There was a definite appeal to him, too, as he sat across from her with that crooked grin, all playful cowboy.

What would be the harm in just one date?

But then something went swirly in her belly, melty and hot, trickling downward until it settled in the core of her.

She shoved the sensation aside.

“Come on, Laila,” Jackson said, his brown eyes glinting with that flirtatiousness she’d seen before. “I’m just talking about a date, not a marriage proposal.”

Wasn’t he a card.

Or, more to the point, a wild card.

Dear Reader,

Here we are, back in Thunder Canyon! This time, I’ve got a real bad boy—Jackson Traub, oil man, Texas rancher and all-around scoundrel. In the first book of the series, Jackson earned quite the reputation for himself while becoming the town’s most notorious, ultimate bachelor.

So who would be the perfect foil for him? Maybe…the biggest bachelorette in Big Sky Country?

These two have some major fireworks going, and I hope you like their flirting, dating…and of course, falling in lov-ing.

When you’re done reading, I would love it if you would come on over and check out my website, www.crystal-green.com. You’ll find contests, a link to my blog for updates and information about all the continuities and other books I’m lucky enough to write!

All the best,

Crystal Green

About the Author

CRYSTAL GREEN lives near Las Vegas, where she writes for the Mills & Boon® Cherish™ and Blaze® lines. She loves to read, overanalyze movies and TV programs, practice yoga and travel when she can. You can read more about her at www.crystal-green.com, where she has a blog and contests. Also, you can follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/ChrisMarie.Green/1051327765 and Twitter @ChrisMarieGreen.

The Hard-To- Get Cowboy
Crystal Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my beautiful, caring, hardworking mom—

you are the treasure of the family and we value you beyond measure. Love you so much.

Prologue

Laila Cates stood on the stage in front of the cheering crowd, dressed in a white evening gown and a blue sash while holding a fresh bouquet of celebratory flowers.

“A five-time winner!” said the master of ceremonies, whose voice rang through the tent where the pageant was being held. “Give it up for Laila Cates for taking yet another Miss Frontier Days title!”

She touched the crown on her head. It’d been a long time since she’d been up here. Seven years since she’d stopped entering the pageant, seven years since she’d wanted to be known for more than what was on the outside.

But this year she’d come back to prove a point to Thunder Canyon.

Scanning the crowd, she saw the happy faces of the neighbors and friends she’d grown up with. People she worked with at the Thunder Canyon First Fidelity Bank, day in and day out. Her best friend, Dana, who’d entered Laila into the pageant without Laila even knowing it, clapped harder than anyone else.

She’d been the one who’d dared her to prove a point to the town, and Laila had taken her up on it, singing a song during the talent competition that emphasized a woman’s hard work in this world and the accomplishments all of them could celebrate as they grew older.

And the judges had clearly appreciated it, recognizing that every year that passed by for a woman could be a plus rather than a negative.

After the noise subsided, Laila went to the microphone, shaking her head. “So I’m twenty-nine going on thirty. The jump to a new decade seems to be a big deal in most women’s lives. We’re supposed to be leaving behind our best, most youthful years, and truthfully, I’ve been a little nervous about that. I mean, this is when we get wrinkles, right? This is when our looks begin to fade.” She smiled again. “Well, that’s why I decided to compete in the pageant this year, to see if any of that mattered when it comes right down to it.”

A few hoots, hollers.

She went on. “You all have shown tonight that age and life experience are important—that they add to who we are and how others see us. And, even though this is definitely my last time competing for the title, I’m looking forward to a new win each year, except not on a stage. In life. In everything.”

Another round of applause, and Laila gave a jaunty little salute to the crowd, ready to give up the stage to all the other women who wanted to show Thunder Canyon what they had to offer—no matter what their age—in the future.

That was when the audience parted to let through a strapping, broad-shouldered man with blond hair.

At first, Laila thought he was merely there to offer congratulations. It was Hollis Cade Pritchett, the man she’d been seeing on and off for years on a casual basis. Cade, as he was known to just about everyone but his sister and her husband, accepted what Laila had professed all along—that she never wanted to get married—and that had apparently suited him just fine.

Until now, it seemed.

“Marry me, Laila,” he said loudly.

As his deep voice carried, Laila blinked, then put her hand over the mic. The device whimpered with feedback as a wave of silence traveled over the audience.

This wasn’t like Cade, to be joking around. And she suspected that it was a joke, because he was acting…different. Heck, she could even say that the normally levelheaded woodworker might’ve even tipped back a few beers, judging by the high flush on his cheeks. But Cade wasn’t a big drinker.

So what explained the intensity in his gaze?

His brother, Dean, broke out of the crowd and stood by Cade, wearing a tight grin and slapping him on the back, buddy-style.

“Don’t listen to him, Laila,” the youngest Pritchett boy said. “I’m the one you should marry!”

Okay—now it was pretty obvious from the way Dean slightly slurred that they had been indulging for some odd reason. Like his brother, Dean was the strong, silent type, hardly prone to tomfoolery like this.

By now, the crowd had broken into a chorus of laughter, urging the Pritchetts on.

Laila kept her composure, as well as her sense of humor. This was starting to feel like a circus act, but maybe she’d only encouraged that by competing in the pageant at this age when it was supposed to be a young girls’ competition.

She would take her knocks, because using a pageant title to make a statement about inner beauty was loaded with irony, and not everyone was going to get it.

It was just another idea some of the townsfolk probably wouldn’t take seriously from her.

Just then, another man came to the front of the stage—a guy who wasn’t as familiar to Laila, even though she knew darn well who he was.

Who didn’t?

Tall, lean and roguish in his jeans, boots and black Western shirt, Jackson Traub was new in town—one of the Texans who’d come to Thunder Canyon to develop his family’s oil shale business.

And he was also known to be a troublemaker who’d caused a wild ruckus at his own brother’s wedding reception several months ago.

Was he about to stir things up here, too, just for the heck of it?

Just because rumor had it that he enjoyed raising Cain?

Laila should’ve been sending him a “Don’t you dare do it” glare, but…

But just look at him.

She was too busy taking in a deep breath, feeling a burst of tingles as they rolled through every single inch of her while he grinned up at her on the stage.

Lord help her, but a bad-boy reputation did something to a girl who’d spent her life doing everything right.

He swept off his hat and held it over his heart while raising his own voice over the crowd’s. “Neither of these boys is worthy. I’m going to marry the lovely Laila!”

Something primal hit her in the belly, and hard.

But it had nothing to do with the ridiculous proposal. Nothing at all.

It was only that his brown hair had been tousled so carelessly by the removal of his hat, and even from the stage, Laila could see the glint in his dust-devil brown gaze as he looked up at her and grinned even wider.

In spite of everything, she grinned right back, though hers was of the sweet/sarcastic variety. No one was going to make a complete mockery out of this night.

And no one—not even a slick Texan—was going to make it all better with a naughty smile and a joke, either.

Jackson Traub lifted an eyebrow, as if appreciating her feisty look.

As if challenged by it.

It took some effort to drag her gaze away from him—my, did it ever—but she turned her attention back to the audience while their laughter died down.

“See?” she said. “Here’s proof that life really doesn’t end after your twenties, girls. Everything improves with age, including the amount of attention.”

