Page 9 of The Cowboy's Surprise Return

“This isn’t good for either of us.” She pointed to the door, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave.”

2

Today

Cole Wylder sequestered himself in a corner of the Sweetheart Creek community barn, dutifully allowing the music and celebration of Brant and April’s marriage to weave around him. He couldn’t figure out the tradition of holding a wedding reception for people who eloped. Wasn’t the point of eloping to avoid the whole dog and pony show?

Still, it was a Sweetheart Creek ritual to hold a reception a month after a couple made their way into Mr. Lovely’s chapel for a quick elopement on New Year’s Eve, and his brother’s was no exception.

Cole swiped a hand over his jaw, trying to steady himself. He’d been on edge, uncomfortable in his own skin since the moment Jackie had kicked him out of her place last night. He’d walked home—several miles along darkened gravel roads—needing the space to think, having more than enough energy to burn after that kiss.

It had been just a kiss.

One kiss.

Okay, several.

And he was coming undone like a chicken locked in a henhouse with a pack of foxes.

For whatever reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jackie.

Or the way she’d kicked him out.

She’d proclaimed he was no good for her. And that had been like a giant flashing billboard reminding him why he’d sworn off women.

Cole nodded to Travis Nestner, the town’s mayor, as the man went by, clutching a cluster of plastic juice cups in his fingers, no doubt for his triplet daughters. A few paces to his left, two teenagers were kissing, and Cole swiveled, putting his back to them. The converted barn, now a community center, was where he guessed at least half the townsfolk had received their first kiss. Himself included.

And right now, seeing others lock lips only made him wonder how to get the strawberry-scented woman named Jackie Moorhouse to kiss him again.

Seriously, though. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he think of something other than Jackie? Was it because he’d felt a connection with her that had been like a floodlight aimed at his soul when they’d touched?

It was a good thing she was stronger than he was. She was making them stick to the promises they’d expressed.

She was also right in demanding more than a night or two—which was all he was offering. Except he wasn’t actually offering, was he? Because if he was, that would reflect poorly on him. And right now he was avoiding all potential negative press.

Or at least trying to.

So what had he been offering Jackie when he’d asked if he could kiss her?

Nothing. It had been purely selfish.

Which meant he hadn’t changed as much as he’d hoped he had. And that meant he needed to avoid her, since she was an obvious temptation, a distraction, a hint at what could become his fresh new downfall.

He sighed as he crossed his arms, frowning at his own weakness.

“Too bad she’s taken now, huh?” Wade Ross asked, leaning against the wall beside Cole. The man smelled of beer and broken dreams.

“Sorry?” Cole immediately scanned the room for Jackie before following the man’s gaze to the bride. “Oh, April.” Right. It was her party, last night’s fight with Brant long forgotten by the looks of things. She was beaming, her arms wrapped around Cole’s brother as they danced. “I’m glad they found each other.”

“That’s what you’re supposed to say when you come back too late and lose out.” The man belched and staggered off.

Cole shook his head and wondered if trying to rebuild his reputation would be an effort in futility.

“It’ll take time,” a woman said from beside him.

Cole turned to find Daisy-Mae Ray batting her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him. Behind her, someone crossed the room, waving merrily at people, a bounce in her step that sported a slight limp after last night’s tumble: Jackie.

Daisy-Mae was smiling up at him, not willing to accept his rejection, apparently. Maybe what Jackie had said last night hadn’t been right. It wasn’t that people just remembered who he’d been. Maybe they saw the real him. The one he’d tried to run from. If so, it was pointless to overwrite that version of himself, because it would always pop right back up again.

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