Thunder Canyon Homecoming (4 page)

She drifted back to sleep. But this time when she dreamed, she dreamed of Corey.

 

Corey wasn't used to chasing women. If anything, he'd become accustomed to being chased by them. Prior to his fifteenth birthday, he'd been short and scrawny and mostly overlooked by everyone. But in that magical year, things had started to change. He'd shot up in height, put on some muscle, started to shave. And when he'd gone out for football the next fall, he'd made the team.

By the time he'd started college, he was a first-string receiver and his family was known across the great state of Texas for the fortune they'd made in oil. Corey had been so caught up in the thrill of being popular that he hadn't questioned what he'd done to earn the attention. Truthfully, the reasons hadn't mattered. All that mattered was that the skinny kid who had been mostly ignored by the girls and laughed at by the older boys was no more.

Corey Traub was now in the spotlight. Guys wanted to hang with him, girls wanted to be seen with him, and he'd reveled in the attention. And then he'd met Heather, and everything had changed. He hadn't needed the adulation of fans so long as he had her attention; he hadn't wanted to be with anyone else so long as he was with her.

They'd dated for a year and a half. She was the first girl he ever loved, and she claimed to love him, too. And then he discovered that, during the entire time they'd been dating, she'd been lying to him, deliberately keeping certain parts of her life a secret from him. When he finally found out and confronted her, she cried and apologized, but learning the extent of her deception had destroyed his trust, and her tears didn't sway him.

It didn't take long for news of their split to make its way around campus, and the girls started coming around again. In the decade that had passed since his college graduation, little had changed. He was as successful in the business
world as he'd been on the football field. And although there weren't any shy giggling girls hanging around outside of his locker room, there were plenty of bold, sexy women sneaking into his office after hours or slipping hotel room keys into his pocket.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to take the first step with a woman. And it had been a heck of a lot longer than that since any female had told him “no.” But somewhere along the line, sometime within the last few years, he'd started to grow weary of empty relationships and meaningless hookups. He wanted what Dillon had found with Erika.

His brothers liked to tease that he fell in love too easily, but the truth was, Heather's deception had taught him to be careful with his heart. Not that he'd given up on falling in love. He was still hopeful that would happen, but the next time he opened up his heart completely, it would be to a woman who he could trust was capable of loving him the same way. Openly and honestly, without any secrets or lies between them.

There was something about Erin Castro that made him think she might be that woman.

Maybe he was putting the cart before the horse, considering that she hadn't even agreed to have lunch with him. But he refused to be dissuaded. If he'd believed that she was honestly not interested, he would have backed off. But he couldn't forget the way she'd looked at him when they danced, the way she'd trembled in his arms, the way she'd responded to his kiss. No way was the attraction one-sided.

When Monday morning came around and he still hadn't managed to put her out of his mind, he decided to track her down. Because he was staying in one of the resort's condo units, it would be easy enough to stop by the front desk of
the main building and invite her to lunch and see where things went from there. Except that when he went down to the desk, he didn't see her anywhere.

“Erin isn't in today,” Trina told him.

“Will she be in later?” he asked, wondering if she'd switched her shift for some reason.

“I doubt it. She called in sick.”

Sick?

He knew she hadn't been feeling well Saturday night, but she'd sounded okay when he'd spoken with her Sunday morning. Did she have a touch of the flu or some other kind of bug and had suffered a relapse?

“Is there something I can help you with?” Trina's long lashes fluttered, the invitation in those green eyes obvious.

“No, thanks,” he told her. “I'll catch up with Erin later.”

“If you change your mind, you can catch up with me around four.” Her glossy pink lips curved. “That's when I finish my shift.”

“I'll remember that,” he told her, determined to ensure that he was nowhere around when Trina got off work.

With any luck, he would be with Erin.

 

Erin prided herself on being a reliable employee, someone who could be depended on to get things done, whatever those things might be. But when she woke up Monday morning and still hadn't figured out what—if anything—to say to her boss about her suspicion that he might be her brother, she called in sick.

