Horses, Hayrides, And Husbands (Country Brides & Cowboy Boots) Read online

  -Sherlock’s fat and happy.

  -Cute, but actually, I meant her other buddy. How about a pic of you?

  A thrill of anticipation shot through her as she hit the Send button.

  * * *

  Travis couldn’t stop grinning.

  Misty wanted a picture of him. It was better than he’d dared to hope.

  He rethought that feeling when he remembered what he was wearing—a pair of dirty blue jeans and a black Sun Valley Stables T-shirt spattered with mud, hay, and worse. Would Misty think he was gross? Well, she knew he worked at a stable, right?

  He held up his phone and flicked the camera to the front view.

  “Oh jeez! Please tell me you’re not taking a selfie! We’ve got those stalls to clean out.” Doug Hinckley, coworker and royal pain in the rear end, strolled around the corner, a shovel balanced on his shoulder and a coil of new DR ropes on the other. He looked like he was about to break into a chorus of “Heigh-Ho.”

  Travis quickly lowered the phone. “Nah, just checking to make sure my hair’s still looking good.”

  Doug frowned. At twenty-eight, he was only a year older than Travis, but his receding hairline was a sore spot. Well, served him right.

  His text alert pinged again and he glanced at the phone. It was Misty.

  -Still waiting.

  “Harper! Let’s go,” Doug urged from the doorway to the stable.

  ‘I’m coming.” Travis lowered his head over the phone and typed out a quick text.

  -Raincheck? I’ve gotta get back to work.

  He hit send, then had a better idea, and quickly started texting again before she could respond.

  -Or, how about dinner tonight?

  * * *

  Misty sat studying Travis’s text. The excitement that had filled her stomach minutes before had dissipated as quickly as the air inside a popped balloon. She’d been prepared for some harmless flirting, maybe a few weeks of texting where they could get to know each other. But Travis was already asking for a date. Tonight.

  Just because they’d had a few good minutes together didn’t mean she was ready to spend a whole night alone with him. What if he wasn’t what he seemed?

  “You have bad taste in men,” her little sister Ashley had told her last year. Ashley was only fifteen, but she was right. Misty had a knack for picking the losers, the flashy guys. Her high school boyfriend, Jared Kisner, had been the star baseball player. He’d ditched her at the senior prom to sneak off and make out with Shanna Goodwin behind the bleachers. And Chet was a wannabe rodeo hero who treated women worse than the steers he roped.

  Ugh.

  Misty’s eyes flickered to the pictures of Wyatt covering her desk. There were a lot. Every time she got a new picture of him, she planned to put it in the frame over an old one, but when she actually had to do it, she couldn’t bear to cover up his little face. So her desk was running out of space, and Wyatt grew frame to frame from a tiny, shriveled newborn, to a bright-eyed, chubby-cheeked one-year-old with silky blond hair that stood up on the top and collected in curls along his neck.

  Wyatt was her priority now, and she didn’t have the freedom to make mistakes anymore. It wasn’t about her; it was about Wyatt and giving him what he needed.

  Did he need a daddy? That role would never be filled by Chet. He’d given up his parental rights before Wyatt was even born, practically the same day she’d told him she was pregnant. She wanted nothing from him.

  She’d spent hours reading about the importance of a strong male role model for her son, but that didn’t mean she needed to get married, right? Her dad was very involved in their lives, and Ty was a wonderful uncle. In addition to the material support, Ty doted on Wyatt and constantly brought him toys and roughhoused with him. Wyatt’s face lit up every time Uncle Ty came in the room, and he reached for him with his fat baby hands, splayed like starfish, his little pink lips split in a wide grin.

  But what would happen when Ty and Holland started having their own kids? Ty would mean well, but Misty knew that fatherhood would change the relationship he had with Wyatt.

  Was Travis the kind of guy who liked kids? What about a kid that wasn’t his own?

  Her alert went off. It was another text from Travis.

  -Still waiting for an answer.

