if he wasn’t going to tolerate any funny business.
“It’s okay, girl. We’re here to help,” Presley said in a soothing voice as they moved in cautiously.
The mare backed up, her flank hitting the dilapidated fence surrounding the windmill as she kept her milky brown gaze on the strangers approaching. As Presley continued to talk to the horse calmly, Urban made a wide circle around in case the mare decided to take off again. Braise was within several feet of her now, the apple raised and his gaze lowered slightly as to not come off as aggressive.
Without anywhere to go, but with enough space so they weren’t suffocating her with their presence, she pawed at the dirt and snickered loudly. Her eyes were glazed and her tail moved jerkily, a signal she was pissed.
Urban glanced sideways at Presley and their gazes met, an unspoken warning between them. He wanted her to be safe, yet this was her area of expertise. Her hair tumbled about her cheeks, obscuring her eyes. Although he knew she’d been around large animals, panicked and tame, he still feared for her safety. Suddenly, he wanted to protect her and the desire was his one and only priority.
The mare raised up, pawing the air and Braise and Urban froze. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he assessed the situation. He understood Presley didn’t want to use the tranquilizer because what came with it was another bucket of trouble. Things like this happened on occasion and sometimes they could calm the horse down, which made everything easier.
Giving the horse enough time to settle, finally Braise was moving forward again and the mare kept her wide eyes on him, ears perked as she pranced.
“It’s okay Mona,” Braise soothed.
Urban slid the rope from his shoulder slowly and deliberately so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself.
Braise was almost to the horse, Urban’s rope was held tightly…
“Get ready, Urban. Looks like that leg is cut pretty bad so be careful,” Presley said.
Braise held the apple. Mona drifted closer, leery. Finally, she bit into the fruit, nibbling hungrily.
Urban took a short step and a twig broke under his boot.
The mare turned her head, whinnied. It was now or never. Swinging the rope through the air, the loop fell over her neck, but she wasn’t having it.
Lifting herself up on hind legs, she thrashed the air, angrily. Braise stepped back.
“Hold on, Urban!” Presley shouted.
He held the rope tightly, digging his boots in as Braise joined him. The horse was strong and wasn’t backing down.
“Shoot, Cheryl.” Urban heard Presley yell followed by a cry out in pain.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tranquilizer dart sticking out of Presley’s shoulder as she wobbled, then fell to the ground.