Love Me Again, Cowboy (Second Chance Romance): Wyle Away Ranch Book 2 Page 5

  I’m still letting her lead me down the aisle while she goes on about the many faults of men, but I feel as if I’ve transferred somewhere else entirely. All the blood drains from my face, and I feel cold and small all at once. Jax was with his ex a week before I left? That was why he broke up with me? To get back with her? And they had a baby together? Apparently not having sex was a problem for him after all.

  I unlace my arm from Mrs. Bassencherry’s. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I need to get home.”

  I quickly make my escape. Mrs. Bassencherry calls some kind of farewell to my back, but I’ve stopped listening. All I can hear is the swarm of white noise that’s entered my head. I quickly go through the self-checkout and leave Target, hoping I don’t run into anyone else.

  I’m such a moron. I secretly hoped that Jax had a good explanation for breaking my heart, only to find out it was because he wanted to be with someone who would put out? There’s no way I’m meeting him Monday. He’s the last person on earth I want to see then or ever again. The horny, cheating jerk. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Everyone in town had talked about what a player he was. I foolishly thought that he’d changed for me—because of me. Wow, I am narcissistic. I’m a narcissistic idiot. Well, no more. I will never let Jaxon Wyle make a fool of me again.

  Chapter Ten

  JAXON

  I drive up to the coffee shop in the middle of Old Bisbee, my heart beating a little too fast in my chest. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s Malia. I’ve had hundreds of conversations with her before. But never have I had such an important one. Perhaps if I can just explain why I had to break things off with her—that I only did it because I wanted what was best for her—then maybe, just maybe she will forgive me. Or maybe, at the very least, she won’t hate me anymore. It’s a start anyway.

  I pull into a parking spot and climb out of my truck. I check my watch. I’m ten minutes early. I wanted to get here before Malia so I could order her favorite drink and have it ready when she gets here. Although, what if she doesn’t like chai tea anymore? Maybe she’s a coffee drinker now. Maybe I should get one of each just in case. Or maybe I should just wait until she gets here. Or maybe I’m just overthinking everything and being stupid. Yup, definitely that.

  As I walk into the warm coffee shop, out of the crisp morning air, the invigorating nutty aroma of coffee greets me like a warm hug. I order a coffee for myself and go with my first thought and order the chai for Malia. I’m waiting for the barista to make our drinks when Grace Haymore walks into the coffee shop. Grace is already closing the distance. Her breasts stick out and she has a smirk on her overly-made-up face. She’s not ugly and really doesn’t need all the makeup she puts on. And she’s a nice woman, but despite Dillon’s insistence that we date, she’s not for me. I turn away to avoid her, but she spots me first. Great.

  “Well, hey there, Jaxon Wyle,” she says with a big smile. Her son, James, is in Audrey’s class, so she thinks we have a lot in common. Yet the one time we met for coffee, Dillon’s set-up, I realized that was the extent of our commonalities.

  “Hello, Ms. Haymore,” I say with a dip of my chin.

  She giggles and puts a manicured hand on my arm. “Oh, Jax. I’ve told you so many times. Call me Grace.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She squeezes my bicep, and her smile deepens. “My, my, Jax. You’ve been working out? Those are some guns.”

  Malia could walk in at any moment, and it would not look good to have another woman groping my arm. I spot the barista placing one of my drinks on the counter. And there’s my exit.

  I back out of her touch. “Just some good ol’ ranchin’ is all. That’s me.” I signal to the drink. “It was good seeing you, Grace.” I make my way to the counter and collect the drink just as the other barista finishes preparing the second one.

  The barista, a young blonde, gives me a long smile, and when she hands me my cup, her finger brushes mine. I give her a questioning gaze and she winks. Okay so maybe meeting Malia for coffee here wasn’t the best idea. Too many single women lurking around. And with my brothers setting me up on dates over the past few weeks, the word has gotten out that I’m back on the market. Perhaps I should have suggested we meet at a park.

