Czytaj książkę: «Cowboy Heartbreaker»

CHAPTER ONE

“WEDDINGS SUCK,” Ryder Crowley grumbled under his breath as he took a long drink of his beer.

He obviously hadn’t said his complaint quietly enough, though, because the woman standing next to him, Allie Devlin, poked his arm with her elbow. “I have more reasons to say that than you do. Five yards of reasons.”

Allie fanned her hand over his “Texas tuxedo”—jeans, jacket, Stetson and boots. Then she fanned that same hand over the “five yards” of bridesmaid’s dress she was wearing. The color was what Ryder would call turtle-snot green, and it puffed out in all directions because of the thick gobs of netting that were everywhere, even on the sleeves.

Ryder drank more of his beer and made a sound to indicate she was right, but the dress only confirmed that weddings did indeed suck on several levels. He wasn’t a fan of the clashing odors of the too-rich food, the flowers and the sweat being generated in the barn by the wedding guests who were boot scootin’ on the makeshift dance floor.

His attitude about weddings was likely heavily influenced by the fact that he didn’t consider himself the marrying sort. Of course, he hadn’t considered the groom that, either, but there was Curt Mercer, part one of his best friend posse, working up a sweat dancing with his bride, Savannah O’Neil, who he had met on one of the online dating sites.

After the reception, Curt and Savannah would be moving to her family’s cattle ranch two hundred and forty-five miles away in Abilene. Then, in about six months, they’d be having a baby that they’d yet to tell their folks about.

Ryder was happy for them and had never seen two people more in love, but he figured he was still allowed to feel the...loss.

Silently feel it anyway.

There was no chance in hell he’d ever let Curt know, but Ryder would miss not being able to call him at any time, any day for any reason. He’d miss their spur-of-the-moment fishing trips. And just hanging out when it was Curt, Allie, him and part four of the “Crab Posse,” Ryder’s twin sister, Bree, who was on the dance floor, too, with a groomsman.

They’d come up with the word crab using the first initials of their names. They’d been kids, only seven or eight, and had thought it pretty darn clever. By the time they learned it wasn’t just a dish served at the seafood restaurant but also a nasty STD, the name had already stuck.

Still did.

It was selfish, yes, to feel that loss, but the four of them had been best friends since preschool, and it was hard to let go of nearly twenty-seven years. You couldn’t just replace a first-part best friend.

His second-part best friend, Allie, gave him another nudge with her elbow—which was suddenly a lot sharper and more poky than he remembered. “Your date’s flirting with Dylan Granger. Nothing can go wrong with that.”

Ryder automatically smiled at the line the posse often threw around. “Nothing can go wrong with that”—something doled out with both sarcasm and assurance. It was used just slightly more often than their other tossed-around line—“Easy Cheesy cures all.”

Easy Cheesy was the brand of canned string cheese they preferred, and the line, too, was often said with sarcasm and assurance. However, it had proved to be their comfort food of choice and gotten them through elementary school and the rough teen years. So, maybe it did cure all.

“Did you hear me?” Allie asked. “Your date. Dylan Granger.”

He’d heard her just fine, and Ryder followed Allie’s gaze to the cleared-out area by the tack room, where he did indeed see his date, Mindy Franklin, eyeballing Dylan as if he were on the dessert menu. A lot of women eyed Dylan that way, though, since he was rich, good-looking and a Granger.

In their hometown of Wrangler’s Creek, Texas, the Grangers were practically royalty, and until three days ago, Curt had worked for Dylan and his family as one of their top hands. Ryder worked at the ranch, too, and Allie was their large-animal vet. Bree was the horse trainer, so even when it came to work, the Crab Posse had been inseparable.

“Mindy’s trying hard, but Dylan won’t hook up with your date,” Allie commented. “It’d be violating one of those man rules. But it’ll cause some talk about you not being able to keep a handle on your sweet things.”

He didn’t want a handle on Mindy, but he supposed it should bother him to have his date openly flirt with someone else. Mindy had moved on from eyelash batting to making sure her right boob bumped against Dylan’s arm. However, Ryder couldn’t even muster up a grunt of disapproval.

“I wish Dylan would put the moves on her. I’m not in the right mood to take Mindy home. Or have sex with her,” Ryder added in a grumble.