  She remembered the way his hands had brushed over Jemima’s side, his low, patient tone when he spoke to the team; you could tell a lot about someone from the way they treated animals. Besides, it wasn’t like he’d asked her to elope. It was just a date.

  She picked up her phone and sent a reply.

  -Dinner sounds great.

  Chapter 3

  Calico Pete’s Bar and Grill in Ketchum wasn’t fancy, but the food was delicious and plentiful, and it had a live band on the weekends. Travis held the door for Misty, then followed behind her, enjoying a whiff of her spicy perfume. The dining area was huge, and tables were clustered along the edges, leaving the dark wood floor in the middle open for dancing. A stage stretched across the far end of the room, and a band stood amidst the lights, picking out a country tune.

  He was glad when the hostess seated them at a table at the back so they wouldn’t have to shout over the music. A smiling waiter brought chips and queso and left the menus, promising he’d be back.

  “This place is cool,” Misty said. She perched on the tall stool, her eyes wide as she took in the room and the couples on the dance floor. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “You’ve never been to Calico Pete’s?” Travis shook his head. “What a tragic waste of a young life.”

  She reached across the table to smack him lightly on the arm, and his pulse picked up at the brush of her fingers against his skin. They’d met in the parking lot and when she’d climbed out of her car, she’d looked so cute in her floral-print dress and high-heeled red boots, it was all he could do to keep from gathering her into a hug. Sitting across from her now at the small table, he had an almost irrepressible urge to touch her, hold her, learn the smell of her hair.

  The band was playing a Rascal Flatts song, and Misty bounced on her stool in time with the rhythm. “Do you dance?” she asked.

  “I might have a few moves. What about you?”

  She gave him a saucy glance over the top of her menu. “A little.”

  “You look really cute tonight,” he said.

  Her cheeks colored, and the menu didn’t hide the smile springing to her lips. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself, cowboy.”

  They were interrupted by the waiter. “How’s your baby?” Travis asked after they’d ordered.

  “He’s good. I think he’s teething, though, because his sleep schedule is out of whack and he won’t eat the banana puffs he usually loves.” She paused and gave him an embarrassed grin. “Sorry … nothing worse than a mom going on about her kid, huh?”

  “I don’t mind; I like kids.”

  Her eyes flashed with something he couldn’t interpret. Satisfaction? Relief? “Uh-huh. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “No, I’m serious.” He swirled a chip in the cheese sauce and took a bite. “They’re a lot like horses. Feed ’em, water ’em, keep ’em out of trouble, and you’re good, right?”

  She laughed, a light, musical sound that seemed to pierce straight to his heart. “Yeah, sure. You make it sound so simple.”

  “No, I know it’s definitely not simple. When are you going to bring him to the stables?” Was he pushing too hard? They were only a few minutes into a first date, and he was already eager to set up the next one. But he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to pull her close and keep her there, indefinitely.

  Misty made a face. “Soon. He’d love to see the horses. But work is kind of crazy right now; I have a big report that’s giving me trouble.”

  “I thought you worked for the catering company?”

  Her cheeks colored. “Oh, that was only temporary,” she said quickly. “During the day I’m an assistant for a company in Hailey.”
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br />   “Okay.” He nodded, unsure why the question seemed to bother her. “Well, I’m ready whenever you are; we can even hitch up the wagon.”

  Her strawberry hair swung against her shoulder as she reached for her water glass. “How long have you worked at the stables?”

  He had to stop and think for a minute. “About three years now.”

  “What did you do before that?”

  “I was in school to be a veterinarian for farm animals.”

  “So what happened? Why didn’t you finish?”

  The back of his neck prickled. “Just … stuff. Life.”

  “You don’t want to talk about it,” she guessed.

  No, he didn’t want to talk about it. But it also wasn’t first-date stuff. He was trying to look like a strong, competent guy who had it all together. Admitting a woman had broken his heart and derailed his life wasn’t exactly the best way to do that.

