Page 17 of Love Me, Cowboy
No wonder she’d eaten her feelings for the majority of her life.
The reality was, Claire had no choice but to endure this night, as she’d endured many nights before. Smile and nod. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. This approach had worked before; it would have to work again.
With a deep breath, Claire dropped her shoulders back, raised her chin, and marched out of the kitchen. Upon entering the dining room, all of her positive thinking went out the window when Greg Reddington turned in her direction.
“Well, I’ll be,” he said, propping his hands on his hips. “I’d heard you dropped the pounds but didn’t believe it. How about that, Claire. You’re not a pear anymore.”
She wanted to fire back an insult. Mention his receding hairline and expanding middle. But catching her mother’s critical eye, Claire did what she’d been trained to do.
She smiled.
“Would anyone like a drink?” she asked, stepping over to the small bar against the dining room wall. “Wine, perhaps?” Tequila would have been excellent in that moment. Too bad her mother kept the good stuff hidden in the kitchen.
“I’ll take a highball,” Greg said, joining her at the bar. “Hard to believe that’s you. I had no idea this pretty little thing was hiding under all that weight.”
If Claire had been a violent person, she might have decked him right there. Instead she said, “Screaming to get out, I guess.” Because she was. Screaming to get out of this house and away from this slimy jerk.
A city council member called Greg away, and Claire exhaled, repressing the urge to spit in the butthead’s drink. She handed it to him while he was in the midst of conversation, then made a clean getaway to linger in the corner talking to her father’s secretary, Gloria, until her mother called for everyone to sit down.
Claire pulled out the chair between her father and Gloria, but before she could drop into it, her mother tugged her backward.
“You’re over here next to Greg,” she said, pulling out another chair. “You two have a lot to catch up on.”
Greg stared at Claire’s breasts, looking as if he’d rather have her than Bonita’s empanadas. Bile teased the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down and tried not to look as disgusted as she felt.
For fifteen minutes, Claire endured Greg pressing his knee against hers, speaking to her boobs instead of her face, and talking about how important he was at the Holly Hills branch of the Lone Star Bank. As manager of the loan department, he wielded the power (his term) to decide who did and did not get approved.
After making some comment about feeling like God, Greg laughed at his own distasteful joke and then leaned into her. “Thank goodness when the fat fell off that you didn’t lose the girls, if you know what I mean.” Claire turned to see watery blue eyes locked several inches beneath her chin. “Would have been a shame to lose those puppies.”
“I need to go,” Claire blurted, rising out of her chair and tossing her napkin onto her plate.
Silence fell over the table before her mother said, “Claire, what are you talking about? Dinner just started.”
“I forgot about an appointment, and I’m late.” Keeping her eyes down, Claire all but ran out of the room.
“Claire Renee, you...” Her mother’s words faded as she pushed into the kitchen, snagged her jacket, keys, and purse from the counter, and continued at full speed out of the house. She started the engine, then buckled her seat belt as the Malibu rolled backward out of the drive.
There would be hell to pay come tomorrow, but Claire could not have survived one more minute sitting next to that jerk. She desperately wanted a shower after less than five minutes of forced conversation. Not that she’d done much talking.
“Carol of the Bells” chimed from Claire’s phone inside her purse. She didn’t have to look to know who was calling. Sylvia Campbell had to be really pissed to leave her guests long enough to make a phone call. Claire ignored the phone and kept driving, not sure where she was headed.
She didn’t feel like going home. Though unlikely, there was always the chance her mother would show up on her doorstep and spend the rest of the night berating Claire on everything from her manners to her wardrobe to her heartlessness at refusing to marry the proper candidate.
If Greg Reddington was her mother’s idea of the proper candidate, Claire would gladly die a lonely old maid. After several minutes of silent driving, Claire found herself driving down Main Street. Her phone went off again. Pulling into a parking space in front of the diner, she yanked the cell from her purse and turned it off.
“Leave me alone, Mother,” she said, throwing the phone onto the passenger seat. Looking up, Claire stared through the diner windows. “Pie,” she said aloud. “If ever there was a night I deserved pie, this is it.”
Chapter Six
Tyler had been at the Thirsty Cowboy for less than thirty minutes when his feet carried him out the door. He felt restless, which meant he should have danced off the energy. But he didn’t feel like dancing tonight. At least not with any of the women in the bar.
For two days, he’d been berating himself for being so harsh with Claire. He should have been happy that she cared enough to worry about him. Even if her feelings stemmed from him being her best friend’s brother and nothing more.
Yes, his line of work was dangerous. Tyler didn’t want to get hurt. He wasn’t a masochist. But riding was his passion. Bug hated the rodeo because it took their mom, but Catherine Holly had died doing what she loved. And something told him she’d be proud that her son was following his dream. Following in her footsteps in a way.
Tyler couldn’t explain how it felt when he rode. The rush of conquering the fear. The feel of all that power churning beneath him. The surge of adrenaline when the chute opened and all hell broke loose. How could he make anyone understand it without putting them in the moment?
How could he explain the heart-pounding glory churning through him when that eight-second horn blew and he was still in his seat? Still hanging on and in the money.