Swipe Right for a Cowboy, page 14
Two women sat at the table closest to them, one very elderly and the other very young. They were enjoying a pot of tea and a plate of pastries. The older woman caught Cort’s attention as she laughed at something her companion said. Despite her advanced years, her laugh was as bright and joyful as a girl’s. She was a tiny, wiry woman with long gray hair that she wore in a braid, wrapped neatly around her head. Cort thought she looked like a throwback to when Last Stand had been a frontier town.
Noticing his curiosity, Emma leaned across the table and lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s Minna Herdmann. She’s a legend in this town. Can you believe she’s over a hundred years old? Every year, the town throws a huge birthday party in her honor.”
As if she knew they were talking about her, Minna turned her bright gaze on Cort, and smiled. Cort smiled back and touched the brim of his hat. “Morning, ma’am.”
When he looked back at Emma, she rounded her eyes and slid a little lower in her chair, embarrassed at having been caught. Cort laughed, since she hadn’t said anything bad about Minna, unless revealing someone’s age was taboo. But Cort figured if you lived to be a centurion, you ought to be proud of it. He watched as Emma set her wrist wallet and her phone on the table beside her place setting. No sooner had she done so than her phone began to vibrate. She picked it up and glanced at it, before turning it facedown again.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Mm-hm.” She nodded, but didn’t offer an explanation.
They ordered their food, and as Cort sipped his coffee, her phone vibrated several more times. Each time she would glance at it, but wouldn’t respond. Finally, with a grimace, she picked the phone up and turned off the notifications.
“What is it?” he asked with a grin.
She rolled her eyes. “That ridiculous dating app keeps sending me notifications.”
“Notifications of what?” he asked, but he already knew.
“Guys I might be compatible with, but it’s just silly. I don’t even use the app anymore.”
Something twisted low in Cort’s gut at the thought of other guys—strangers—trying to hook up with Emma. “Why don’t you just shut down your account?”
To his surprise, Emma glanced at him from under her lashes, and she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know…maybe after we go back to our respective lives, I’ll want to check them out.”
“Is that what you want? To meet guys based on some machine-powered AI algorithm?” He couldn’t keep the disapproval from his voice.
“I’ve heard of people who have found their soul mates through dating apps.”
“You do realize that most dating apps don’t actually want you to find your happily ever after, right?”
Emma frowned. “Why wouldn’t they want that?”
“Because they only make money as long as you keep your account open and continue to pay the monthly fees. If you were to actually meet someone and close your account, they’d stop making money.”
“Well, I wasn’t having much success with online dating, anyway,” she grumbled. “First dates are exhausting, and they rarely lead to second dates. Besides, I’m not really in the market for a long-term relationship. I only needed someone to come to the wedding with me, and I found you.” She gave him a bright smile. “So it all worked out in the end, right?”
“Sure,” Cort said. What else could he say? He found his good mood rapidly evaporating. He wanted Emmaline, but the timing was all wrong. She said she wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship, but he knew instinctively she wasn’t the kind of woman who did casual. Worse, she was the kind of woman who made a man want to put down roots, but Cort had nothing to offer her. Not yet, anyway.
She changed the subject, regaling him with stories from her childhood. Her face was expressive, her smile quick, and her laugh contagious. He noticed more than one head turn to admire her, and realized he felt content to just sit and watch her. He liked listening to her laugh. He wanted to bask in the sound. For the first time in a long time, the restless sense that he needed to be somewhere else, or needed to get back on the road, was gone. He was suddenly glad he’d been able to secure a slot at the upcoming rodeo, which meant he could remain in Last Stand for another two weeks.
“Were you and your sister close when you were kids?” he asked, but he thought he already knew the answer.
Emma shook her head. “Not really. She had her own group of friends here in Last Stand. Besides, she almost never slept at the ranch. Her mother had a house in town, and Callie lived there. She spent a lot of time at the ranch, but we didn’t really hang out.”
