One Wild Cowboy and A Cowboy To Marry: One Wild Cowboy / A Cowboy to Marry

Man, she had a temper! Dylan couldn’t help but grin. “Spies everywhere, hmm?” he teased.

Emily regarded him with greatly exaggerated patience. “My mother mentioned it in passing.”

Dylan clapped a hand over his heart, mimicking her damsel-on-high-alert attitude. “Then it was top secret!”

“I’m serious.” Emily stomped closer, the delicate daffodil scent of her freshly washed hair and skin teasing his senses. She’d changed out of her casual work clothes and slipped into a sexy lavender dress that clung nicely to her curves.

His eyes drifted to her feet. Instead of the usual boots, she had on a pair of open-toed sandals, perfect for the warm spring weather.

“What did he say to you?”

Lifting his gaze, Dylan resisted the urge to touch the silky dark strands spilling loosely over her slender shoulders. Instead, he concentrated on the determined pout of her soft, sensual lips before returning his attention to her eyes. “And this is your business because...?”

She tilted her head in a discerning manner. “I know it was about me.”

“Or...” He sidestepped the direct inquiry by producing the check from his shirt pocket. He waved it in front of her, like a matador taunting a bull. “Perhaps it was about...this?”

Emily exhaled loudly. “I know that’s what it was about officially, dummy.” Her pretty chin jutted out. “I also know he would not have missed an opportunity to privately tell you what he tells all the men I’m interested in.”

Dylan liked being lumped in with her other discarded suitors about as much as he liked being interrogated. He blinked in feigned surprise. “You’re interested in me?”

A flash of amusement sparkled in her eyes, then disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Ostensibly,” Emily admitted. “Not really.”

Dylan told himself that was irritation—not disappointment—he was feeling.

Emily paused and appeared to do a double take. “Are you interested in me?”

It was his turn to regard her with a droll expression. “What do you think?” he asked in a smart-alecky tone.

Her delicate dark eyebrows lifted. “That you are without a doubt the most infuriating man I have ever met.”

Dylan noted she had enunciated every word with perfect clarity. He lifted his hat in salute and resettled it on his head. “Thank you.”

Emily harrumphed. “It’s nothing to be proud of.”

“Maybe not in your opinion,” Dylan murmured, aware he was enjoying matching wits and wills with her more than he had enjoyed anything in a long time.

Emily shook her head as if that would get her back on track. “So, why are you suddenly so eager to have dinner with me and my family?”

Good question. It couldn’t be because he had started to feel protective of Emily, could it? He knew better than that. Rich heiresses were not allowed to fall for guys like him. And even if they bucked all propriety and followed their hearts, the misguided affair had little hope of lasting, because of family influence. In their case, they’d have to contend with Shane McCabe and all three of her overbearing brothers.

Aware she was still waiting for an explanation, Dylan said casually, “Maybe I’m in need of a good evening meal?”

“And maybe you’re trying to get under my skin?”

“Always an unexpected bonus.”

Silence fell between them.

Emily continued to study him beneath the fringe of dark lashes. “So you’re not going to tell me what my dad said to you in private?” she said eventually.

And give her even more reason to rebel against her family? For both their sakes, Dylan checked his own desire. “No.” He offered her his arm. “Now, shall we go in?”

* * *

DINNER WITH EMILY’S parents turned out to be a lot less formal, and more comfortable, than Dylan had expected.

Xavier Shillingsworth, on the other hand, was as much of a pain in the rear as ever.

The hopelessly inexperienced restaurateur commandeered the conversation from the moment the five of them sat down at the wicker-and-glass patio table, zeroing in on everything he felt was wrong with the way Emily was running the Daybreak Café.

“I don’t understand why you’re only open for breakfast and lunch, six days a week,” Xavier told Emily. “I’ve seen the line of people waiting to get in. Why not serve dinner, too?”

“There are already plenty of places that serve dinner,” Emily explained. “My mother’s dance hall for one.”

Xavier leaned across the table toward Emily. “So?”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to compete with her.”

Xavier frowned. “You compete with her at lunch.”

Emily paused, a forkful of baby-lettuce salad halfway to her mouth. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?” Xavier persisted, failing to notice the discreet looks Shane and Greta were giving each other from opposite ends of the dinner table.

Emily shifted in her chair, her knee nudging Dylan’s briefly under the table. “Because the dance hall has live bands on Friday and Saturday evenings, and DJs in the evening the rest of the time.”

Xavier grimaced. “So play music in your café.”

“There’s no room to dance,” Emily said, still trying to talk sense to him.

Xavier finished his salad and pushed his plate to the side. “A lot of people don’t dance anyway.”

Dylan wondered if the kid thought he was going to attract Emily by criticizing her business sense. One thing was certain—he certainly wasn’t scoring any points with her or her folks. And if he treated the rest of the town this way...

“The point is, there is no demand for another dinner place right now,” Emily said matter-of-factly. “Laramie already has a handful of local establishments that have pretty much got the evening food covered.”

“And maybe if you tried, you’d have standing-room-only business at dinner, too, and force someone else to close down.”

Eyebrows raised all around at that.

Not good, dude, Dylan thought. Not good at all...

“I think the point my daughter is trying to make,” Shane McCabe cut in with remarkable kindness, “is that in Laramie, it’s not just the ranchers who help each other out. The business owners look out for one another, too.”

As Dylan expected, that notion didn’t go down well with their teenage guest.

Greta collected the empty salad plates and replaced them with servings of Southwestern-style meat loaf, mashed potatoes and peas. “We want all the restaurants to be successful, and of course that would include yours,” she told Xavier graciously.