As cheers erupted, she waited for silence before continuing.

“But you all know that my heart belongs to Thunder Canyon. And, for all you fellas out there who’d planned to offer more proposals, you know I adore every last one of you, but I must tell you once and for all that I. Am. Never. Getting. Married. Life’s too short!”

As the place went nuts, she winked at the crowd, then smiled at the Pritchett brothers, telling them that there were no hard feelings about their ill-timed shenanigans.

Dean was glancing at his brother, as if to gauge Cade’s reaction.

And what Laila saw in Cade almost chipped away at her heart.

It seemed as if he’d just been kicked in the gut, his face ruddy, his hands fisted at his sides.

Oh, God. Had he been serious about proposing?

No way—not when she’d been very clear over the years how she felt about settling down. Not Cade Pritchett—a man who never impulsively shouted out things like proposals in front of a hundred other people.

Without a word, he turned to leave, his shoulders stiff, and Dean followed him, leaving the third suitor behind.

As Laila met the amused gaze of Jackson Traub, the last man standing, he put his hat back on, then touched the brim. The gesture might’ve been a touché from someone who clearly appreciated her firm stance on singlehood. Word had it that he’d even caused that scene at his brother’s reception because he was the ultimate bachelor, and he was intent on swearing off matrimony himself. It was just that he hadn’t exactly been speaking to a sympathetic audience at a wedding, for heaven’s sake.

Before he turned around and disappeared into the crowd, he sent Laila one last wicked grin.

Then he was gone, leaving her with a burning yen to see him again, for better…

Or for worse.

Chapter One

Nearly a week later, Laila sat at a corner table in the bar section at the Hitching Post, keeping her eye on the entrance as she traced the sweat off the mug of a lemonade she hadn’t touched.

She’d been playing phone tag with Cade, and they’d finally agreed to meet here tonight, among the after-work crowd enjoying Happy Hour in this rumored former house of ill repute that’d been turned into a bar and grill.

She tried to ignore the line of ranch hands at the bar—the men who kept glancing over and peering at her from beneath the shade of their hats. One in particular, Duncan Brooks, who worked on Mayor Bo Clifton’s spread, was trying to catch Laila’s attention.

Then again, he always was, and she wished he wouldn’t do that. The mustached, stocky cowboy was forever looking at her with that moony gaze men sometimes got when they were around Laila—that struck-by-a-beauty-queen gander that made her wish she had set out to clear up everyone’s perceptions of her from the very first time she’d been old enough to date.

With a polite nod to Duncan—nothing more, nothing to encourage him—she took a sip of her lemonade and shifted her attention to the painting over the bar. It featured the Shady Lady herself, Lily Divine, draped in diaphanous material, wearing a mysterious smile. Long before Thunder Canyon had experienced its recent gold rush and the place had moved from a sleepy spot on the map to a boomtown with a resort that attracted the rich and adventurous alike, and long before the town had undergone an economic fall that they were still recovering from, Lily had been a woman of questionable morals. A supposed heartbreaker.

Was that what Cade thought about Laila now, after she’d shot him down at the pageant?

Was that why he hadn’t been returning her calls?

She would soon see, because he was just now walking through the entrance, pausing to glance around for Laila.

She waved a tentative hello, and his hands fisted by his sides, just as they had the night of the pageant. He walked toward her in his sheepskin jacket—a necessity now that the weather had finally turned from Indian summer to October cool.

Laila held back a frown. It was tough to see Cade Pritchett in such a state. He was a hardy man, a local hero who’d played down his part in rescuing a young girl from drowning in Silver Stallion Lake about a year ago. Naturally, he’d refused any accolades.

He was the best of guys. The best of friends—until recently.

She’d already ordered a soda for him, and as he doffed his jacket, tossed it over the back of a chair, then sat, she pushed the beverage toward him as if it were a peace offering.

“I wasn’t so sure you’d come here tonight,” she said.

Cade didn’t utter a word. After years of dating him—never serious enough to have gotten totally intimate with him, though—Laila nevertheless knew enough about Cade to realize that he was weighing whatever he was thinking carefully before saying it.

She also knew that when he spoke, it would be in a low voice that would give most any girl delicious shivers and, not for the first time, Laila wondered just why it didn’t affect her like that.

What was wrong with her that she didn’t feel that way about him…or about anybody, much, except for a couple of men who’d seemed like Mr. Rights until they’d proven to be Mr. Maybe-Not-After-Alls?

A flash of roguish brown eyes and an equally devastating grin flew across her mind’s eye, but she quashed all thoughts of Jackson Traub.

He certainly wasn’t her type, and she’d been reminding herself of that all week.

Cade met her gaze head-on. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and what I have to say to you now isn’t impulsive or ill-considered. I’ve even been thinking about what I came here to tell you long before the pageant.”

She didn’t like how this was starting. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“The future, Laila.”

His direct manner made her wary.

“You’re not the only one who’s entered a new phase of life,” he said. “When a person gets older, he starts to reassess where he’s been. Where he’s going.”

His blue gaze was so intense that Laila prayed he wasn’t about to say what she thought he was going to say…

But he went and said it, anyway.

“I wasn’t fooling around when I asked you to marry me.”

She tried not to react, even though it felt as if a shadow had steamrolled her. “Cade, I didn’t mean to embarrass you by turning you down so publicly, but you know how I feel about marriage.”

“I know how you always said you feel.”

Now Laila was really confused. Had she been sending Cade mixed signals or something? But that couldn’t be the case. She’d always been very clear on her feelings about staying single.

“Cade…” she said softly just before he interrupted her.

“Just listen…I know full well that you’re not in love with me. But we have a lot to offer each other in spite of that.”

He paused, and she searched his gaze, seeing that there was something deep going on in this man. Sadly, she even wondered if this had anything to do with how Cade had lost the woman he’d wanted to marry to an early death years ago.

Maybe that was why Laila had been drawn to him, as a companion more than anything else. He had shut down emotionally after his lover’s passing, and he’d probably seen in Laila a person who didn’t get involved much with heavy emotions herself.

Did he think that she would never expect more out of him than he was capable of giving after having his heart broken?

The realization left her a bit hollow. It wasn’t that she couldn’t love anyone, it was just that she’d always thought of herself as a career woman—one who’d worked her tail off to become branch manager of the bank. One who, admittedly, loved to flirt and play the field to a certain point.

At her silence, he had straightened up in his chair, as if thinking that she was actually considering his point. He seemed so confident now that a scratch of pain scored her.

“Right before the pageant,” he said, “I had a good long talk with my brothers.”

“And with your other friend, Jack Daniels?”

Cade’s skin went ruddy. “All right. A little whiskey was involved, and the more I had, the more I decided I wanted to get an answer from you once and for all about where we were headed. And I don’t regret bringing this up, Laila, not even in such a spectacular fashion. Not even if I made a donkey of myself at the pageant and my own brother took enough pity on me to propose, too, turning my folly into a joke everyone could laugh off.”

What she needed was for a hole to open up in the ceiling that would suck her right into it and out of this discussion. “I—”

“I need to finish what I came here to say.”

