raised his glass, as if offering a silent toast of victory, then took a drink, wishing he could get rid of all the outsiders as easily.
“Don’t you think you’re laying the surly cowboy act on a bit too thick?” Brooke said behind him.
Jameson stiffened, annoyed that the sound of her voice sent a fissure of awareness through him, then he quickly recovered himself. “It’s not an act. It’s how I am.”
Brooke sat down in front of him. “You weren’t always like that.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Me, too.”
He lifted a brow, doubtful.
“I’ve gotten older, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed.” A little more than I want to. He sipped his drink and looked around. This place was more Wes’s scene than his. If he’d really wanted to be left alone, he should have gone for a ride. Yes, a long trek up one of the mountains would have been a better option. Instead of having to listen to the sound of raucous music emanating from the saloon and being bothered by uninvited women on the street.
“Dance with me.”
Jameson took a long swallow, his gaze focused on the street. “Why?”
“People are already talking. I think we should add more chapters to this story.”
Jameson finished his drink and set the glass down. “I don’t dance.”
“I can teach you.”
He stood. “Bye.”
“Don’t you think we should have one date before we get married?”
Jameson looked at her confused. “Date?”
“Yes. We should at least show people that we’re a couple.”
“They’ll know for sure the moment you walk down the aisle. I have nothing to prove.”
“Please.”
Jameson studied her for a moment. She was being sincere and he knew he was disappointing her, but he didn’t dance well and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself for anyone. Besides, he was tired. He’d gotten up at four in the morning and it had been a long day. But she was right, they should give the town something to talk about. And he needed to show his father that marrying Brooke wasn’t some twisted plot of revenge. He looked inside the bar then thought of an idea. “Darts.”
Brooke frowned. “What?”
“You once asked me to teach you how to throw darts.”
Brooke threw up her hands in apparent exasperation. “Jameson, that was years ago. I must have been twelve.”
“Well, I’m ready to teach you.” He grabbed her wrist, pulled her inside and headed over to the dartboard.
Jameson patiently told her the rules of the game, then showed her how to hold the dart and aim. “It takes practice, but it’s fun. Now you try.”
* * *
Brook took a dart, threw it with the skill of a champion and hit the bull’s-eye. “You mean like this?” She threw another dart, again hitting dead center. “Or like this?” She threw it a third time. “Or maybe like this.”
Jameson rested his hands on his hips. “I didn’t realize I was such a good teacher,” he said in a dry tone.
Brooke laughed, pleased that he didn’t mind her teasing. “I couldn’t wait around for you, so I found someone else to teach me.”
“Who?”
“You wouldn’t know him.”
“Him?”
“Does that make a difference?”
“No.”
Brooke wished it did. She wanted him to be curious, even a little jealous, but he wasn’t. Jameson left after giving her a quick peck on the lips, just for show. Maybe she shouldn’t have shown off. She liked having him trying to teach her. She remembered her back pressing against his chest. The feel of his strong hand steadying her arm. She didn’t blame the lady visitor for wanting to take a picture of him. He may not appreciate attention from the fairer sex, but he certainly encouraged it without effort. He was a fine specimen of a man.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and saw a waitress holding out a tray with a drink. “This is for you. It’s from the man over there.”
Brooke turned and saw Mitch grinning at her. She took the drink and walked over to his table. “What’s this for?”
“I thought you’d need the courage to keep this charade up.”
“Charade?”
Mitch nodded to the dartboard. “That was quite a show you two put on, but it won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know this engagement thing is a fake, and if your marriage lasts longer than a week, I’ll eat my hat.”
Brooke smiled, pressing back a sense of unease. “Good. I’ll be there to grill it for you.”
* * *
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Jameson went to bed in a nasty mood and woke up in an even meaner one. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sly grin Brooke had given him at the bar after hitting three bull’s-eyes. Each time he felt as if she were aiming at his heart. No, not his heart, much lower than that and to a much more delicate part of his anatomy. He’d been turned on by the shape of her butt in her tight-fitting jeans and the feel of her soft skin under his fingers as he taught her how to hold and throw a dart. He could still smell her perfume.
He’d gotten too close, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He had to stay away from her. Unfortunately, Brooke didn’t give him the opportunity. She showed up on the ranch the next day while he was busying himself looking over some of the calves.
“I forgot to tell you something.”
Jameson stiffened. Wasn’t marrying her enough? “What?”
“It’s about my studio.”
He felt himself relax and returned his gaze to the herd. “What about it?” he asked absently as his gaze focused on a calf that looked listless. Not a good sign.
“I need one. Can I have a space in your house?”
“Hmm.”
“Jameson, are you listening to me? It’s important that I have the space I need.”
“You’ll get it,” he said, noticing another calf that didn’t look healthy. It wasn’t playing or running like the others. “Excuse me.”
“What’s wrong?” Brooke asked, following close behind him.
He walked over to the calf and pointed. “Tell me what you see.”
“She doesn’t look good.”
Jameson silently swore. They’d had a great calving season, but it was still a delicate time for the newborn calves. He had to keep constant watch for broken bones from being stomped on by the herd or for infections. He still felt bad about the call from his foreman, telling him he’d lost a horse he’d hoped to rescue and the second one was still touch and go. He didn’t need more bad news. He walked over and pulled the skin on one of the calf’s necks. It lacked the elasticity he expected, meaning it was dehydrated. He watched Brooke do the same with another calf.
“This one is dehydrated, but I don’t see any of the others looking as bad.”
Jameson called over a ranch hand, Frank, and they checked the calves’ body temperatures. They were running too hot. “Separate these two,” he told Frank. “And you