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

Dylan’s broad shoulders stiffened. “I don’t want roots. Or marriage. Or any of the happily-ever-afters you’re peddling, because that’s never been for me, either. I want my freedom. Which is why I would never—and I repeat, never—hook up with a down-home family gal like you.”

Emily inhaled the sandalwood-and-spice fragrance of his cologne. “I don’t deny I love my family, but I am my own person.”

A victorious light gleamed in his golden brown eyes. “Then how come they all feel they need to find your boyfriends for you?”

Emily bit down on a most unladylike oath. She threw up her hands in frustration, hating the fact she had to practically beg this temperamental cowpoke to cooperate. But the fix-up currently being engineered by her parents—not to mention those of her three brothers’ machinations—remained a very big problem. One she was determined to solve.

Hopefully, with his help.

Emily inhaled deeply and said in the softest, most feminine voice she possessed, “Look, Dylan, all I ask is that you pretend for just a little while longer that you and I are an item.” She added persuasively, “It shouldn’t be that hard, after the way you just kissed me.”

He lifted an eyebrow, said nothing.

“My offer for free meals at the café still stands.” Telling herself the end justified the means, this once, Emily lifted a hand airily and recklessly gave herself permission to go crazy. “You can have as many breakfasts and lunches as you like...as long as you cooperate with me.” There, that ought to do it. A gal couldn’t get more magnanimous than that.

He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and rocked forward on his toes. “That’s very generous of you, Miss Emily.”

Emily flushed at the sudden moniker of respect. “Thank you.”

He lowered his handsome face until they were nose to nose. “But if I were to agree—and that in itself is a long shot—that is not the payment I want.”

Oh, dear heaven.

How was it he knew just what buttons to push with her? “Then what compensation do you want?” she asked sweetly, fearing she already knew.

“This.”

Bringing his lips even closer, he cupped a hand beneath her chin. Emily could not believe he was about to kiss her again. Or worse, that she was welcoming his attentions! What kind of fool did that make her? She knew this didn’t mean anything to him. Not what it should have anyway, for someone kissing her with this much passion.

Behind them, a bell rang.

Abruptly aware they were no longer alone, Emily turned her head slightly without actually stepping out of the circle of Dylan’s arms. To her dismay, her parents walked in the door.

* * *

DYLAN STEPPED BACK as Shane and Greta McCabe stared at him in mute amazement. He could hardly blame them. What had gotten into him? He was usually so controlled.

Whenever he was around Emily, he acted like a hormone-driven teenager—and she was behaving just as badly. Except right now, she looked as if she wished a hole in the floor would open up so she could sink right through it.

He felt the same.

This was not the way he wanted the respected horse rancher and his accomplished wife to see him. Especially given all he now had at stake, with a soon-to-be-announced deal Emily apparently knew nothing about. Otherwise, Dylan was sure she would have mentioned it.

Not about to apologize for kissing Emily—even if it would smooth over what was an incredibly awkward situation—Dylan nodded at the older couple. He said formally, “Mr. and Mrs. McCabe. Nice to see you.”

“Good to see you, Dylan,” Shane and Greta McCabe replied, in unison.

“Emily.” A cautioning lilt was in Greta McCabe’s tone as she took in her daughter. “Your father and I just met the proprietor of the new restaurant.”

“I hope he’s not the guy you’re planning to fix me up with,” Emily said.

For some reason, Dylan noted, that notion seemed to amuse them.

“Ah—no,” Shane said finally.

Unconvinced, Emily narrowed her eyes at her parents. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Greta said, her tone definitive.

“Because I can see how that would seem to make sense to you,” Emily continued, working up a head of steam. “Me and the new diner owner, becoming a thing.”

“Believe us,” her mother said firmly, “the two of you are not a match your father and I would ever try and make.”

“That’s too bad,” said a smug teenager with trendy, bleached-blond hair, catching the tail end of their conversation as he sauntered in to join them.

He was just under six feet tall, wearing a burnt-orange Cowtown Diner T-shirt, jeans and the most ridiculously expensive and ornate pair of ostrich boots and gold belt buckle Dylan had ever seen.

Ignoring him, the kid grinned at Emily and extended his hand. “Because I would very much like to get to know...and date...you!”

* * *

EMILY’S JAW DROPPED even as she did the polite thing and accepted the proffered greeting.

“Xavier Shillingsworth, owner of the soon-to-be-open Cowtown Diner.” The teen continued holding her hand long after it would have been polite to let go. He leaned in even closer, inundating Emily with expensive cologne. “And you must be the Emily McCabe, head chef and owner of the Daybreak Café, that I’ve heard so much about.”

Emily forced a smile and wrested her hand from the young man’s grip. “Yes. I am.”

Xavier continued sizing her up with undisguised interest. “I hear we’re going to be in hot competition with each other—since our two restaurants are the only table-service establishments in Laramie that serve breakfast.”

Emily had been brought up to be courteous, even to those who were pushy and borderline rude. And that rule went double in business situations. “I’m sure there is room for both of our establishments,” she said pleasantly, injecting the situation with the down-home hospitality for which Laramie, Texas, was known.

“If not, may the best restaurateur win,” Xavier taunted. Grinning confidently, he aimed a thumb at his chest and proclaimed, “I know who my money’s on!”

The look in his eyes briefly telegraphing he’d had enough, Dylan stepped forward, putting his tall body between Xavier and Emily. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dylan Reeves. One of the ranchers in the area. And I know a lot of people here tonight who would like to meet you, too. Especially Emily’s three brothers. So why don’t we go—” Dylan slapped a companionable hand on Xavier’s shoulder and spun him around toward the door “—and talk up your new establishment.”

Quick steps were made, and the door shut behind them.

“That was nice of Dylan,” Greta said.

“No kidding.” Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

Shane shook his head. “Shillingsworth is going to be unpleasantly competitive.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “You think?”

“So, if you need help putting him in his place...” Shane growled, all protective father.

Emily lifted a palm. “I can handle the situation, Dad. Just like I can figure out, on my own, how to rev up my personal life.”