Page 7 of All for You

Well, maybe she can help me with my situation at the same time.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I’m Travis Kincaid.” I extend a hand across the table. Her fingers are soft, yet firm as they meet my callused ones. I’ve grown accustomed to the hard edges of ranch life, where even a handshake tells a story of long days and hard work. But Rachel’s touch speaks of a different life entirely, one I find myself unexpectedly curious about.

“Rachel Anderson.” She smiles with a shy tilt of her head. She’s the striking opposite of my rugged, dusty world.

“Tell me, Rachel, why would a woman who has never poured me a single cup of coffee suddenly need me to pretend to be her weekend beau?”

Her gaze drops to the table momentarily before meeting mine again, a flash of defiance lighting up her expression. “Like I said, my mother’s coming to town, and I need to get her off my back about dating, my career, and some other things she’s sure to complain about.”

The frankness in her tone makes me like her a little more. It’s not often that someone lays their cards on the table so openly, especially not in Cupid’s Creek, where secrets and gossip are the town’s lifeblood.

“Ah.” The pieces fall into place, her predicament painting a clearer picture. “So, you need a stand-in to stave off the maternal matchmaking.” Maybe we aren’t so different after all.

“Precisely.” Rachel’s fidgeting hands twist a thin ring clutching an emerald stone around her finger. “She has this... stupid damn fantasy of who I should be with, and you fit the bill better than anyone else in Cupid’s Creek.”

I experience a twinge of bitterness at her words. How many times have I been reduced to my bank account and acreage? The ranch that had once been my pride now feels like a gilded cage, attracting those who see me as nothing more than a meal ticket. Is Rachel another Amelia?

“Because I own a ranch?” I ask, my voice carrying more than a hint of cynicism.

“Partly,” she admits with a shrug. “But also, because you’re not… well, you’re not anything like my ex.”

A shadow passes over her face, the kind that comes from memories best left untouched. Her pain is palpable, and for a moment, I see beyond the pretty waitress to a woman carrying burdens I can’t begin to understand. What kind of man is this ex-boyfriend or husband? And why does mentioning him harden Rachel’s features and cause her body to stiffen?

I tilt my head and gaze at her beautiful face, then allow my eyes to wander down her curvy body to those fucking sexy round hips. “Should I be flattered or offended by that?”

She huffs. “Flattered. My ex is…” She hesitates before deciding how much to tell me. “He was a mistake. A big one.”

Her words stir something protective in me as our similarities start to outweigh our differences.

“Travis, look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. My mother, she’s relentless. And you... you could help me…” She trails off, and her gaze settles on me, her eyes wide. “Maybe? No? Yes?”

I push my hat off my forehead and run a hand through my hair. My ex-wife took more than just my trust; she left a hole where my heart used to be. Rachel doesn’t appear to care about my money or the ranch. She just needs someone to stand by her side, and for reasons I don’t understand right now, she wants that someone to be me.

I shift in my seat, the worn leather of my boots creaking against the floorboards. Her request makes me feel a surge of empathy. But the memory of Amelia’s betrayal looms large.

Damn it all to hell. I’d sworn off commitment years ago and vowed never to let another woman close enough to hurtme again. I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle, the pain, the inevitable disappointment. And yet...

Rachel sits before me, desperate and hopeful, asking for nothing more than a bit of playacting for a few days. No strings, no expectations. Just a simple favor. It’s tempting, I must admit. I’ve wanted to get to know this woman, and here’s my chance. Besides, her situation mirrors my own a little too closely as it happens. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. This arrangement could work in both our favors. Give Rachel some peace from her overbearing mother and get mine off my back for a while as well.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

The last thing I want or need is to get tangled in someone else’s family drama. I have enough of my own. But something about Rachel makes me want to say yes—to protect her, even if it goes against every self-preservation instinct.

“All right,” I finally concede, my voice gruff. “I’ll do it. I’ll be your pretend boyfriend.”

Her face lights up, and she reaches across the table and takes my hand. As our palms meet our fingers automatically intertwine, and the zing and residual tingling in my fingertips makes me tense up. Quickly, I shove it aside, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference, as I’m sure she doesn’t mean anything by the gesture.

“Thank you, Travis.” Her grip is firm, and her skin is soft. The heat from her touch seeps into mine, sending signals to parts of my body that have no business waking up in the middle of the Bluebonnet Café.

Swallowing hard, I fight against a sudden surge of attraction. I need to treat this like a business transaction, plain and simple. A mutually beneficial arrangement, nothing more. Yet my body seems intent on betraying me, responding to her in ways I haven’t experienced in years.

“Let’s set some ground rules,” I say, releasing her hand. “And I have one condition.”

“Okay.” She leans back in the chair. “Shoot.”

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for what I’m about to reveal. Showing any sign of weakness has never been easy for me. But she needs to understand my motivations for agreeing to this.

“We spend some time at my ranch after this weekend’s festival. Sounds like my mother’s similar to yours. She’s been staying with me since things went south with my ex-wife.” My grip tightens around the coffee mug I hadn’t realized I’d been holding on to as if somebody were going to rip it out of my hands.

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