Cort thought of his own dysfunctional family. “I guess what they say is true—you can pick your friends, but you can’t pick your family.”
“That’s true. Maybe one day, when Callie has more perspective on life, we can be friends.”
“I think your sister still has some growing up to do,” Cort said. “But I don’t think she’s a lost cause.”
Beside them, Minna and her companion stood up to leave. The younger woman gathered up their belongings, and Cort watched as the elderly lady carefully stretched her back, and then took a tentative step in the direction of the door. Alarmed by the number of obstacles that stood between her and the exit, Cort rose to his feet.
“Ma’am, would you allow a lowly cowboy to escort you to the door?” he asked gallantly, holding out an arm. “I’d consider it an honor.”
To his surprise, Minna beamed up at him. “Young man, I would be delighted.” She took his arm with a surprisingly strong grip as he steered her carefully between the tables. “I’m Minna Herdmann, and that’s my great-granddaughter, Lynn.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he replied. “I’m Cort Channing.”
“In town to escort Emma Claiborne to her sister’s wedding, I hear. That’s a fine mess, but even the darkest clouds have a silver lining.” She cast him a shrewd look. “I’d suggest you tell that to your girl, but I get the feeling she’ll figure it out sooner than later.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cort said, completely baffled as to her meaning.
At the door, she released his arm and smiled at him again. “Thank you.”
Her granddaughter hurried to take Minna’s arm, and Cort held the door for them as they stepped outside, and made their way slowly down the sidewalk. He walked back to Emma, and sat down.
“She’s a character,” he said. “I like her.”
“Most people do,” Emma said, smiling. “That’s why she practically gets her own holiday.”
Their food arrived, and Cort looked with appreciation at the stack of potato pancakes and the side dish of homemade applesauce. He’d eaten breakfast at the house, but after Holt had started grilling him about his granddad’s property, he’d stopped tasting anything. It bugged him that Holt knew about both the auction and the stud seed that would be included in the sale of the property. There was nothing he could do about it, however. He just had to trust that when the time came, he’d have enough money to override whatever offer Holt might throw on the table.
“C’mon, try them,” Emma said. “It’s the one thing I absolutely have to have whenever I come home. That, and anything from Rosa’s Cantina.”
Cort wondered if she was even aware that she referred to Last Stand as home. She’d done it several times, yet insisted she belonged in New York. But he’d never heard her call New York home. He forked a pancake onto his plate, and took an experimental mouthful. “You’re right, these are delicious.”
Emma smiled. “I thought you might like them.”
“Emma Claiborne, as I live and breathe! Why, I haven’t seen you in years!”
They both looked up to see a young woman standing near their table, staring at Emma with astonished delight. She was slender to the point of spindly, with blond hair that hung below her shoulders, and wide brown eyes. She wore pink medical scrubs and white sneakers, and some kind of ID badge around her neck.
“Jorie?”
“Yes! Oh my God, it’s so good to see you again!”
Emma stood up, and the two women embraced.
“Here, ma’am, have a seat,” Cort said, standing up to offer her a chair.
“Oh, no,” she protested. “I can’t stay. I have to be at the clinic in ten minutes, but I thought that was you and just wanted to come over and say hello.”
“Do you work at the hospital?” Emma asked. “I remember you were always taking care of abandoned animals.”
Jorie laughed and lifted her hands in surrender. “Still am! I work at the veterinary clinic as a vet tech, but I do wildlife rehab at my house in my spare time.”
Cort remained standing, as his manners didn’t allow him to sit while a woman was also standing. But when Jorie’s eyes slid to him, Emma seemed to recollect herself.
“Jorie, this is my, uh, boyfriend, Cort Channing. Cort, this is Jorie Russell. We used to hang out together whenever I’d come home for the summer.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cort. I wish I could stay, but I’ll be late for work,” Jorie explained, and then her eyes clouded. “I was worried about you when I heard Callie was marrying your ex, but it seems you’re doing okay?”
Emma gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m doing great. They say everything happens for a reason, right?”