He’d raised his voice and, from the corner of her gaze, she saw Duncan Brooks stand away from the bar, obviously hearing Cade and not liking his tone one bit. Laila sent a reassuring smile at the ranch hand, letting him know everything was okay.

Appeased, Duncan went back to drinking his beer, hunched over it as he leaned on the bar.

“I’m tired of being alone,” Cade said. “Aren’t you?”

She sighed, hating that she would have to be terribly blunt. “No.”

He frowned.

“Why does that surprise you?” she asked. “You know I love my life. I love going home to my apartment every night and eating what I want to eat, when I want to eat it. I love watching what I want to watch on T.V… .”

“You don’t ever get lonely? You never wake up at night in your empty bed and wonder if it’s always going to be that way?”

She didn’t know what to say, because there were times when that exact thing happened—shadows on the pale walls, the inexplicable sense that she was genuinely alone.

But then she would go right back to sleep, waking up to a new day, loving her life all over again, even as an itch of loneliness remained in the back of her mind… .

Still, there were good reasons she was never going to get married, and the biggest one was because of what she’d seen in her mom. Laila’s mother had tried her best not to show how life had let her down. Even though Mom loved all six of her children, Laila had seen how she had ordered college catalogues and paged through them with a slight, sad smile at the kitchen table after she thought all the kids were in bed. She’d heard Mom say on more than one occasion that she should’ve taken her studies more seriously and that Laila shouldn’t ever rely on her looks when she had such a brain.

And she also knew that Mom had settled down young.

Too young?

Always wondering, never having the courage to ask, Laila had promised herself that she would give life a chance before getting serious with anyone, and she was damn happy with her decision as it stood.

Right?

She pushed aside her drink and rested her elbows on the table. “Loneliness is no reason to get married, Cade.”

His jaw hardened as he surveyed her. Then, hardly swayed, he said, “We can learn to love each other…I can even give you children before it’s too late.”

Oof.

That really got her. But she wasn’t sure why Cade’s words smarted the way they did.

Had she been thinking about her future lately, even beyond wrinkles, in a more profound way than she even admitted to herself? And, heck…

She even wondered if she’d actually entered the Miss Frontier Days pageant for the final time because she’d needed some kind of reassurance that she was still young enough to be desirable, that she didn’t need to change her life and get validation from marriage or kids…

Her throat felt tender as she tried to swallow. She didn’t like what she was thinking, and she wouldn’t let Cade’s words bother her. But how could she tell him that she didn’t feel more for him than companionship?

Just as she was wishing again for that hole to open up in the ceiling, there was a stir in the Hitching Post as someone sauntered inside.

As soon as she saw Jackson Traub bellying up to the bar in a dark brushed-twill coat with his Stetson pulled low over his brow, her body flared with heat.

Star-spangly, popping, sizzling heat.

Something she definitely didn’t feel for Cade.

She must’ve been staring, and Jackson Traub must’ve felt it, because as he ordered a drink from the bartender, he pushed back his hat so she could see his brown gaze locking onto hers.

Her heart seemed to shoot down to her belly, where it revolved, sending the rest of her topsy-turvy, too.

She expected him to give her one of those grins he was so good at, expected him to maybe even wink as a reminder of the night he’d lightheartedly proposed like a scoundrel come out of nowhere.

But he only turned back to the bartender as the man slid a glass of what looked to be straight-up whiskey to him.

Jackson Traub scooped it right up, then downed it before ordering another, ignoring Laila as if nothing had ever passed between them.

Baffled, she stared down at the table.

Was he ignoring her?

Or could it be that he really didn’t remember their “moment” at the pageant?

Or maybe there just hadn’t been a “moment” for him…

Rascal. He was truly making her wonder. But let him play his games. She’d been dating since sixteen, when her parents had finally allowed it after she’d blossomed early. She had a pretty good sense of when a man was interested or not.

Still, she peered over at Jackson Traub again, just to see if he was looking.

He wasn’t.

“Laila?” Cade asked.

He sounded offended that she’d mentally wandered from the conversation. In fact, he was looking more intense than ever—so much so that Laila sank into her chair, wishing fervently, once again, for that hole in the ceiling to appear, suck her up and take her away from all the truths Cade was making her face tonight.

Jackson was a patient man.

He was also mildly perceptive, if he did say so himself, and he knew when a woman—even a cool beauty queen like Laila Cates—was aware of his presence.

As he nursed his second whiskey, he nodded to the man at the end of the bar, an acquaintance Jackson had met during his short time here. Woody Paulson, the manager of LipSmackin’ Ribs, a joint that didn’t so much compete with the rib restaurant of Jackson’s cousin, DJ, as stay in its shadow.

Woody nodded back to Jackson, but the interaction didn’t take his mind off Laila. He wondered if she was still watching him, yet he refrained from taking a peek. Instead, he imagined her in that white evening gown, the first time he’d seen the infamous Thunder Canyon beauty in person, on the stage, her long, wavy blond hair silky under the crown she wore, her blue eyes bright, her skin smooth and pale as cream.

A challenge if he ever met one.

A woman he wanted with every beat of his pulse.

He hadn’t initially come to Thunder Canyon for a good time, though. Months ago, it’d been his brother Corey’s wedding that had brought him here, and Jackson had stayed just long enough to throw a few punches during the reception before returning to his gentleman’s ranch in Midland, Texas, then back to work for the family oil business, where he spent the weekdays in his city penthouse.

During the past few months, he’d been thinking hard about the mess he’d created up here in Montana during Corey’s nuptials. At first, Jackson had chalked it all up to just being a bad day, and he’d had a few too many champagnes as well as a few too many thoughts about how his brothers seemed to be falling prey to marriage, an institution that Jackson had never cottoned to.

So he’d spoken his mind at the reception, saying that matrimony was a great way to ruin a relationship. And, as if that wasn’t awful enough, he’d gone on to pretty much call his two married brothers wusses.

He’d said that he would never change his life for a woman, and he’d damn well meant it.

Needless to say, the brothers Traub hadn’t taken kindly to his opinions, and Jackson had left Thunder Canyon with his fists and face bruised, knowing that he’d gone too far. But he’d tried his best during his time away to think on how he was going to make it up to his family.

Not only that—he’d really taken a good look at what he had or hadn’t accomplished during his thirty-four years here on earth, and he didn’t like the view much at all.

That’s why, when his older brother Ethan stepped up his attempts to explore oil shale extraction opportunities, Jackson saw an opportunity not only to get into his family’s good graces again, but…

Hell. In spite of his shortcomings, he loved his family more than anything, and he just wanted to make them see that he wasn’t a loser who would always start fistfights at weddings. The superficial guy who could be so much more than the company “schmoozer” who closed deals and wooed clients.

So here he was, back in Thunder Canyon, convinced that he could finally put what brains he had to some use in getting this new branch of Traub Oil Industries started. He’d actually persuaded his brother, Ethan, that he could head up community outreach and education, since Traub Oil Montana was exploring new, more environmentally friendly ways of extraction at the Bakken Shale; he would also be working with the ranchers and landowners from whom the company had bought or leased rights.

Even though Jackson wasn’t here for the long run, he was going to make his time in Thunder Canyon matter, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use a little entertainment while he was around… .