  The band broke into “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” and couples around the room gave out a whoop.

  Travis jerked his head toward the open space in front of the stage. “Wanna dance?”

  * * *

  Okay, so he didn’t want to talk about it. Fair enough. There were a lot of things Misty didn’t want to talk about either. For example, how she was semi-lying to the hottest, nicest guy she’d dated in … maybe ever. She’d forgotten he thought she was a waitress. Well, now he knew she wasn’t, so at least she’d cleared that up.

  But what she hadn’t said loomed large in her mind. She hadn’t said her name wasn’t Misty Rivers. Or that her brother was one of the richest men in the state.

  The room spun as Travis whirled her across the floor. He hadn’t been unduly bragging; he was a good dancer, easily keeping up with the fast tempo as he led her smoothly through a series of country swing moves. She used to dance with Ty like this. They’d push the furniture out of the way, turn on the latest Garth Brooks CD, and spin each other around the living room until they were breathless and laughing.

  But this was better than dancing with her brother. Travis’s hand on her waist brought a buzz of excitement, and his palms sliding along her arms as they did a table top sent her heart racing. The hard work he put in at the stables was evident in his hard, rounded muscles as she ran her own palms down his arms.

  “You’re pretty good at this,” Travis said as he swung her around to face him.

  “Likewise.” Misty grinned.

  He grasped her hand for a corkscrew, but instead of releasing her after one or two spins, he kept going, turning her again and again. The heels of her boots thumped against the wood floor, faster and faster, until at last the music stopped and she collapsed, exhausted and dizzy, into his arms.

  They were both panting, face to face, standing in the middle of the dance floor. The band started another song, Misty thought it might be something by Alan Jackson, but neither of them moved. Travis’s breath was warm on her face and his eyes sparkled. He dropped his gaze to her lips, then back to her eyes again as his hands tightened around her hips, pulling her closer.

  Misty caught her breath. Did she want him to kiss her? It was only their first date, but things were going well, and even if she wasn’t a girl who would never, ever explore more than kisses before marriage again, kissing was something she was plenty well and prepared and anxious to explore.

  She stumbled as another couple bumped into them, whirling by. “Oops, sorry,” the guy called over the music.

  “I guess we’re in the way,” Travis said softly.

  The moment was broken, and Misty eased herself out of his arms. “I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll meet you at the table.”

  * * *

  Travis slid onto the stool and stared at the rib eye that had been delivered while he and Misty were dancing. Twenty minutes ago, he’d been starving. Now the only thing he wanted was a taste of Misty’s lips.

  But he wasn’t going to jump into anything like an idiot. That’s what he’d done last time, and look where he’d ended up.

  He should have known from the beginning that Ashlyn was way out of his league. They’d met at Utah State, where he was working towards a degree in biology. She was majoring in broadcasting, and technically, their paths should never have crossed. But they had in the lounge area of the Taggart Student Center when she’d asked to share his table. She was dark-haired, petite, and pretty; he’d been completely dazzled. He couldn’t believe his luck when she accepted his offer for a date, and soon Travis was in love.

  Too soon.

  Ashlyn was in love too, or so she said—when she kissed him, when she met his family, and when she accepted his engagement ring. She’d loved him right up until suddenly she didn’t anymore. Right up until she met Dillon, a rich kid with a fancy car and a giant trust fund. Four months before the wedding, Ashlyn gave the ring back, leaving Travis with nothing but humiliation and a broken heart.

  There were warning signs, if he’d known to look for them. She liked designer clothes, hinted he should swap out his trusty pickup for something a little better, and when they were diamond shopping, she’d refused to consider anything less than a full carat, even though she knew it would put him into debt. She’d wanted to live in the best part of town and had been upset when he suggested they rent first instead of buying a five-bedroom house for just the two of them.