  I find a table near the window and take a seat. There is a phone number and a heart with the name Pam on my cup. Well, that’s not good. I try to rub off the number with no luck. I turn the cup toward me and hope that Malia won’t notice.

  Grace gets her drink and makes her way back to me. I place Malia’s drink in front of the other seat at the table, hoping she’ll get the hint.

  She spots the drink and empty seat but doesn’t stop her approach. “You expecting someone, Jax?”

  “That I am, ma’am. I mean Grace.” I glance out the window. “She should be here any minute now.”

  Disappointment crosses her face. I feel bad, but it’s necessary. “Right,” she says, “See you around then.”

  I give her a bow of my head in farewell, and she takes a seat a few tables away.

  Minutes pass. No Malia. I wish I’d had the sense to get her number the other day. I glance at my watch again. It’s exactly nine thirty-one. She’s officially one minute late. It’s no big deal. People are late all the time. It doesn’t mean anything other than she’s a normal person. In fact, I wouldn’t put it past her to be intentionally fashionably late. It seems very Malia. Then again, I don’t really know how Malia is now. She could be completely different from the girl I fell in love with eight years ago. But I wouldn’t mind getting to know her all over again. That is, if she’ll give me the chance.

  Thirty minutes later, I’ve finished my coffee, the chai is cold, and I’ve looked at my watch about fifty times. I’m tapping my foot and anxiously watching every car pass by. I cringe when I see my brothers Landon and Dillon walk in. It was a terrible idea telling them I was going to meet Malia here today.

  They spot me, and I slump in my seat. Landon is wearing a pair of Levi’s, a plaid button-up shirt, and a cowboy hat. Dillon, on the other hand, wears slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a tie. He’s probably headed into work at the local bank. His hair is combed perfectly in place, giving him the Clark Kent look minus the glasses. Seems like too much fuss if you ask me. And really, why mess with perfection? But it suits him just the same.

  Landon raises his brows and looks around, searching for Malia. Dillon takes one glance at me, and the way his eyes widen is telling enough. He knows she never showed. Great. It’s not enough that I was stood up, but now I have to experience the humiliation of my brothers witnessing it.

  They close the distance to me.

  “Where’s Malia?” Landon asks. “Restroom?”

  The corner of Dillon’s mouth quirks in a way I know is identical to my own. “She stood you up, didn't she?” he asks with humor in his voice. He takes the seat that was reserved for Malia.

  I drop my gaze and sigh. Dillon laughs.

  “Seriously?” Landon asks.

  I shrug. “Maybe she slept in. Or maybe she’s sick or something. I didn’t get her number, so who knows for sure.”

  “Sick?” Dillon asks, doubt dripping from his tone. “Yeah, bro. I don’t think so. I knew I liked Malia back in the day, but I like her even more now. She’s the only one unaffected by your Jaxon charm. She won’t let this come easy. You’re going to have to work for her.”

  “I’m so glad one of us finds this amusing.” I look out the window for the fifty-first time, hoping to spot Malia walking up.

  “Oh, come on,” Dillon says, still grinning. “If this happened to you all the time then maybe I’d feel bad, but you’re the Jaxon Wyle, the woman whisperer. Your ego can handle it.”

  Landon grabs a chair from an empty table and sits to my right. “Jaxon Wyle getting stood up. Well, there’s a first for everything.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Get it all out of your systems. Why are you guys even here?”

  “We wanted to s
ee Malia, too,” Landon says. “Figured it would help your cause.” He gives a winning smile. “She liked us. You’re the one she hated.”

  “And apparently still does,” Dillon adds.

  I run a hand through my hair. “Apparently. I suppose I should respect that she wants nothing to do with me now.”

  Dillon reaches out and picks up the chai tea. “I’m sorry man,” he says sincerely. “But who knows, maybe she just wants you to sweat it out for a bit before she decides to hear you out.”

  Landon shrugs. “Try reaching out to her in a couple days. You know where her sister lives. Drop off some flowers or something. Kitty loves it when I bring her flowers.”

