toward the long, polished bar on the opposite side of the room. Janis was pretty and single, but he’d never considered asking her out. She’d never created the edge of excitement in him that Trisha did.
Janis delivered his beer and he’d only taken two sips of it when Trisha walked through the front door. He immediately jumped to his feet and waved to her.
She smiled and waved back. He remained standing as she went around the tables and people to approach him. His heart quickened as she drew nearer. She looked ridiculously hot. Her pale blond hair was loose and flowed to her shoulders in soft waves. Her tight jeans showcased her long, slim legs and the blue blouse skimmed her full breasts and tapered in at her slender waist.
“Trisha, I’m so glad you could make it,” he said when she finally reached the table.
“Me, too.” Only after she sat at the table did Dusty return to his chair opposite of her.
Was she as nervous as he was? She didn’t appear to be. She looked cool and collected. “What can I get for you?” he asked and motioned to Janis.
“I really don’t drink too often, but a beer sounds wonderful. It’s so hot outside.”
“There’s nothing better than a cold beer on a hot summer night,” he replied.
“We’ll be wishing for these hot nights when the snow starts to fly.”
Janis arrived and took the drink order, and once it had been delivered the conversation turned to Trisha’s night working at the café. “Saturday nights are always the worst,” she said. “I swear nobody in the entire town cooks on Saturday nights.” She gave him a rueful grin. “Oh, wait, didn’t I say that to you last night about Friday nights?”
“I believe you did. But that’s small-town living. Weekend meals aren’t just about the food, but also about community ties and, of course, the gossip,” he replied dryly.
She laughed, a pleasant, musical sound. “That’s for sure,” she agreed. “I now know more personal information about some of the people in this town than I ever wanted to know.” She sobered slightly. “And despite how good the gossip mill is and that you and I have talked fairly regularly at the café, I really don’t know that much about you. Did you grow up here in Bitterroot?”
“No, I’m a transplant. I grew up in Oklahoma City. What about you? Where are you from originally?” The last thing he wanted to talk about was himself and his past.
“I’m from back east,” she replied and took a drink of her beer.
“Then how did you wind up here in Bitterroot?” he asked curiously. He was aware that her answer had definitely been vague. Back east could include a million different places when you lived in Oklahoma.
She gazed down into her glass and then looked at him once again. The blue of her eyes was slightly darker than a moment before.
“When I was three months pregnant, my boyfriend, the father of my unborn child, was killed in a terrible motorcycle accident. When my son was born, I decided that I needed a fresh start, someplace new. So, I packed up my bags and my baby and took off.”
“Wow, that was incredibly brave of you,” he replied.
She smiled and picked up her glass once again. “I don’t know if it was incredibly brave or completely foolish, but at the time I knew it was definitely what I needed to do. I spent the next six months or so drifting from town to town, and finally we wound up here in Bitterroot. So far it’s been a good fit.”
She took another drink of her beer and when she set her glass back on the table, Dusty noticed that her hand trembled slightly and her gaze went to some point just over his head.
Interesting, he mused inwardly. Were her hands simply trembling from the nerves of a first date? Or was it something more?
Rather than being put off, he was more intrigued by her than ever. He certainly didn’t know her well at this point, but he had the distinct impression that Trisha Cahill just might have a barn full of secrets.
* * *
Trisha fought against the ghosts from her past and the fact that she was telling lies. They left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t want to lie, but she had to. It was far too early to bare her soul to Dusty. Besides, she’d never hope to have a normal life if she told the truth and chased anyone who might be interested in her away.
“I know you have a young son. Tell me about him,” Dusty said.
Instantly the nerves that had danced inside her as she’d talked briefly about how she’d come to be here in Bitterroot calmed. “Cooper is a little over three years old and he’s the absolute love of my life. He adores blueberry pancakes and playing cowboys and old John Wayne movies.”
Dusty laughed and raised a blond eyebrow. “Really? Old John Wayne movies?”
She nodded and grinned. “The motel doesn’t get many television channels, but one of them plays old Westerns, and Cooper has already decided he’s going to be the cowboy who arrests all of the bad guys and saves the town just like the Duke.”
“He sounds pretty special.”
“Oh, he is...of course I might be slightly prejudiced.”
“Mothers are supposed to be prejudiced when it comes to their children,” he replied firmly. “What about other family?”
“None,” she replied. “I’m an only child, and my father passed away when I was in high school and my mother died when I was pregnant with Cooper.” She ignored the pang of guilt...the pain of enormous grief that shot off in her stomach and filled her heart.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with genuine empathy shining from his gorgeous eyes. “That’s something we have in common. I don’t have any family, either.”
For the next hour or so the conversation flowed comfortably between them. With each minute that passed she found herself drawn to him more and more.
Not only did she find him crazy handsome and sexy, but he was also easy to talk to and had a wonderful sense of humor. Thankfully she managed to steer the conversation away from her and focused on him and his work at the Holiday ranch.
He talked about his fellow cowboys and regaled her with stories about them that brought laughter to her lips again and again. It felt good not just to have something to laugh about but also to see the warmth in his eyes as he gazed at her, to feel the tingling excitement of her incredible attraction to him.
It was just a little after eleven thirty when he asked her if she wanted to take a whirl out on the dance floor. The jukebox had begun to play a slow song and she suddenly wanted to know what it would feel like to have his big, strong arms around her. It had been so long since she’d been held by anyone.
“Okay,” she agreed. “Although I have to warn you that it’s been years since I’ve danced with anyone, so I’m sure I’m pretty rusty.”
“I’ll take rusty anytime,” he said with a charming smile and jumped up from his chair. She also stood and he took her by the hand and led her toward the edge of the dance floor, where other couples clung together and danced to the music.
With