He really did need to work on his grumbling skills because Allie heard that, too, and she cut him a glance, complete with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “Really? You don’t want sex?”

Like Mindy’s flirting with Dylan, Allie’s skepticism was a reasonable reaction. Ryder didn’t have Dylan’s name or money, but he didn’t have trouble getting female company when he wanted it. Most folks thought all he did was want it, though, and with mandatory short-term relationship limits to boot, and that was how both Dylan and he had earned the labels of cowboy heartbreakers.

“Really,” Ryder verified.

“Careful, you’ll ruin your reputation,” she drawled, “and folks will think my prudish influence finally rubbed off on you.”

Well, maybe it had. Allie certainly didn’t have his “quick to bed ’em, just as quick to leave ’em” reputation.

Just the opposite.

She might not know that her nickname was Dr. Good Girl, but it fit her to a T. It was one of the reasons she was so easy and comfortable to be around, despite the fact that she was damn attractive. The issues that could have sprung up with him being a man and her a woman had never surfaced. But Allie never expected, or wanted, more than friendship from him, and sometimes, like now, a friend was exactly what Ryder needed.

Allie grabbed him another bottle of beer from a waiter who was wearing cowboy clothes that had never been meant for a real cowboy. Good Lord. The guy had on skinny jeans. She also took a glass of white wine for herself and, still sighing, they sank down at the nearest table and watched Curt.

“Life as we know it will never be the same,” Allie said, obviously not good at mumbling, either, because he heard her just fine. It expressed exactly what he was feeling. “At least he’s happy. That’s what I keep telling myself. Curt is happy, and Savannah’s a great woman.”

That was true, but it didn’t ease the heavy weight around his heart or the guilt he was feeling because of that heaviness. Ryder immediately tried to change his expression when the Brooks and Dunn song finished and Bree strolled toward them. His twin also grabbed herself a beer and plopped down on the other side of Ryder. She was wearing the same ugly dress as Allie.

“Weddings suck,” Bree complained.

Allie and Ryder exchanged a glance, one of those quick silent conversations that often passed between them. When Bree got in on the shared glance, Ryder knew they were all pretty much feeling that same loss.

“I was going to see if I could coax Dylan out of here for some fooling around,” Bree went on. “You know, just to blow off some steam, but it appears your date is trying to give him an eye exam and see how many times she can brush her boobs against his chest.”

They were indeed doing some deep eyeball gazing and more boob brushing. Again, it was nothing that interested Ryder. However, the man coming toward them—Curt—was of interest, and Ryder immediately tried to put on a happier face. Ryder figured Allie and Bree were doing the same thing.

“Did somebody crap in that wine and beer?” Curt asked, the corner of his mouth hitching with a smile. He took hold of a chair, spun it around and sat, plopping his arms on the chair back.

“We were just talking about how happy you are,” Allie provided. As usual, it was the right thing to say. No use dwelling on that whole business of life changing as they knew it.

Curt’s smile wavered a bit. Yeah, he was happy, but Ryder knew for Curt to keep hold of that beautiful woman who was responsible for that happiness, he’d need to move and start the life together that both the bride and groom wanted.

“You’re the first of the Crab Posse to knock someone up or get knocked up,” Bree contributed. “My wedding gift to you is a year’s supply of condoms along with video instructions on how to use them.”

As usual, it was the wrong thing to say. Bree had a knack for that. But it made them chuckle anyway. For a few seconds. And then the sad faces returned.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Cheer up,” Curt said. “And if you need a visual to help, just take a look in the corner to your right.”

Both Allie and Ryder did look, and he spotted the current mayor, Fred Billings, and his secretary, a large breasted woman half his age. They weren’t touching, but the sparks were practically flying off them and would be flying even further if Fred’s wife, Lucy, spotted it.

“Nothing can go wrong with that,” Curt added with a laugh. Like the previous chuckle, his laugh quickly settled, and he turned back to them. He obviously still saw some of the gloominess in their expressions.

“I’ll be back for holidays,” Curt assured them. He paused. “Hey, remember that time we all got sick when we tried my uncle Buck’s moonshine that I’d pinched from his truck?”