  Dillon sniffs the contents of the cup and wrinkles his nose. He’s a coffee guy. “But don’t come off as stalker-ish,” he says. “If you go to her sister’s house and she says she still doesn’t want to see you, then you’d better back off. You don’t need a restraining order on your record if you have to fight for custody one day.” He turns the cup to me with the barista’s number on it. “And if you can’t make things work with Malia, there’s always Pam.” He smiles.

  Landon jabs my side with his elbow. “Or Grace over there.” He lifts his chin to Grace. I glance over, and she smiles and waves at me. I give her a small smile and quickly advert my gaze.

  My cheeks burn. “You guys suck.” They both chuckle.

  Landon’s phone beeps. He looks at it. “Don’t forget that you have that solo client this afternoon. You’ll have her for the next few weeks, in fact.” He looks at his phone again. “Her name is Holly Golightly.”

  The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. “Do we know her?”

  “I don't think so. She’s not from here,” Landon says. “And Kitty will get Audrey from school today.”

  I nod and look at my watch again. Forty-five minutes past ten. “Well, I better get back to the ranch to prepare.” I stand up. “Mark your calendars, boys. Today is the day Jaxon Wyle officially got stood up.”

  They laugh and I shake my head as we all leave the coffee shop.

  Chapter Eleven

  MALIA

  I look at the time on my phone. Ten forty-five. Well, I did it. I officially stood up that no-good cheater Jaxon Wyle. I’m sitting across from my dad who is currently reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee. Mom is already in her garden, humming a tune that floats its way in from the open windows along with a cool breeze.

  Aside from the Jax situation, it’s a beautiful morning. Or perhaps knowing that I stood him up adds to the pleasantness of the day. If I were home in Hollywood right now, I’d be sitting all by myself in my beautiful too-big, too-empty house, feeling like the loneliest person in the world. But today, I glance up from my cup of tea to see Dad’s smiling face. I listen to the birds chirp along with my mother’s humming, and I gain appropriate satisfaction in knowing Jax is sitting all by himself at the coffee shop. Yup, it’s a pretty perfect morning.

  My phone beeps, and I open the text. It’s JulieAnn.

  JulieAnn: I fixed the problem and have a way to swing things in your direction.

  Me: Great! What’s the plan?

  JulieAnn: Wait for it . . .

  Always with the dramatics. I shake my head.

  JulieAnn: You’re officially in rehab.

  So much for my perfect morning.

  “Everything okay?” Dad asks, eyeing me.

  I stand up and contemplate throwing my phone out the window but realize that wouldn’t fix anything. “Oh, just fine. I’m going to kill my publicist is all.”

  “Just don’t get caught,” he says before returning to his paper.

  “I’ve missed your words of wisdom, Dad,” I say and make my way to my room to call JulieAnn. The room has a full-size bed, a small dresser, and a writing desk with a computer on top in front of the large window. The colors are soft blues that Ala told me are supposed to be calming, but I’m not feeling very calm at the moment . . . only irritated at JulieAnn. Rehab? I’m paying the woman to help my image, not to taint it. I close the door, find her contact on my phone, and press the call button.

  JulieAnn picks up on the third ring, which I know means that she was considering not answering at all. She was just texting me. Her phone is obviously right by her.

  “Malia, darling,” she says, drawing out the words. “How’s Bissboo?”

  “Bisbee,” I correct, pacing my room. “And you tell me. I’m in rehab? Exactly what sort of drug have I been abusing? Or am I here for cutting . . . or bulimia, perhaps?”

  “Oh, darling. It doesn't matter. All that matters is America will be rooting for your complete recovery and will be putty in your hands by the time you’re back.”

  “No. I don’t want my name getting smeared for something I didn’t do.”

  “It might not seem like it, but it’s a good plan. Fans love this sort of thing. We get to play off the nation’s sympathy, and we’ll say that Trey is standing beside you through it all. People will eat up the love story. This is publicity at its best, darling. I mean, where else can a negative be a positive. I love this industry.”

