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He couldn’t deny he wanted Holiday Ranch. Running his own ranch had become an all-consuming dream. But something else pushed him to lift his glass. Something he couldn’t define. “Then I guess we’re getting married.”
She lifted her glass and clinked it against his before they both took a sip. An awkward silence followed. She carefully folded the piece of paper and put it back in her purse before she spoke.
“I don’t mind cooking, but I refuse to iron. I had to press my daddy’s shirts when I was a kid and swore I would never iron again.” She looked at his almost-empty glass. “How much do you drink?”
“I have the occasional beer and whiskey, but I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Do all alcoholics know they’re alcoholics?”
He grinned. “Point taken. But you can ask Casey. He thinks I’m a teetotaler. Of course, he’s a partier. I’ve had to get him out of more scrapes than I can count because he’s had one too many.”
She nodded. “I know how that goes. Growing up, I was always covering for my sisters so they wouldn’t get in trouble with our daddy.”
“And they never had to cover for you?”
“Getting into trouble isn’t in my nature.”
“Trouble doesn’t have to be in your nature to get into it. You just have to be willing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or have a good instigator.”
The dimples appeared and he felt like doing a cartwheel. “I had five instigators, but someone has to be the voice of reason. Of course, I’m not really being the voice of reason now.”
That said a lot. Cloe wasn’t just her sisters’ keeper, but also their conscience. It was quite a burden to carry. “No wonder you felt like you had to hide in the hayloft just to cut loose a little.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. He realized he liked seeing her temper as much as he liked seeing her smile. “I wasn’t hiding in the hayloft. I just needed a moment to myself.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You took more than a moment, Cloe.”
“Because I made the mistake of getting drunk and I didn’t want to make a scene and embarrass my family.”
“But isn’t that what weddings are for? Everyone drinks a little too much and does embarrassing things. Casey and Noelle got drunk and knocked over the wedding cake.” That was the commotion he and Belle had heard the night of the wedding. Casey had laughed himself silly when he’d told Rome. Of course, he hadn’t thought knocking the cake over was as funny as Noelle being covered in cake and icing.
“But that’s different,” Cloe said.
“Why? Why is it okay for your sisters to cut loose and it’s not okay for you to?”
It was obvious she was getting frustrated with his line of questioning. Her forehead was knitted above her glasses and her lips were pressed in a firm line. “It has nothing to do with whether it’s okay or not. Maybe I just don’t like cutting loose.”
“And maybe you just haven’t had the right person to cut loose with.” He got up and held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
She shook her head. “I told you before, I don’t dance.”
“And I don’t believe you. I’ve seen teen movies. I know girls love to dance around their rooms in their underwear singing into hairbrushes.”
“I have never sung into a hairbrush.”
He cocked his head. “Does that mean you have danced around in your underwear?” When she refused to answer, he laughed. “I knew it! Teen movies don’t lie. Now come on, Cloe. If people see us dancing, they’ll be more likely to believe in our hoax.” He grinned. “And I promise you can keep your clothes on.”
A hint of a smile tipped the corners of her mouth and he knew he had her. Why that made him feel like punching the air and crowing, he didn’t know.
“Fine,” she said. “But only one dance. And don’t complain if your toes get crushed.”
All eyes were on them when he led her through the bar to the dance floor. He could read the surprise and curiosity on the townsfolk’s faces. He understood. Until recently, he had never considered dating Cloe Holiday and would have been surprised if someone had suggested it. Not only because their daddies were feuding, but also because she hadn’t even been on his radar. Now he was considering marrying her. Correction, he was marrying her. They’d clinked glasses on it. That was as good as a handshake.
He should feel scared about getting married again. He didn’t. He was going into this marriage with his eyes wide open and his heart not attached. He felt like he did when he purchased a fine piece of horseflesh—secure in the knowledge that he had made a good decision.
Once on the dance floor, he drew her into his arms. He liked that she was tall enough to look him in the eyes. Her waist was whipcord thin and her hand felt soft and cool in his. It trembled.
“Hey.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “This is no big deal. It’s just a couple quick steps and a couple slow.”
