Chapter Five
P eyton escaped back into the small dressing room, yanking the privacy curtain closed as her heart threatened to pound out of her chest.
He was here.
Mr. Too Tall Bossy Pants with the icy-hot eyes was here, and she was stuck in a dressing room. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror and groaned. She was wearing the most ridiculous thing ever. The jeans were cute, aside from needing about a foot cut off the hem. But the halter top…what had she been thinking?
She stripped off the outfit and grabbed for her own clothes, dressing as fast as she could.
She was just pulling her favorite Dallas Cowboys T-shirt over her head when the curtain rattled and began to open. Peyton lurched back against the mirror, struggling to get her T-shirt on.
She heard Sammie hiss, “Peyton.”
Peyton got her head through the neck of the white and blue shirt and saw Sammie sticking her head into the little dressing room, the curtain tucked tightly beneath her chin and held closed against the doorframe.
“Peyton!” Sammie said more insistently.
“Geez, Sammie. What?” Though she was pretty sure she already knew.
“He’s here.”
Peyton used the excuse of straightening her shirt to avoid meeting Sammie’s gaze. “He who?”
“Dr. Bull Boy. The guy your parents…you know.”
Peyton was thankful Sammie hadn’t actually said, the guy your parents hired to babysit you .
“I spotted him skulking around outside, and I drug him in.”
Peyton paused, fastening her belt buckle. “You what? Why would you do that?”
“So you can start wrapping him around your finger. Duh.” Sammie nodded toward the skimpy red top Peyton had just taken off. “Now is the perfect time.”
Not at all in agreement, Peyton grabbed for her boots, keeping her gaze adverted. She didn’t want Sammie to see just how rattled having him here made her. How the way he’d been looking at her as she goofed around for the other girls had launched her heart into her throat.
As nonchalantly as she could, she said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Sammie frowned, clearly skeptical. “What do you mean, okay?”
Peyton dropped one boot and looked at Sammie. “What am I supposed to say?” she whispered. “It’s not like there’s an escape door in this dressing room.”
Sammie rolled her eyes. “That’s not what I meant. What are you going to say to him?”
Peyton considered some possible responses . Drop dead? No, too harsh. Step off, big fella? That would do. If there wasn’t a camera crew trained on her. But there was, so instead, she answered, “Hello?”
Sammie blinked. “Seriously?”
“If Nat has Dan filming, then definitely.” Normally she didn’t care if she was being filmed or not, but there was no way she’d try to wrap him around her finger , or the alternative, create a scene on camera that could in anyway embarrass her family. She knew she worried them and felt bad about it, but she would never deliberately embarrass them.
As soon as she and Drew were away from the crew though, she would set the ground rules. She would make it very clear that while she had no choice but to allow him to follow her around—or whatever else he intended to do—the one thing he would not do would be to keep her from experiencing everything worth experiencing while she was in Pineville.
Peyton stomped her feet into her town boots, turned to the mirror long enough to make sure her shirt was straight and pulled down all the way and that her zipper was all the way up, grabbed her hat, then turned to the curtain.
Sammie snorted out a laugh and dropped the edge of the curtain to point at Peyton. “Umm, your hair.”
Peyton spun back toward the mirror to find her hair standing up in a red halo of static electricity. She tried smoothing it down but settled for mashing it beneath her hat.
Sammie shrugged. “Good enough.” She threw open the curtain with a loud rattle of the metal rings and stepped back to allow Peyton to step out.
She’d intended to ignore the very tall cowboy scowling by the door until the girls and camera crew left the boutique, but her gaze went immediately to his. And instantly found herself trapped by his icy heat. It wasn’t until she caught the movement of Nat directing Dan to train his camera on her that she was able to pull herself away his thrall.
Tugging the brim of her hat low enough to block the tractor beam her babysitter probably called eyes, Peyton whispered to Sammie, “I need a distraction.”
“I’d say one just walked through the door.”
Peyton picked up a folded pair of jeans and pretended to admire them. “No, I don’t need a distraction for myself. I need you to create a distraction for Nat so I can get you know who out of camera range until I can set some ground rules.”
Sammie bent her head as if checking the price tag on a shirt. “He doesn’t look like the type who likes to be told what to do. And coming from the family he does, I’m not surprised.”
“Well, he must be a little okay with being told what to do, or else he wouldn’t be here right now. Can you create a distraction?”
Sammie grinned broadly. “One distraction coming right up.” She dropped the price tag and looked to the other bronc riders. “Ladies,” she said loudly enough to gain their attention, then clapped her hands with a quick yet pointed look toward the camera crew. “Let’s have a New Hat Show! Come on, everyone grab a hat off the display over there, model it, then we’ll vote on the best hat and cowgirl match.”