  “I don’t like it,” I say firmly.

  “Oh, sweetie. You worry too much. Now no one will be looking for you, so long as you can keep those town folks from spilling about where you really are. This is a brilliant way to swing the Trey situation in our favor. And best of all, you’re still set to audition for the role. Trey loved the idea and said Harry would too because it’ll put your name in the headlines. I don’t have a set time and date yet for your audition, but after Harry sees your name everywhere, it won’t be much longer.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s lying.”

  “It’s playing a role, which is what you do for a living, I might remind you. I’m sure the fans know it’s all part of the Hollywood ruse, but they want to believe it. They love the drama, and they’ll want to root for you. Let them, dear. Anyway, it’s all set. I already leaked it to the press.”

  My cheeks burn, and a headache is forming under my eyes. “JulieAnn, why didn’t you get my approval first?”

  “I’m just doing my job, dear. Let me.”

  I plop onto the bed, feeling defeated. “When will the headlines hit?” I need to know when to warn my family.

  “They said they have a couple stories in front of yours but promised you’ll be on the cover when it breaks. Oh, and don’t forget that you have your first extreme adventuring lesson today—rock climbing. I already told the only company in the area everything you need to learn, and I made sure to pay them well enough that you’ll be the only client. I put all the details in your calendar. Ok, I have to go now. Kisses.” And with that she hangs up the phone, leaving me reeling.

  At least I’ll have plenty of frustrated fuel to burn off during my lesson today.

  I’m driving to the destination JulieAnn sent me. The dirt road is bumpy, and I’m hoping I don’t bottom out. I spot a black Jeep parked in front of some rocky outcroppings ahead. The Jeep has a decal on it that says Desert Extreme Adventuring. I don’t see my guide, but the back of the Jeep is opened away from me. He’s probably getting things from the trunk.

  I park my car, climb out, and walk over to the Jeep. “Hello?” I call out. My guide comes out from behind the back of the Jeep, holding climbing gear. He looks up at me and his blue eyes widen with surprise.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  His brows crease and then recognition fills his features. He grins. “Holly Golightly. Of course, I should have known. Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

  Audrey Hepburn has always been my favorite actress. I used to make Jaxon watch the old black-and-white movies with me. Now, I use the names of the roles she played for my aliases.

  “Wait.” I put a hand on my hip. “You’re my guide?”

  He shrugs, that infuriating smirk still on his beautiful face. “It would seem so, darlin’.”

  “Don’t call me that,�
�� I say, not because it’s offensive, but because it’s so sexy when he says it. And he used to call me that.

  “Darlin’ or Holly?”

  “Don’t call me anything.” I put my hand on my hip. “I want a different guide.”

  “There is no other guide.” He puts the gear in the trunk of the Jeep. “This is my company.”

  “What about Dillon?”

  “Works at the bank.”

  “Preston?”

  “In school.”

  “Landon?”

  “Not unless you want to fall to your death. He never was one for rock climbing. He’s more of the wrestling cattle type. It’s me or nothin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and I try not to notice how it makes his biceps stand out even more.

  I contemplate the nothing, then remember JulieAnn telling me this was the only company she could find that offers what I need for the role. But can I handle being here for an entire afternoon with Jaxon? Or weeks of him instructing me?

  “I promise to be strictly professional,” Jax says.

  I eye him, wondering what he’s thinking. I have to give him credit for not mentioning anything about me standing him up this morning. Maybe he really can be professional. I can be professional too, right? I’m an actress after all. Perhaps if I look at this as just another acting job, I can get through it. I can pretend that Jaxon Wyle means nothing to me. I can pretend that being in close proximity isn’t a special kind of torture . . . knowing that I wasn’t enough for him, knowing that when I thought we were completely and fully in love, he was cheating on me. I can do this, I tell myself. I turn away from him and take a deep breath, imagining myself as someone else . . . someone who has no feelings where Jaxon Wyle is concerned.