  He should have clued in, but instead he went along. Because he thought that’s what love meant—giving in and going along instead of working together and compromising. His parents had made it look so easy, he hadn’t taken the time to really learn all the tiny things that made a successful relationship, and he’d only seen his mistake when it was too late.

  It had been a hard lesson, but now, three years later, he had to admit that Ashlyn had been right to break off the engagement. Maybe she hadn’t gone about it the right way, but the marriage would have been a disaster.

  Not that the realization made the pain and humiliation any easier.

  He glanced up just as Misty emerged from the bathroom. She drove a slightly nicer car than he did, but just barely. And her clothes were cute, but they weren’t designer, as far as he knew. Her makeup was understated, she didn’t wear fake nails, and her only piece of jewelry was a narrow silver chain glittering at her throat. And she sometimes had to work weekends for a catering company to make ends meet. If anything, they were probably pretty equal in their financial standing. The thought was comforting.

  Misty was halfway across the room when a man, not quite middle age, but getting there fast, stood up and approached her. Travis was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he was instantly on the alert, shifting his weight on the stool in case he needed to come off it quickly. The man gave Misty a cheesy smile that faded at whatever she responded and he slunk back onto his chair, glaring at her back as she marched across the floor toward Travis.

  “What was that about?” He gestured toward the man.

  “Nothing.” Misty flipped a lock of her silky hair over her shoulder. “He asked me to dance, and I told him I was on a date.”

  Travis turned to look back at the man, who sneered and made a rude gesture. “He seems kinda pushy.”

  “He seems kinda like a jerk, is more like it.” She made a face as she slid onto her stool, but her expression changed to a smile when she saw their food. “This looks fantastic. I’m probably going to steal your sweet potato fries, though, so fair warning.”

  The tension in Travis’s shoulders evaporated and he grinned. “Help yourself,” he said, sliding his plate toward her.

  “Maybe I should have taken beer belly up on his offer, just to see what you’d do.” Her beautiful blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she swirled a fry in ketchup.

  “You want me to start a fight? This is a civilized establishment,” he reminded her.

  Misty’s face fell, and her lower lip poked out in a pretend pout. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  They kept the conversation light during dinner, talking mostly about hor
ses, dancing, work, and her son. The way Misty lit up at the mention of Wyatt told Travis all he needed to know about how she felt about being a mom.

  “What’s something most people don’t know about you?” he asked as he finished the last bite of his steak.

  “Something serious?”

  “Not necessarily. Just something unusual.”

  Her forehead wrinkled as she thought for a minute. “My mom made me take baton twirling lessons when I was little,” she finally said.

  Travis laughed. “So maybe I should have asked you for a routine instead of a dance earlier?”

  “No way.” She shook her head. “I was awful and I hated it. But my mom wouldn’t let me quit, at least not until I’d broken two of the lamps in the living room.”

  “You broke them by accident, though?” he clarified.

  “Okay, if that’s what you want to think,” Misty said. A smile hovered at the corners of her mouth.

  Travis blinked at her. “You didn’t. Are you saying you broke them on purpose?”

  She made a zipping motion across her lips.

  Whoa. She was a feisty little thing. “I’ll bet you were adorable, though,” he said, picturing a little redheaded Misty clutching her baton. Grinning at the image, he polished off the last of the sweet potato fries.

  “Yeah … adorable.” She made a face. “I’d much rather have been outside riding my bike or helping with the sheep.”

  “What else do you like to do?”

  “Lately there doesn’t seem to be much time for anything but work and being a mom.” Misty ran her fingernail along the grain of the wood tabletop. “I guess I deserve it, though. I’m too impulsive … which is how I ended up with a baby at twenty-one.” She flushed and bit her bottom lip.

  He reached across the table to take her hand. Her fingers were small and cold in his. “I think you’re fantastic. And I think Wyatt’s very lucky to have you for his mom,” he said evenly.

  She raised her head, and his heart pinched to see the tears sparkling in her eyes. “Sorry.” She gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “I’m kind of a baby myself about things like that.”