He finally took a sidelong glance at Laila Cates, but she’d gone back to her conversation with Cade Pritchett, whom Jackson only knew because of his outburst at the pageant. Honestly, Jackson had felt for the man after he’d shouted out that proposal. In fact, after Cade’s brother had come to his rescue with another marriage offer to Laila, Jackson had impulsively broken in with his own. It wasn’t so much for Cade’s sake as Laila’s because, even under her unruffled façade, Jackson had sensed how vexed Laila had seemed on that stage, and if there was one thing Jackson was, it was a sucker for a woman, especially one who seemed embarrassed that her big night had been shot to hell by an unexpected profession of devotion.

He was pretty sure that someone like Laila was used to men falling all over her, although not in such a mortifyingly public way.

And he wasn’t about to be like the other guys.

At present, as Laila sat there looking as uncomfortable as all get out once again, Jackson could tell she was in another tight spot, that here was a woman who was just about telepathically asking anyone in the room to interrupt the conversation she was having.

Now it wasn’t as if Jackson would’ve done what he did next if Laila hadn’t been providing a clear opening for him. If she was having a grand old time with her date, he would’ve stayed a mile away from her.

But being the woman-loving sucker he was, he turned from the bar, getting an even better look at her. His heartbeat picked up.

She was dressed as if she’d just come from work, in a stylish dark gray pinstriped suit, and her wavy mass of blond hair—shiny and silky enough to make his fingers itch to touch it—was swept up in a style that left some strands framing her face.

And…that face.

It belonged to a beauty queen, all right. High cheekbones, full red lips, long black lashes, delicate eyebrows and all.

Now it was more than his heart that was thudding.

To rescue her again or not to rescue her?

There wasn’t much of a choice, and he left his whiskey glass at the bar as he crossed the floor.

She seemed to know he was coming before he even got there, and that did something to him—riled him up inside, stretched a string of lit firecrackers through him.

“Well,” he said as she parted her lips, as if to utter something before he beat her to it. “If it isn’t my bride-to-be.”

Okay, there it was. If she gave any indication that he was intruding, he would go.

He even gave her another chance to shoo him off. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything—”

Cade and Laila spoke at the same time.

“You are,” the man said.

“You’re not,” she said.

Jackson had sure called it correctly. And when Laila nudged a chair away from the table with her foot, she only emphasized the point.

Had Cade proposed again to this woman who’d announced to the whole town that she Never. Wanted. To. Get. Married?

Was that why she looked like a deer caught in the headlights?

Cade had seen her pushing out the chair, too, but Jackson only tipped his hat to them both, then took a seat, signaling to a waitress who came right over, all smiles.

“What can I do you for?” she asked.

“A round of beers,” Jackson said. “On my tab.”

When she scuttled off, she left a view of the bar, and Jackson couldn’t help but notice that many a male gaze was turned his way, obviously envious that he was sitting at Laila’s table. One man in particular—a cowboy with a chunky silver belt buckle and a mustache—watched Jackson for a moment too long before looking away.

Cade’s voice rumbled. “Not tonight, Traub.”

Jackson was checking in with Laila, whose smile was forced, even though it seemed to be asking him to stay, no matter what.

Sure enough.

When Jackson faced Cade, the man seemed likely to wring his neck, if the sight of his bunched fists on the tabletop meant anything.

Time for some peace talk. “Just introducing myself around town.” He stuck out his hand for a shake. “You can call me Jackson.”

“I know who you are.” Cade shot Laila a glance, and if it could speak, it would’ve said, You gonna do anything to get him out of here or should I?

But when Laila only took a sip of the lemonade that had been waiting in front of her all this time, Cade stood, got out his wallet, then tossed some bills on the table.

When he spoke, it was to Laila, and it was far quieter than Jackson expected.

“Just think about what I said.”

Then he was gone, leaving only the background murmur of bar discussion over the strains of Merle Haggard on the jukebox.

The waitress came with the beers, and Jackson decided that if Cade wouldn’t be around to drink his, he would gladly do the honors.

He didn’t make anything out of the sassy smile that the waitress gave him, instead taking a swig of his drink, then leaning back in his chair and grinning at Laila.

There was a little beauty mark near the tip of her mouth, and he wished she would smile, just as prettily as she had on that stage last week. But he was out of luck. She only traced a pattern on the table from the condensation that had dropped down from the lemonade mug.

“Was I in the wrong when I sat down here?” Jackson asked.

“No, you weren’t. Thank you. It was one of those discussions. You know—the kind that you don’t want to have in the middle of a bar?”

“Glad to have been of assistance.”

She sighed, still tracing pictures on the table. Jackson couldn’t make hide nor hair of what she was drawing.

“If he puts the moves on you again,” he said, meaning to cheer her up, “you just give a holler. He’s big, but I can take him.”

There it was—a wisp of a smile now.

“Truly,” he added. “I know how to dodge and weave. Also, I’ve got a twin back home who’s always willing to stand up for a lady, too.”

“Good heavens—there’s more than one of you?”

He chuckled. “I’m afraid so.” Getting even more comfortable, he propped his booted ankle just above his knee. “But Jason’s far less reckless. That’s what everyone says, anyway.”

“I’d heard you’re a rebel, even before you showed up at the pageant to cause mischief.”

He took that in stride. “Heard from who?”

She had a flush on her cheeks, and it looked so sweet that Jackson’s veins tangled.

“I’d heard,” she said, “just in general. Thunder Canyon’s a small town, so gossip travels.”

“I know. That’s why I proposed to you, Miss Laila—because I’d heard you were the perfect woman for me.”

Her gaze widened.

He laughed. “You don’t have to say it again—the part about your never getting married. The message came through loud and clear at the pageant.”

She blew out a breath, as if she’d been dreading having to repeat it to yet another suitor. It made him think that Cade’s pageant proposal had been much more than just an impetuous moment, that it bothered her far more than she’d let on in public.

That she was just as determinedly single as he was?

“I happen to agree 100 percent with you about the holy state of matrimony,” he said. “I’m not sure what the appeal is.”

“Ask your brothers, Corey and Dillon. I’m sure they can wax on about it.”

“No, thanks. It’s bad enough that Ethan just got engaged, too. I never thought I’d see him strapping himself to a ball and chain. All I can do now is hope that Jason and my sister, Rose, stick with me.”

“You talk as if the rest of your family has abandoned you or something.”

He paused. He’d never thought of it that way before, but that’s what he’d been feeling during Corey’s wedding—abandonment. Being left behind while everyone else traveled ahead to what were supposed to be bigger and better things in life.

She seemed to realize that she’d hit some kind of target on him, whether he’d meant to show it or not.

“Or maybe you’re just a born rebel,” she said. “I could tell the minute you jumped into the fray at the pageant that your skills were instinctive.”

“Hey, I was only trying to ease a tense situation.” He shrugged. “And maybe have a little fun.”

“I rest my case.”

He picked up his mug, toasted her with it, then drank.

When he was done, she was watching him, her bluebonnet eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, as if she was turning over a million questions about him in her head.

If she was sitting there wondering what went into the creation of a rebel like him, he wasn’t about to give her answers.

He wanted to get back to the flirtation. He hadn’t met anyone in Thunder Canyon who’d made him forget all the tough questions that had been echoing in his brain ever since the wedding brawl, and he wasn’t about to lead her into thinking that he was the kind of guy who was even comfortable having that type of conversation.

