Page 8 of All for You

The betrayal, the public humiliation, the suffocating presence of my well-meaning but overbearing mother. I’ve built my life around control and independence, and in one fell swoop, it all came crashing down when Amelia left me high and dry. Then, Mom said she didn’t like living at the old homestead without Dad and moved into my spare room.

“Travis,” Rachel’s tone softens, her eyes locking onto mine with genuine concern. “You don’t have to?—”

“Let me finish,” I cut in, unprepared for her sympathy. “My mother’s got this notion no woman is good enough for me, although she wants me to date. And she’s suffocating me. Every damn day, it’s something else. If she sees I’m with someone, maybe she’ll back off. Find her own space again. So, this fake dating arrangement might work out for both of us.”

I didn’t mean to reveal so much. Still, something about Rachel’s presence makes it impossible to keep my usual barriers intact. Her steady gaze anchors me, soothing the restlessness that constantly buzzes beneath my skin.

Rachel nods slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I get it. It seems our situations aren’t that different.”

Her understanding surprises me. I expected questions, maybe even judgment. But there’s none of that in her expression, just a quiet acceptance and probably relief that we both have something to gain from this short-term arrangement.

“Anything else I should know?” I ask, attempting to steer my thoughts away from how her hair catches the afternoon sunlight raining in through the big windows along the south-facing wall.

She smooths down her apron. “Yeah. No falling in love with me, Kincaid,” she teases.

Love is the last thing I need or want. Been down that road before, and it left me scarred and bitter. “Wasn’t planning on it, Anderson.”

Rachel places both elbows on the table. “Careful, cowboy. Your charm might be contagious.”

My body hums with awareness, responding to the playful lilt in her voice. I tamp down the urge to pull her close, to discover if her lips taste as sweet as they look. Instead, I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Wouldn’t want you catching a case of irresistibility.”

“Please, I’m already immune.” She winks. “Besides, I’ve got other talents.”

I lean closer, drawn by the challenge in her tone. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I can balance five plates on one arm.”

I admire the graceful line of her neck when she tilts her head. Heat surges through my veins. “Impressive. Any other hidden skills?”

“I make a mean apple pie.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “And I’ve been told I’m pretty good at keeping secrets.”

The scent of her perfume –soft and floral– clouds my senses. Desire coils low in my gut. This fake relationship is already becoming a dangerous game.

“Good to know. We’ll need that for our little charade.”

Rachel straightens and smooths her apron again. “So, how should we play this? Sickeningly sweet or subtly smitten? Or totally, completely, madly in love?”

Immediately, I envision us together on the back of my horse and find the image far too appealing. “Let’s aim for somewhere in between. Believable, but not nauseating.”

“Got it. So, no dramatic declarations of undying love in the town square?”

“Save those for the second date,” I quip, enjoying her laugh a little too much. It’s a light, airy sound that I want to hear repeatedly.

Rachel grabs her notepad and stands. “All right, but don’t expect me to swoon. I’m made of sterner stuff.”

I smirk, leaning back in the booth to look at her. “Swooning’s overrated. I prefer a woman who can hold her own.”

Rachel cocks an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Oh, I can do more than that, cowboy. I might just sweepyouoffyourfeet.”

“Is that a dare?” The words roll off my tongue, thick with innuendo.

She plants her hands on the table, bending forward, and the movement accentuates her curves, drawing my gaze straight to her cleavage. I allow myself a peek before raising my eyes to hers again.

“Maybe it is. Think you can handle it?”

Damn, this woman is dangerous. And here I thought she was quiet and demure, a newcomer to Cupid’s Creek, just trying to find her place. “I can handle anything you dish out.”

“We’ll see about that.” Rachel’s voice is husky. “Give me a few minutes to tend to my tables and I’ll be back.”

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