Page 86 of The Cowboy's Country Charm

“Looking for you.” Dean winked, as if that was a flirty line or something and as if she’d be pleased.

She wasn’t. “Well, you found me.”

He stepped close, too close, so close she could see the spot of gravy on his tie and smell the liquor on his breath. “You didn’t used to be so annoyed when you saw me.”

He brushed his hand up her arm, giving her an unpleasant chill.

“That was before…”

“Before I disappointed you, I know.” He hung his head and looked at her from under his brows. “I disappointed myself. Chalk it up to male ego. That’s really all it was.” His other hand slid up to rest on her upper arm. Two hands holding her in place. Caging her. “There’s never been anyone but you, Kristy. Always you. I’m asking for another chance. To prove myself to you. To prove that we’re great together. To prove we can be a power couple. A force. Together. We can have influence in our state. You, the daughter of a would-be governor and state senator. Me, maybe a district representative, maybe state senator if your father decides to run for governor. Think about the things we could get done.”

She tried to shrug out of his hold, but his grasp only tightened.

“I’m not interested in being a power couple, and especially not with you.” He only wanted her name to hang alongside his.

“Listen to me, Kristy. We could be at the forefront of making Wyoming even greater than it is. Making it the top state for energy companies to do business. Turning it culturally intothecowboy state. Giving Texas a run for its money. With you beside me, the sky’s the limit.”

This time she pushed her hands against his elbows to get free. He didn’t budge.

“My father hasn’t even declared that he’s running for governor yet. And I don’t want anything you have to offer.” Frustration gnawed at her. She had things to do. Didn’t he realize that she didn’t have time to stand around chawing with a drunk ex-boyfriend?

“Because of that old, rusty cowboy you’ve paraded around? No one who knows you would believe that guy is your guy. You’ve got sophisticated tastes.” He shook his head, and his grip tightened to the point of pain. “You’ve turned this hall into the embodiment of the best of western lifestyle and yet kept it sophisticated. That’s Wyoming. You’re Wyoming. We’re Wyoming.”

“Weare nothing.” She tried to squirm out of his grasp, to no avail. “We’re over. Done. Through. And let me go.” She was ready to knee him one if he didn’t.

“Come on, Kristy. I said I’m sorry. Don’t make me beg…”

***

Where the heck was Kristy? Rusty looked around as he walked toward the maze. A staged western shoot-out was in progress by the saloon. The band was coming back on the stage and tuning up. The silent auction would be after the dance. Cort and Lexi had put up horse-training sessions, which they thought would be a good way to bring some notice to their newest venture. Junie had put up a bouquet-a-month subscription.

Ariel was up ahead, talking to one of the waitstaff. She turned to look at him. “What’s up?”

“Just looking for Kristy. You know where she went?”

Ariel motioned toward the back of the reception room, where the catering staff was. “I think she’s checking on the ice cream. Seems this crowd is going bonkers for the chuck wagon setup.” Ariel shrugged. “Who knew?”

Rusty trucked toward the back. Something had come over Kristy. Something good. She’d been flirty. And relaxed. And had even introduced him to her father, which based on how she’d talked about him, had been a big step forward.

Sam Winslow seemed like a typical politician. A glad-hander with an ego. But the one vibe he’d gotten was more important than anything else. Sam loved his daughter. So Rusty didn’t mind the grilling.

What he did mind was slick Dean having a word right there in front of him, like he didn’t exist. No acknowledgment that he was Kristy’s boyfriend. Got his dander up. Never a good thing.

Rusty had cultivated a persona as laid back and calm. A persona necessary in search and rescue, especially when leading a team into a dangerous situation. But there was a line that if someone crossed it, a different Rusty would appear. One that was more than ready for a fight.

Dean was one of those guys who had gotten dangerously close to crossing that line, demanding a word with Kristy. In front of Rusty, no less.

He rounded the corner, headed down the long, dimly lit hallway. Toward the couple at the end, near the kitchen.

The couple who were arguing. The couple where the guy had shoved the woman against the wall. The couple where the woman was squirming to break free.

Like a switch that had been flipped, adrenaline shot through Rusty. He was trained to fight, not flee, never wanting a repeat of the time when his friend had been drowning. He ran toward the couple, the soles of his boots smacking against the cement floor.

As he got closer, the woman formed into Kristy. And there was Dean.

He stopped behind Dean, slammed one hand on the guy’s shoulder, and yanked him off Kristy.

Dean turned, raised his balled fist. With a lightning-fast reflex, Rusty landed a punch on the side of the guy’s face. Dean stumbled and went down in a heap.

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