Nat lit up. “Yes, excellent idea, Sammie. Do as she suggests, ladies.” Then she started positioning Dan with his camera and Phil with the boom mic.
The other girls cheered and whooped and jostled to get to the wall lined with display shelves full of cowboy hats.
Peyton used the commotion to slip toward Dr. Andrew Neisson, still standing near the boutique’s door with coffee in hand and watching the spectacle from beneath the brim of his pristine white felt cowboy hat. When she made for the door, he smoothly stepped in front of her just as he had when he’d tried to stop her from going up the stairs to the bucking chutes catwalk.
She dipped around him just as smoothly, but grabbed the sleeve of his logoed, crisp white cotton button-down shirt and tugged him with her. “Outside,” she said quietly as she pushed the door open.
Thankfully, he followed without a word.
She let go of his sleeve and continued walking down the boardwalk until they were well clear of the boutique’s windows. But she still felt too exposed.
“Hey, Miss Halliday.”
Annoyance flaring, she stopped abruptly and turned to face him just in time to see him reaching for her. He dropped his hand to his side without touching her.
She looked up at his handsome face, trying her best to ignore his perfect square jaw, straight nose, and expressive mouth. “Is there some place we can talk?”
“We are talking.”
“Some place private.” She glanced pointedly at a group of teens loitering in front of the boutique behind him, drawn by the lure of a reality TV show cast and crew.
He gave a quick nod. “The diner.” He pointed across the street, where the businesses sported a near mirror image of western facades and wooden boardwalk. The Pineville Diner had taken the old west theme one step further with wagon wheel accents she found quaint.
“Perfect.” She waited for a noisy diesel dually truck to pass then started across the two-lane street. The late-morning sun was bright and hot once out of the shade provided by the tall facades.
Drew’s bootheels rapped on the pavement as he caught up with her. When he reached her side, he said, “Don’t you have to be back there making a show of trying on hats with the rest of ladies?”
“We’re professional ranch saddle bronc riders, not ladies .”
When he didn’t reply, she glanced up at him. He was holding his mouth firmly shut. Clearly not willing to risk sticking his foot in it. Smart man.
They stepped up onto the boardwalk, and he dropped his disposable coffee cup into a wood-clad garbage can with a wet clatter. Peyton reached for the small wagon wheel that had been halved to form pulls on each side of the diner’s double door. His longer arms allowed him to grab hold of the handle first, and he pulled the door open and held it for her.
Used to her brothers’ rather aggressive form of chivalry, she muttered a thanks and stepped into the diner. The difference between the bright, early summer sun and the dimness of the diner interior had her pulling up short to allow her eyes to adjust.
Big, warm hands settled on her waist and eased her forward with a gentle but firm nudge.
The contact sent her lurching into the seat yourself sign standing in front of the hostess pedestal.
“Whoa, easy there,” he said gently, as if soothing a spooked animal.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Hopefully, the muted light given off by the wagon wheel chandeliers was poor enough to hide her blush.
“This way.” Drew stepped around her and started to walk toward one of the booths lining both walls. The restaurant wasn’t large, a little on the narrow side but deep. There was only a smattering of tables with ladderback chairs in the center of the space. Just a few of the booths were occupied by diners.
A waitress who looked to be in her late twenties turned from the kitchen pass-through and spotted them. Her pretty face lit up.
“Hey, Doctor Drew! I’m surprised to see you more than ten steps from the sports medicine rig when there’s a rodeo in town.” She grabbed a couple of menus and came toward the booth Drew had chosen.
Drew pulled his hat from his head. “Hi, Meg. Just here to grab a bite with a friend.”
Meg eyed Peyton as she came up behind Drew, who stood waiting for Peyton to slide into the booth before he took his seat across from her. Probably every single woman in the area kept a keen eye on members of Thomas Wright’s family. Peyton’s brothers got the same treatment back home. They’d always reacted with amusement. Drew didn’t seem to notice at all.
Setting his hat on the red leather bench next to him, Drew made the introductions. “Meg, this is Peyton Halliday. Peyton, meet Meg Burton.”
After setting the menus down so she could pull her notepad and pencil from her apron, Meg smiled and gave Peyton a nod. “Nice to meet you—hey”—she aimed the eraser end of the pencil at Peyton’s Cowboys T-shirt—“aren’t you one of those lady bronc riders from Texas putting on that exhibition?”
“Yeah. I am.” Peyton resisted the urge to squirm. One thing she knew for sure was that she wasn’t doing it for the fame or notoriety. She removed her own hat, hoping her hair wasn’t still standing on end, and set it next to her on the bench seat as Drew had.
“Wow. That is so cool. I’d never have the courage to do something like that. But it’s probably a good thing you’re friends with a sports medicine guy.”