Leaning his elbows on the table, he sent Laila his most lethal grin.

“If you’re thinking of asking me questions, don’t.”

“Questions about what?”

“Serious stuff. The kind of questions that come after a first date.”

She laughed, as if he’d stepped over a line she’d already drawn with him. “Are you saying this is a date?”

“Nope.” He lowered his voice. “But when we do go on our first one, I’m just laying out some ground rules. I don’t want to hear any of the kind of questions that make you narrow your eyes like that.”

She was flustered, and he hadn’t expected that from a graceful, composed woman like Laila Cates.

“When we…?”

“When we go on our first date,” he said, completing her sentence, enjoying the hell out of the chase.

Because he always got what he wanted when it came to women, and Laila Cates wouldn’t be an exception.

“I never said I would—”

“You didn’t have to, Miss Laila. But you know damn well that we’re going to go out.” He lifted an eyebrow. “It’s just a matter of when.”

Chapter Two

He sure was cocky, Laila thought, her pulse racing so fast that it felt as if she was running.

Jackson Traub—arrogant and altogether too confident.

And they were talking about a date.

Her. Him.

She could just imagine what her parents—no, the whole town—might say if they caught wind of this conversation. Laila Cates, the proper bank manager, the woman who did everything according to the letter, hanging around with a rabble-rousing Texas stranger.

But then a different type of thought altogether started to take shape in her mind… .

What if going on a date with a fly-by-night man like Jackson Traub could convince Cade Pritchett that she really wasn’t longing for stability and marriage?

Suddenly, she liked the whole idea. Especially since, even if she wasn’t looking to settle down, there would be no future with Jackson, anyway. Because the talk around Thunder Canyon was that he was merely here to work on that oil shale project.

Here and gone.

There was an appeal to that. And there was a definite appeal to him, too, as he sat across from her with that crooked grin, all playful cowboy, the complete opposite of a man like Cade.

What would be the harm in just one date?

But then something went swirly in her belly, melty and hot, trickling downward until it settled in the core of her.

She shoved the sensation aside.

“Come on, Laila,” Jackson said, his brown eyes glinting with that flirtiness she’d seen before. “I’m just talking about a date, not a marriage proposal.”

Wasn’t he a card.

Or, more to the point, a wild card.

“Very funny,” she said.

“Don’t tell me a man doesn’t have a chance with you.” He sent a glance over his shoulder, toward the door where Cade had disappeared only moments ago. “Or maybe there’s something else to it.”

She had the feeling he was going to go somewhere she didn’t want to go.

“Maybe,” he said, “there really is something between you and Pritchett, even if you were desperate to get away from him less than five minutes ago.”

Jackson said it in a teasing way, as if he didn’t believe it for a second.

Was there anything this Texan didn’t see? It was as if he could read her through and through.

Yet she refused to dignify his question with an answer. She knew when a troublemaker was stirring it up.

He chuckled, just as the jukebox went silent, leaving only the laughter from the bar patrons.

She crossed her arms over her chest.

“We both know that there’s no way you’ll end up with a nice guy like Pritchett.” He put the glass to his lips, drinking.

His throat worked with every swallow.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, couldn’t stop herself from thinking what it would feel like to have her lips against that throat, the warm skin roughened by stubble from a five o’clock shadow.

But she managed to pull her gaze away before she offered evidence that he was right about her being attracted to a bad boy over a good one.

“I may not end up with Cade,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I’d put myself in the position of ending up anywhere with you.”

He put down the drained mug. “Shot through the heart, Miss Laila. You’ve got some excellent aim.”

“And you don’t know enough about me to go around predicting who’s my type and who’s not.”

“I can sure guess.” He sat back in his chair, long-limbed and laconic.

A wise girl would have gotten up from the table by now, heading through the door for home, where it would be safe. But here she was flirting with him.

And she didn’t want to stop.

He said, “I surmise that, all your life, you’ve dated men who are steady. Men who drive just five miles above the speed limit—and that’s their idea of living dangerously. And yours, too.”

He didn’t even seem to be expecting a response—not judging by the long, cocky stare he was fixing on her, one that suggested he knew how madly her blood was flying through her veins, just from being near him.

When had she ever felt like this before?

Was it curiosity that was keeping her here? Or was it because the big 3-0 was looming above her like a net, ready to drop and wrap her up in the great unknown?

Whatever it was, she finally, quietly dared to say, “And just what would a man like you have to offer on a…date?”

Jackson lowered his ankle from where it’d been resting on his knee. “I drive a whole lot faster than the speed limit, for one thing.”

“And you’ll be driving just as fast out of town, once you’re done with your business here.”

“So I will. But a woman who doesn’t aim to settle down wouldn’t care so much about my leaving. We understand each other’s philosophies on that.”

Was he saying that they had something in common? That because she didn’t have any plans to get married, she was just like him?

The notion should’ve disturbed her, but instead, it sent a shot of adrenaline racing through her body.

“Come on, Laila,” he said, leaning toward her even closer. Charmingly. Devastatingly. “One date. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She swallowed. “That’s all?”

What was she doing?

“One date is all…for now.” He stood to his full height, towering above her, then leaned down until his words brushed her ear with warmth. “But I’m pretty sure you’ll find that one date won’t be enough.”

And, with that, he ambled away, not even bothering to get her phone number or arrange a time to pick her up.

Just as cocky—and tempting—as he’d been when he’d entered the bar.

“Seriously?” said Laila’s best friend, Dana Hanson, while sitting in a chair by Laila’s office desk the next day. “You’re actually going out with that pugilist?”

Laila closed the glass door that separated her working space from the rest of the bank, which bustled with people during lunch hour. Dana, who was wearing her sandy hair in a conservative upswept style that artfully hid the purple streak she’d decided to add last weekend, had pushed her decorative Clark Kent glasses to the crown of her head in her awe of Laila’s situation.

“I think I have a date with the pugilist,” Laila said, staying near the door where she could keep an eye on things.

“How is it that you’re not sure?”

“Well, he asked me out then just sort of…left me hanging.”

“A proficient tease. He sounds like an all-around bad seed.” Dana waggled her eyebrows. “I would go out with him, just for the adventure.”

“I’m not sure I should, even though I kind of said I would.” Laila shook her head. “He has me all confused.”

“Then that’s why you’re into him. He’s different. He’s the guy who makes our straight-arrow golden girl feel like she could get a little tarnished. And he throws you for a loop when you don’t normally get riled up by men.” Dana pointed at her. “That’s why you like him.”

“Technically, I didn’t say yes to a date.”

“But you didn’t refuse.”

“I should’ve.”

“Why?”

Laila gave up trying to make sense out of any of it, then motioned to the suit she was wearing—a black and white advertisement for dedicated businesswomen everywhere. “Because of this, Dane. Because maybe I’m a little…”

“Bored with it all?”

Nodding, Laila leaned her head against a wooden reinforcement by the door. All around, her office seemed so bland, with its chrome touches, the fake potted flowers in strategic places. Real ones would’ve been prettier, but it took commitment to maintain them.