Cort didn’t miss how Jorie’s gaze flickered over him in shy admiration. “Well, I’d say it was for a very good reason.”
The women embraced again, and then Jorie made her way to the door, waving to several other patrons on her way out.
“She seems nice,” Cort said as they took their seats again.
“She is. She had a rough upbringing, but it never seemed to get her down. She’s always upbeat, and she’s always taking care of others.”
“So how are you doing?” he asked gently. “You sounded pretty convincing when you said you were doing great.”
She seemed to consider his words for a moment, and then shrugged. “I’m doing okay. Better than okay, actually. Things seem better this morning than they did last night. I still need to make my peace with Callie, but I won’t force it until she’s ready. Maybe in a few months, when the dust of the wedding has settled, we can talk.”
“And Damon?”
“What about him?”
“Will you make your peace with him too?”
Cort didn’t like the thought of Emma making any kind of peace with Damon Stewart. They had too much history together.
“I actually felt bad for him last night,” she said. “He seemed a little pathetic, asking me to put in a good word for him with my family. I never really stopped to consider what it’s been like for him. I guess I just assumed that everyone here welcomed their relationship with open arms.”
“So you’re not pining for him?”
Emma blinked. “Excuse me? Pining for him? Who even says that?”
Cort chuckled. “I do, apparently.”
“No, I’m not pining for him.” She was quiet for a moment, considering. “Our relationship had actually been strained for months before he finally ended it. At the time, I didn’t realize it was because he was already in love with Callie—and I do think he is. In love with her, I mean.”
“Well, I hope it works out for them.” He gave her a half smile. “For everyone’s sake.”
When they had finished their meal, they left the restaurant and strolled along the covered sidewalk until they reached the post office. Cort waited while Emmaline collected her package, which was easily four feet wide and just as high.
“Is that one of your paintings?” he asked.
“Yes. I remember that Callie really liked it.”
“That’s pretty generous of you,” Cort observed. “Most people in your place would have given them a toaster.”
“Maybe I should just send them a thank-you note, instead.”
“There’s an idea,” Cort replied, but thought maybe he should be the one to send the card.
As he carried the painting back to the truck, he was glad for his dark sunglasses, which hid the fact he was completely ogling the gentle swing of Emmaline’s hips as she strode along the sidewalk in front of him. She might not believe she belonged here in Texas, but Cort had never seen anyone look more at home than Emmaline Claiborne did as she walked along Main Street in Last Stand.
*
The Dragonfly was a farm-to-table restaurant built on stilts overlooking the river. Gus had reserved the outside deck for the rehearsal dinner. The building was a rustic, post-and-beam structure with wide plank flooring, wooden walls, and soaring overhead beams which had been wrapped in mini-lights.
The outside deck had a sailcloth canopy to protect diners from the sun and elements. A dozen tables had been arranged around the perimeter of the space and covered in white floor-length tablecloths with fresh greenery and tiny votive centerpieces. A three-piece jazz ensemble had set up near the entrance to the deck, allowing both the indoor and outdoor guests to enjoy the music.
Emma had said the dinner would be a small gathering, but Cort estimated there were at least forty people already there, enjoying cocktails and appetizers on the expansive deck. He recognized many of them from the previous night at the Claiborne house. Emma put her arm through his, and leaned into him.
“This restaurant is owned by Delilah Corbyn. Her mother owns the Western store where we bought our boots this morning,” Emmaline told him.
“I’m impressed.”
“Delilah is the chef. I’ve never eaten here, but I’ve heard her food is incredible. Everything is locally sourced.”
Suddenly, a child disengaged herself from a group of adults and ran across the deck toward him. Cort recognized Lucy Becker scant seconds before she threw her little arms around his waist and hugged him. He looked helplessly at Emmaline, and then grinned and patted the child’s hair. She tipped her face up and looked at him.