Peyton shot Drew a glance. Would he admit they weren’t actually friends?
He picked up a menu and handed it to Peyton. “She happens to be a very good bronc rider. She only needs me for lunch recommendations.”
Peyton nearly gaped at him. Had he just complimented her? Had he watched her ride and thought she’d done well? A strange sort of pleasure mixed with pride wound through her at the notion. She looked down at the menu. “Oh yeah? So, what do you recommend?”
He looked up at Meg. “What’s the sandwich special today?”
“Reuben.”
He handed her his menu. “I definitely recommend the Reuben. That’s what I’ll have.”
“Then Reuben it is.” Peyton handed over her menu, too.
“Good choice.” Meg smiled. “What’ll you have to drink?”
Drew looked to Peyton, so she said, “Sweet tea?”
Meg raised her brows.
Drew said, “Make that two iced teas. But bring the sweeteners.”
“I’ll get those right up.” Meg left and went to the long, narrow window open to the kitchen.
As soon as Meg was out of earshot, Peyton said, “Do you really think I’m a good bronc rider?”
Drew fiddled with his hat on the bench next to him. “I saw you ride Karen From Finance. Yeah, you’re good.”
Satisfaction blossomed in her chest. “So, no more no bronc riding, especially on horses like Karen From Finance, or anything else risky ?” She imitated his deep, stern voice as best she could.
He shook his head. “Sorry. You still can’t do those things.”
She flopped back against the bench. Her blood started a slow, steady boil, and she thought, Yeah, watch me .
It was time to do what she’d come in here to do and lay down the ground rules with Dr. Drew.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll let you follow me around so you can fulfill this so-called assignment of yours, but I’m going to do what I’m going to, got it?”
He simply hmphed , his pale blue eyes unblinking.
Clearly, she’d have to be smart about getting around Drew’s nanny act or else she’d find herself fending off her brothers in person here in Pineville. She’d have to try a different tact.
Meg returned to their booth with two tall glasses of iced tea and a container of different types of sweetener packets.
“Thanks, Meg,” Drew said.
Peyton took a sip, made a face at the bitter taste, then grabbed the sugar packets. As she sweetened her tea, Drew looked at her strangely, so she mused, “You do realize I’m contractually obligated to participate in the exhibition.”
“I’ll write a medical exemption.”
Peyton stilled. Had they told him? Is that why he looked so pissed? But she wasn’t quitting that easily. One thing she was very good at was not quitting.
She leaned forward, folding her hands atop the table. “Is that what you do for the cowboys who have busted every bone in their body but still climb on their next ride because they’ve signed a contract with a sponsor who expects them to ride?”
He leaned forward also, planting his elbows on the table. “I offer to. Every. Damn. Time.” The pale blue of his eyes darkened dramatically.
She told herself it was because of the dim lighting, but the hard set of his jaw made her think otherwise.
So much for that tact.
She heaved a sigh, then suddenly remembered something his brother had said after he’d realized who she and Sammie were. He’d accused Drew of not paying attention to anything outside of his medical books. It occurred to Peyton there was more than one way to win over a stubborn cowboy.
To find out if it was true that Drew was all work and no play, Peyton asked, “What do you do for fun, Drew?”
He absently swirled the ice in his tea. “Medical school, residency, and now a sports medicine fellowship doesn’t leave much time for fun.”
She nodded as if in commiseration but was actually thinking his brother had been right. Maybe if she showed him what living—really living—looked like, he’d discover as she had how much fun it could be. The idea definitely had possibilities. As long as she kept her heart out of the equation, showing Drew how to live might just be the way to manage this doctor cowboy.
And she’d be able to do what she wanted without her family being the wiser.
*
If Drew thought watching Peyton Halliday model snug sparkly jeans and a skimpy top was a threat to his composure, watching her take a sip of unsweetened iced tea and the resulting face she’d made had done the strangest things to his gut.
She was a beautiful woman, with all that glorious red hair and nearly topaz hazel eyes. And the strength she’d shown, not just of body but mostly of will, when she’d stuck to the back of Karen From Finance, was stunning. But when she’d screwed up her face after tasting the tea that was clearly far different from the sweet tea she was obviously used to drinking down in Texas, she’d become the most adorable thing he’d ever seen.
She had an impish quality that had nothing to do with her height but everything to do with her spirit. She was a ball of fun ready to be unraveled. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself tangled up in her shenanigans.
And he feared his dealings with her—necessary for the future he’d dreamed of—were about to become the furthest thing from clinical and drift into the highly personal. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, there was something about this woman that rattled his cage. Which was not something he could let happen. Not only was his future on the line, but he wasn’t about to put his heart at risk.
Losing someone he loved, again, just wasn’t worth it.