“I know, life’s rough,” Dana said. “Every man wants the beauty queen. It must be a slog, fending them all off.”

“You know what I mean by bored.”

“Yeah. And I’d have some compassion if you weren’t you.”

She knew her friend didn’t mean anything cruel by that; Laila had tried all her life not to be smug about her looks, appreciating what God had given her while always working for more.

“I have to say, though,” Dana said, “that when the Pritchett boys and then this Traub fellow proposed at Miss Frontier Days, I did feel for you. I actually regretted entering you into the pageant…for about two minutes.”

“No major harm done.”

“So if he does take you out, where do you think it’ll be?” Dana asked, not even remotely off the subject of Jackson. “Bowling? Cow-tipping in the fields?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’ve totally been thinking about your choices.”

Lying was futile, and Dana was smirking now.

“What?” Laila asked.

“You’re fidgety about this. Laila Cates, I’ve never seen you so nervous, not even back in our junior year, when you had your very first date, with Gary Scott.”

Nervous? Her?

Couldn’t be.

Laila opened the door, smiling caustically at her friend. “Isn’t it time for you to get back to the loan desk?”

Dana smoothed down her red skirt and headed for the exit. “You’re affected, Laila. A-F-F-E-C-T-E-D.”

And she left, still smirking.

Laila tried to get back to the paperwork on her desk, plus the million-and-one to-do items on her list, but she just couldn’t focus on work. So it was almost a relief when she saw the bank’s elderly owner, Mike Trudeau, walking by the windows of her office.

She’d been waiting for her boss to come in for hours and, even before she went to him, she marked him off her to-do list, then rose from her seat. With a smooth gait, she went outside, following him to his own office, which was decorated with a huntsman’s touch, featuring kitschy, homey things like a mallard clock and a painting of buffalo roaming a prairie.

He was standing behind his desk, accessing his computer when she walked in.

“Morning, Laila.”

Casual, friendly, with the silver hair of a grandpa…He shouldn’t have intimidated Laila in the least, especially since he’d shown up to check in on his business dressed in jeans and a bulky sweater, just as laid-back as usual.

And, as usual, Laila put on the same façade that made everyone think that nothing ever got to her.

“Morning, Mike. Do you have a moment?”

“For our reigning Miss Frontier Days? Always.”

He motioned toward the chair in front of his large oak desk, and she sat, crossing her legs, slipping a folder toward him.

“Ah,” he said. “Do we have another idea today?”

She was used to this bit of harmless condescension in his tone, and she kept smiling, even if every idea she brought to him seemed to end up in the garbage heap. Or, more likely, she suspected that there was a vortex that could only be accessed through a drawer in his desk, and that was where her ideas went.

But that didn’t stop her from trying again, especially since this particular idea was closer to her heart than usual.

“Yes, sir, I’ve got another one,” she said, folding her hands in her lap.

He didn’t make a move to open the folder, so she started her pitch, determined that he would at least hear it.

“It’s no secret that most people in Thunder Canyon have been hit hard by the economy,” she said, leaving out the fact that Mike Trudeau himself was flush right now, along with his bank.

“True enough.” He was still fussing with his computer.

“And I know you’ve expressed an interest in getting this town back on its feet. You’ve been meeting with the mayor, along with other leading members of the community. I don’t know how many ideas you’ve come up with, but if you’ll take a look at some figures I’ve put together to support what I have in mind…”

Mr. Trudeau finally opened the folder, but his expression didn’t change.

Laila cleared her throat. “I think the bank is in a position to make more loans to struggling local homeowners and small businesses in Thunder Canyon and, as you’ll see, I’ve proposed some avenues to do that, while benefiting our business in the long run.”

“Interesting,” he said, paging through the folder.

Laila couldn’t stop looking at the top of his silver head, and when she realized that her fingers were clutching her skirt, she loosened her hold.

Mr. Trudeau closed the folder. “Looks like that college business degree did you some good, Laila.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Beats getting an MRS degree, like the girls in my day used to do.”

Laila kept her mouth shut. Even though she’d decided to major in business because she thought she should, rather than out of a love for the subject, she was proud of her accomplishments. So were her parents, who’d always emphasized a firm work ethic in their household.

Her boss sat in his chair with a sense of finality. “I’ll go over it, Laila. Thanks for your work.”

She almost said, “But…”

Yet she didn’t, even if, so many times before, she’d heard Mike Trudeau use the same brush-off.

Sometimes, when she talked to him, she felt as if there was no substance in her at all. But maybe this time he would believe that there was more to her than what he saw—something she’d tried, and failed, to prove all too recently at Miss Frontier Days.

Holding back that frustration, she got up, thanking her boss again, then headed for the door.

She shut it behind her, adapting a pleasant expression for the customers who greeted her on their way to the tellers’ windows.

In spite of what had just happened, as long as Laila could use her brain, she was going to keep putting proposals on her boss’s desk. She would keep on fighting the good fight… .

On her way across the tiled lobby, a woman’s voice stopped her.

“Laila!”

She turned to find Jacey Weidemeyer, one of her friends from high school who patronized the bank. She was dressed in jeans and a thick sweater that almost hid the reminder of a recently pregnant belly.

And she was holding a baby.

For some reason, Laila’s heart twisted at the sight of the newborn in Jacey’s arms, an infant swaddled in a pink blanket with a tiny knit hat covering her head, her eyes closed in sleep, her skin smooth and rosy.

“Oh,” Laila whispered. “She’s beautiful.”

Jacey stroked her daughter’s cheek. “Meet Hannah. This is the first time we’ve gotten out of the house since I gave birth.”

Laila touched the baby’s little hand. Tiny nails. Tiny fingers.

Her heart seemed to sink inside her for some reason.

Jacey said, “We’re going to have a reception in a few weeks. I’ll email you an invitation.”

“I’d…” What, love to go? It was the last thing Laila thought she would ever have said. She amended herself appropriately. “I’ll be there.”

After they finished chatting and Jacey left for the teller’s window, Laila looked after her and Hannah, pangs invading her deep and low.

Was it because of what Cade had said last night about how he could give her children before it was too late?

Having no idea, Laila went back to her office, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her.

By the time a chilly, star-pinned night hushed over Thunder Canyon, Jackson had left the brick office building that his brother, Ethan, had established for Traub Oil Montana in Old Town and arrived at the Thunder Canyon Resort to meet some of his family for dinner at DJ’s Rib Shack.

He shed his coat and hat in the hostess area and walked into the restaurant, with its family-style benches and booths filled with customers, pictures of sepia-toned cowboys and a visual history of Thunder Canyon revealed in a mural painting.

It wasn’t two seconds before Ethan came over to him.

“So I hear you’ve already gotten busy here in town,” his older brother said.

Jackson was tall, but Ethan had a couple of inches on him, and he was dressed for the field in boots and jeans since he’d returned from the Bakken Shale today.

It would seem that Big Bro was talking to Jackson about work, yet that wasn’t quite the case.

Ignoring Ethan’s jibe, Jackson headed for a private back dining room where special events were often held, including tonight’s family gathering that DJ had called, though no one knew the reason yet.

Ethan followed. “Weren’t you the one who said that you’d probably be in Thunder Canyon only long enough to work on this project and then you’d be going back to Midland?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Well, it sure looks as if you’re settling into this place fine enough to me. You’re dating a local girl.”

