Libby spent a restless night after listening to her father’s tirade about her disloyalty to him and to Ben. When she told her father she had effectively ended things with Ben, her father’s voice had gotten about thirty decibels louder. But the truth was, if she was in love with Ben, she shouldn’t feel anything for Chance. And certainly not the deep hunger that had propelled her into his arms last night.
She stood in front of the bedroom mirror, pinning her hair into a tight bun. Well, at least what she hoped would be a tight bun. Unfortunately, her hair had a mind of its own this morning, sliding out of the pins in wispy strands. She took a deep breath and tried again.
Her father had accused her of chasing Chance. She no longer could refute that. He’d also chastised her for being a coward and not seeing Ben in person. She wasn’t a coward. She planned to tell him in person when he was back in Wyoming.
Last night had clarified a few things. The shift had started when she’d seen Chance at the Cattleman’s Club, but she hadn’t known to what degree. At first she’d blamed it on not seeing him for such a long time, then on seeing him hurt. But now she could no longer deny reality. She loved Chance. Likely had never stopped loving him, simply buried her feelings away. They weren’t buried anymore.
But though her feelings might have resurfaced, Chance’s hadn’t changed. Last night he might have accepted her explanation, but he hadn’t forgiven her, even if he wanted her. We’d keep it casual. No strings. No regrets.
Only she wanted forever. She’d be throwing away a future with Ben for the equivalent of a one-night stand.
Still, she had to try. Five years ago she’d given up at the first sign of difficulty, and she’d lived with regret every day since. She didn’t want to live a life of regret. She wanted to know she’d given it her all, even if the outcome was the same.
Securing the last pin, Libby rubbed her temples. She couldn’t think about it now. She’d only have one chance this morning to impress the interviewers at the National Western Stock Show. She checked out her outfit in the mirror.
She’d dressed up, donning a ruffled, sleeveless white blouse and a navy-blue skirt that hit right above her knees. She’d added a pair of navy heels that were about a quarter inch short of being branded stilettos. A pair of small gold hoops dangled from her ears, visible now that her hair was pinned up. She was ready, if she could just hide the case of nerves that had overtaken her as she’d dressed.
Those nerves were as much about facing Chance as they were about the interview, given last night she’d kissed him like a starved female and then ran from his room.
She squared her shoulders and stared at the mirror. A determined woman looked back. Right now she had to focus on getting the PR job.
When she peeked into Chance’s room, he was sitting up in a chair, fully dressed, thank goodness, a laptop on his knees and a frown on his face. With the force of nature, the need and desire that had propelled her last night swamped her this morning. If only…
She took a deep, cleansing breath and stepped into the room. “What’s up?” she asked.
“More like what’s down—my standing. I’ve dropped another slot. At this rate I’ll be so far out of the money, by the time I get on a bronc, there won’t be any hope for a comeback.”
His voice held that same tone of defeat she heard the other day. It pulled at her, yanking on her heart, which was already sore enough where he was concerned, thank you very much.
“How is your foot feeling today?”
“No better.” For the first time since she’d entered, he looked up at her. His eyes widened and his lips opened.
Chance took a hard swallow. How could Libby look so good when she wore a simple blouse and skirt? Maybe it was because he knew what those clothes concealed, or maybe it was the shape of her legs on those pedestals she called shoes, or maybe, maybe it was just Libby. If a man was hiring, she’d get the job. And wasn’t that a sexist thought. Too bad it was true.
“I’ll work with you when I get back.”
Was she coming back? Was she staying? After last night, he was more confused about Libby than ever. She hadn’t just responded to him, she’d initiated. And then fled the room at the sound of a ringtone.
“If that call last night doesn’t mean you have to go home to Daddy.”
She stiffened, and he instantly regretted the dig. He’d made a play. She hadn’t been receptive. He couldn’t hold it against her, given everything. After that kiss, he wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t have had regrets.
“I’ll be here.”
He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Maybe she was considering it, maybe not. But he’d have another opportunity to find out.
“Good luck today. Don’t worry—you’re going to make the buzzer.”