“Thank you for saving me, Mr. Channing,” she said, and smiled, revealing an adorable gap in her teeth. Cort felt something tighten in his chest. She looked nothing like the pale, waxen corpse he’d fished out of the river the previous night. Now her hair was shiny and bouncy and tied back with a ribbon, her cheeks were pink, and her blue eyes sparkled with childish delight.
Cort was only vaguely aware that people had stopped talking, and had turned to watch the exchange. Carefully disengaging himself from the child’s clinging arms, he crouched on the balls of his feet until he was on eye level with her.
“Miss Lucy,” he said gravely, “I’m so glad you’re here tonight. You sure do look pretty. I wonder if you might save a dance for me later on?”
“I can only stay until nine o’clock, because Momma says I’m already up way past my bedtime. I’m Callie’s flower girl, and tomorrow is a big day.”
“It sure is,” Cort agreed. “But you can’t go home without promising me that dance.”
Lucy flushed with pleasure. “Okay,” she agreed. “But I have to ask my momma first.”
“Absolutely,” Cort said.
“I think we can stay long enough for you to dance with Mr. Channing,” replied Christine, who had come to stand beside her daughter. Cort stood up, unprepared when Christine stepped forward and hugged him, hard. “Thank you,” she said fiercely. “You saved my baby girl.”
A young bearded man stood beside Christine, and now he held out his hand. “I’m Lucy’s father, Keith Becker. I don’t know how to thank you for what you did last night.”
“I’m just glad she’s okay,” Cort said gruffly.
“She came home this morning, and it’s like nothing ever happened,” Christine said. “I’m not even sure she remembers anything. We’re so grateful.”
Someone pressed a drink into his hand, and Cort realized the other guests were all standing and holding drink glasses.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Keith said, raising his own glass. “To Cort Channing. Thank you for saving my daughter’s life. We will forever be grateful. If we can’t pay it back somehow, we’ll be sure to pay it forward.”
“Hear, hear!”
Cort touched his glass to Keith’s, feeling both embarrassed and moved by the gesture. As he took a swallow of the drink, his eyes met Emma’s. She was looking at him as if he really was some kind of hero. For the next thirty minutes, until they finally sat down to eat, Cort found himself besieged by well-wishers and people who wanted to thank him for rescuing Lucy. He wasn’t unaccustomed to attention—as a bull rider, he engaged with his fans on a regular basis—but this was different. This felt personal. Even Callie’s mother, Rachel Dean, had made a point of coming over to speak with him, and express her appreciation for what he’d done.
He wondered how they would feel if they knew the truth about him—that he was the son of a serial con man who had swindled at least three women out of their life savings. Roy Channing hadn’t even married Cort’s mother, at least not legally. He’d been married to another woman when he’d walked down the aisle with Bobbi Walker. Even the media hadn’t yet uncovered his past, but that would change if he rose high enough in the bull riding ranks. He dreaded that day almost as much as he welcomed it. Having the truth out in the open would be a relief to him. Maybe it wouldn’t eliminate the shame and guilt he lived with on a nearly daily basis, but at least he’d no longer feel the need to hide from his past.
“You’re the star of the show tonight.” Emma smiled at him as they made their way toward the tables.
“I don’t feel right about that,” Cort said. “This is Callie’s special weekend, and I can’t help but feel like I hijacked it.”
Emma made a sound of dismissal. “You didn’t hijack it, Cort, you saved it. If you hadn’t been there to pull Lucy out of the river, the wedding would have been called off, and there would be no special weekend. She should be thanking you.”
Cort hadn’t been the only one to notice that both Callie and Damon seemed to be avoiding him and Emma. Cort hadn’t missed how first Gus, and then Holt, had pulled Callie aside to speak privately with her. Both times, her gaze had traveled to where he and Emma stood, and he knew they were probably encouraging her to come over and speak to them. But she’d remained stubbornly surrounded by her friends, refusing to either acknowledge or approach them. He also knew Emma wasn’t as unaffected by her sister’s aloof attitude as she pretended to be. She’d already had two drinks, and when she thought nobody was looking, her eyes lingered on her sister, her brow furrowed.