Jackson sat at a dining bench. The aroma of DJ’s famous rib sauce was already making his stomach grumble.

“It’s just a date,” he said lightly. “And Laila Cates is fully aware that it’s not going to turn into anything more. And just so you know, my social activities won’t affect my work here.”

Ethan sat across from him. “If you had the kind of track record that didn’t include a string of heartbreaks for your dates, I wouldn’t be worried. From what I know, Laila Cates is the town sweetheart. You mess with her, you mess with every man who’s had his eye on her. Traub Oil Montana doesn’t need that kind of PR. It’s your job to see that this town wants to work with us.”

It was obvious that Jackson still had a lot of work to do when it came to earning his family’s trust, but he was going to accomplish it. His real dad would’ve wanted that. Even Pete, his stepfather, would be proud of that sort of determination, and Lord knows that after what Jackson and the rest of his brothers had put Pete through, the man deserved some consideration.

Good thing that the rest of the Traub kids were coming around to seeing that these days, too, after Pete’s heart attack and recovery.

“I don’t aim to make trouble,” Jackson said, meeting his brother’s dark gaze.

Ethan seemed to realize that Jackson meant it—at least for the moment—so he let it go.

That didn’t sit right with Jackson, though. He wanted his brother—all his siblings—to know that he was going to come through for them, that he wouldn’t screw up again.

He wanted them to have some faith in him.

More of his relatives arrived—Dillon, Corey, their cousins DJ and Dax. A waitress took their orders, then left to place them while everyone made small talk, chatting about their work and lives as well as the latest gossip about ex-town councilman Arthur Swinton and his heart attack and death in jail. He’d been incarcerated for embezzling funds from Thunder Canyon, and his mere name left a sour note in the room.

Drinks were served. Jackson had ordered a soda, showing his brothers that he wasn’t such a wild man that he needed a drink in hand at all times. The champagne at Corey’s wedding had done enough damage.

Whether or not his siblings noticed the gesture, they ate in peace when the food came.

That was, until DJ brought up some unsettling news.

“Get your fill while you can,” he said. He was a quiet man most of the time. Didn’t dress flashy, preferring flannel shirts and jeans to a cowboy hat, boasting the same dark eyes and brown hair that seemed to be the hallmark of the Traub family.

Ethan said, “What do you mean?”

DJ put down his fork, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I mean that LipSmackin’ Ribs is making a play for all the business in town.”

And that was obviously the reason he’d brought them together tonight.

A chorus of support for DJ filled the room. Everyone knew that his ribs had a stronghold in Thunder Canyon, as well as other joints sprinkled throughout the country. An upstart rib outfit in the new part of town didn’t have anything on DJ’s.

Jackson was still taking in the announcement. Strange, but when he’d met Woody Paulson, the manager of LipSmackin’ Ribs, a time or two at the Hitching Post bar, the man had never let on that there was an underhanded takeover afoot. He knew that Jackson was a Traub, too.

Had Woody been laughing to himself the whole time, thinking about how he was working over the family right under Jackson’s nose?

DJ tried to seem as if he wasn’t too worried, but something about his gaze belied that. “LipSmackin’ somehow got in tight with the Hitching Post, and they’re providing the ribs for them now.”

Jackson just shook his head. DJ was decent. Real decent. Never one to screw over a competitor. And Jackson felt protective of that sort of nobility in his cousin.

In his family.

“Let me get this straight,” Dax, DJ’s brother, said. He was the true rebel of the group and had always reminded Jackson of James Dean in a brooding way. “A tavern that’s been in Thunder Canyon for generations has turned its back on one of its own in favor of a bunch of strangers?”

Jackson knew that by strangers, Dax wasn’t including the Texas Traubs, who had strong family ties to Thunder Canyon. And he could tell that Dax’s blood was boiling for the sake of his brother, too.

“This is what they’re telling me,” DJ said. “I had an exclusive contract with the Hitching Post, but had is the operative word.” He carefully set down his napkin now. “I’m not going to lie to you all. This is hitting the Thunder Canyon branch of the Rib Shack hard, and it hurts the bottom line of my entire business.”

Jackson could see how this affected DJ personally as well. His cousin’s skin was a shade of red, as if he was angry, maybe even embarrassed at being treated so shabbily by a neighbor.

And if their neighbors were treating DJ like this, then that left the Traubs to back each other up.

Jackson’s jaw had gone just as tight as Dax’s appeared to be.

“I can’t believe the Hitching Post did this,” Dax said.

Dillon, the levelheaded doctor, stepped in. “Maybe there’s a good explanation.”

“Sure,” DJ said. “LipSmackin’ Ribs undercut me on cost in a way that the Hitching Post couldn’t say no to—not in these economic times. I can’t really blame them for accepting the offer, either. It’s just good business.”

Corey interrupted. “And bad loyalty.”

DJ shrugged. “Either way, LipSmackin’ Ribs can’t possibly be making a profit, from what I can gather. There’s just no way.”

“Then why the hell are they doing this?” Dax asked.

No one at the table knew.

But all Jackson could gather was that his cousin was hurting, and that was an affront to him.

It was something worth fixing.

When he left that night, he didn’t go straight home. He drove through Old Town, intending to drop by the Hitching Post since Woody Paulson often stopped there around this time for a drink.

The way Jackson had it figured, brokering a better understanding of the situation would be simple: He was acquainted with the manager of LipSmackin’ Ribs in a friendly manner. Why not ask him what was going on?

And who better to do this than the community relations guy for Traub Oil Montana?

Jackson felt good about this constructive method of going about it. He was turning over a new leaf—a diplomatic one.

A helpful one.

He tried to mellow the memory of DJ’s wounded expression that kept niggling at him as he walked into the Hitching Post, spying Woody at the bar nursing a brew as the silent jukebox sat sentry in the corner.

Jackson approached the man, a fortyish refugee from Vegas. He still carried some of that old-school air about him in his creased brown trousers and a tan long-sleeved silk shirt that had seen better days.

When he saw Jackson, he raised his mug.

“Evening, Traub,” he said.

Jackson kept on his coat and declined to order a drink when the bartender approached. Then he greeted Woody right back.

The other man went back to his beer, and that struck Jackson as just being wrong. Here the manager was, part of a scheme to undermine DJ, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. It even occurred to Jackson that perhaps Woody had only made a habit of grabbing a drink at the Hitching Post because he’d been making LipSmackin’ deliveries all this time.

“I heard about your new contract with the Hitching Post,” Jackson said in a civil enough manner. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Woody froze for the briefest second, then muttered a thanks, but didn’t meet Jackson’s gaze.

That didn’t sit well, either. Jackson didn’t like weasels. Didn’t like dishonesty on any level.

“It’s only unfortunate,” he said, doing a fine job of keeping himself in check in spite of his rising dander, “that your business has to be at the expense of my family’s.”

“It’s a cutthroat world out there, Traub. You’re a professional man. You know how things are.”

“Sure, but as far as memory serves, I never did draw blood from anyone. No one in my family has.”

Woody surveyed Jackson, his gaze bleary. “Aren’t you the honorable bunch.”

Drunk. And just this side of ornery.

Had someone had a bad day?

If Woody hadn’t sounded so mocking—as if he’d pulled one over on DJ—and if Jackson hadn’t been so swayed by his cousin’s genuine sense of concern about his business, he might’ve let Woody’s attitude slide.

Woody stood away from the bar and walked off, and Jackson was about to let him go for the time being.

That is, until Woody looked over his shoulder and bellowed, “Tell DJ that he shouldn’t be afraid of a little healthy competition. Tell him to just man up, for God’s sake.”

Everyone in the bar had gone still, turning to Jackson to see if he was going to stand up for DJ.

Still thinking he could settle this constructively, Jackson followed Woody outside to the boardwalk, near the hitching post that had given the tavern its name.

“Listen, here, Woody,” he said. “There’s no need to—”

“You’re just itching for a fight, aren’t you?” the man said, slurring even more.

“No, thank you. But—”

The punch came out of nowhere—a slam of numb pain that blasted into Jackson’s jaw.

Instinctively, he punched back, connecting with Woody’s eye, sending the man to his rear.

Jackson’s knuckles throbbed and he shook them out, sighing. Goddamn it. And he wasn’t cursing from the emerging pain in his jaw or hand, either.

“Hellfire,” Jackson said. If his dad had been around to see this, he’d be shamed, all right. Awfully shamed. “Now why’d you have to make me go and do that, Woody?”

Woody put a hand over his eye, groaning as Jackson left him, knowing that there would be hell to pay, not only with his conscience, but with his family, too.

Chapter Three

“So how does it feel to be the scourge of Thunder Canyon?” asked Jason Traub on the other end of the cell phone line.

Jackson moved the phone to his other ear while grabbing a coffee from the Town Square cart. The late-morning air nipped his skin as he put a tip in the server’s jar, nodded at the man’s thank-you, then strolled away, working his sore jaw before answering.

“Being a scourge here doesn’t feel any different than being one anywhere else,” he said to his twin, who’d called him from Texas after hearing about last night’s little scuffle with Woody Paulson.

“You’re just damn lucky the man didn’t go to the cops. That’s all Traub Oil Industries would need, Jackson.”

“I know.” He’d been beating himself up about it, and he was willing to take his own punches. He’d already gotten a few verbal ones from Ethan when he’d shown up in the office early this morning as well. When his older brother had inspected Jackson’s jaw, not even finding a bruise, he’d said that Jackson could’ve used some black and blue to remind him of his misstep.

“Needless to say,” Jackson told Jason, “last night wasn’t my finest moment. But, believe me, it’s not gonna happen again.”

“Isn’t that what you said after Corey’s wedding?”

Duly chastised, Jackson wandered to the edge of Town Square, to where a wrought-iron bench waited under an autumn-leafed oak. Around him stood Old West storefronts, comfortable and weathered.

Maybe it was the sight of those old buildings that made Jackson say, “I swear, Jason—I’m making a new start here.”

“Beginning when?”

“Now.” It was a vow, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.

He really had been fortunate that Woody Paulson hadn’t made a bigger deal out of last night. Then again, the other man had thrown the first punch, so it wasn’t as if he was innocent in all of it.

But that was no excuse.

Jason wished Jackson the best of luck and signed off, back to his own duties in the Midland offices. Back to his own better-brother-than-Jackson life.

After stuffing his phone into his coat pocket, Jackson took a drink of the black, bracing coffee. He peered farther down the street, knowing just what he would find.

Solace of a sort.

The bank where Laila was working right at this moment.

He smiled, picturing her—blond, blue-eyed, beautiful Laila—and the world seemed right for a moment.

Then again, that was how it always was with him. Women made him feel better, that’s all there was to it. And Laila wasn’t any different than the rest.

On a whim, he accessed his phone again, dialing what he knew to be her cell number. He’d charmed it out of a friend of a friend of hers after neglecting to have asked her outright for it the other night.

What fun would that have been? The chase was always the best part.

Her phone rang, and when she answered with a curious “Hello?” his heart gave a surprising flip.

Then he reminded himself, No different than the rest, and went on.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, taking the chance that she would recognize his voice, even though his number wouldn’t have been identified on her phone screen.

When she didn’t answer right away, he wondered if he’d been wrong about her remembering him. Laila Cates probably had a hundred men ringing her every morning and calling her “Sunshine.”

“Jackson?” she finally asked, and he could’ve sworn that there was a sparkle in her voice.

But, just as his heart was turning another one of those odd flips, her tone cooled again.

“What can I do for you?”

He laughed. Yup—hadn’t he pegged Laila for a challenge right off the bat? “I believe we’ve got a date to plan.”

“Oh?”

“Did you think I forgot?”

“I imagined it wasn’t high on your list of priorities. It sounds as if you’ve been busy with other matters around town.”

“Ah.” He propped one booted foot on the bench, touching his jaw. “So you heard about last night.”

“I told you—news travels fast around here.”

Shooting another look down the street, to the stately bank, he pictured Laila at her desk, all polish and prettiness in a business suit. His heart gave a tug.

All he wanted was to see her again.

“Did you ever stop to think,” he said, “that if I were to be kept busier, I wouldn’t get into so much trouble?”

“Sure. And I can suggest a few things for you to do around Thunder Canyon. You can hike, ride ATVs in the mountains, shop at the resort…”

“I didn’t mean to imply that I’d like to do any of those things alone.”

He thought he heard her shuffling some papers, and his gut tightened at the image of her being businesslike. He had a thing for serious women, because it was a lot of fun to make them less serious.

“Which one of those would you prefer doing?” he asked.

“With you?” She paused just long enough to set him up. “None of the above.”

“You’re sore at me because I didn’t call sooner.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You don’t have to say it. A woman like you is probably used to guys falling all over themselves to set up dates and I neglected to follow protocol.”

She huffed out an exasperated sigh, and he grinned.

“Know what sounds good to me?” he asked before he pushed her too far. “A picnic. A good old-fashioned afternoon at the lake. I’ll get it all together and pick you up at your place tomorrow at noon.”

“But—”

“It’s a Saturday, Laila. The best date day of the week.”

“I was going to say that there’s a chance of rain in the forecast.”

He glanced up at the wide, fairly clear Montana sky. He wasn’t sure that, besides Texas, he would ever get such a fill of gorgeousness anywhere else.

“I’m willing to take a chance on it,” he said. “How about you?”

Of course, he wasn’t talking about the weather, exactly, and she seemed to know it, as several seconds meandered by.

For a moment, Jackson actually thought she was going to turn him down, and the mere possibility shot him straight through with a disappointment he’d never felt before.

But that’s why he’d chosen Laila Cates—because she wasn’t easy. And because…

Hell, because she did something to his libido.

She finally came back on the line. “Okay. Noon.”

Excellent. “See you then, Miss Laila.”

As Jackson hung up, he smiled. He’d told his brother, Jason, that he was going to be on his best behavior from now on.

But that didn’t necessarily include being a good boy with the woman who’d said yes to spending tomorrow with him… .

Silver Stallion Lake sat in a secluded spot in the mountains. Surrounded by pine trees, it was in October limbo—between the time when winter would bring out the ice skaters and when summer filled the water with swimmers.

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