When her bell rang shortly after 10:00 a.m., she didn't think twice before responding to the summons. It wasn't until she'd peeked through the sidelight and saw Corey on her step, making her heart do a little hop and skip, that she
hesitated. Unfortunately, he was looking through the same window from the other side, which meant there was no way she could now pretend she wasn't home.

Forcing a smile, she pulled open the door.

“Corey, hi.”

He smiled back, and she felt that funny little quiver in her belly again.

“I stopped by the resort to see you, and Trina said you were home sick,” he explained. His gaze skimmed over her, leisurely, appraisingly. “But you look pretty good to me.”

“I wasn't feeling well when I got up this morning,” she fibbed, conscious that her cheeks were burning. “I thought I should stay home…in case I was contagious.”

“Well, I brought you some homemade chicken soup—my mother's favorite cure for whatever ails you.”

“
You
made chicken soup?”

He chuckled at the obvious skepticism in her tone. “No, I bought chicken soup that was homemade by the wonderful chefs at the Gallatin Room.”

She lifted a brow at his mention of the resort's fine dining restaurant and figured the little plastic bowl in his hand probably cost more than a whole meal at any other restaurant in town.

“Thank you,” she said. “That was a really sweet gesture.”

“But you've already had lunch,” he guessed.

She nodded.

“So put it in the fridge for tomorrow.”

It would be rude to refuse his offer, so she did as he suggested, though she wondered what kind of strings might be attached to the bowl in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I'm sure I'll enjoy it.”

“What are your plans for the afternoon? Because I know you're not working.”

“I have no plans. I'm home sick,” she reminded him.

His smile widened. “Don't worry. I won't turn you in for playing hooky…so long as you let me play hooky with you.”

“You're blackmailing me?”

He shrugged. “Whatever works.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked warily.

“Just grab a jacket and put on a pair of boots.”

Which, of course, told her absolutely nothing about what he had planned. “Look, Corey, I'm flattered that you'd go to such lengths to spend time with me, but I really don't understand why.”

“There's nothing to understand. I just think some time outside in the crisp, fresh air will help you feel better,” he assured her.

“I don't know,” she hedged.

“Trust me.”

It wasn't that she didn't trust Corey so much as she didn't trust herself to be alone with him. The attraction she felt whenever she was near him was both awesome and overwhelming.

As she went to get her jacket and boots, she couldn't help but think he looked as relaxed and unself-conscious in the jeans and flannel he was wearing today as he had in the designer tux he'd worn for his brother's wedding, making her curious to know which was the
real
Corey Traub. Not that it mattered. Her instinctive response to him was the same regardless of what he was wearing.

She didn't understand the attraction. She'd always dated guys who were…more subtle, she decided. There was nothing subtle about Corey. He was blatantly and undeniably male.

And the way he filled out a pair of jeans made her want to sigh. The cowboy boots didn't surprise her. He'd even
worn a pair at the wedding, with his tux. But those boots had been polished, and these were battered and worn, like the hat on his head.

She'd never known a cowboy before she came to Montana. And even in the past few months, she'd never met any one like Corey.

He wasn't just sexy. He was knock-the-breath-out-of-your-lungs sexy. And the way he smiled at her, he knew it.

She'd never liked arrogant men. Or maybe it was just that she'd always wondered why the men she'd known felt entitled to their arrogance. With Corey, there was no question of his entitlement. And it made her wonder, not for the first time, why he was interested in her.

She wasn't oblivious to her own appeal. Over the years, she'd received a fair share of compliments on her appearance, and she knew how to play up her attributes—how to apply makeup so her blue eyes looked bluer, how to dress so that her curves seemed curvier, how to walk into a room so that heads turned in her direction.

Since coming to Thunder Canyon, however, she'd deliberately downplayed her appearance. She'd toned down her makeup and dressed to blend in rather than stand out. No one looked at her twice, and no one asked any questions. At least, not until Erika's wedding.

When Erin agreed to be a bridesmaid, she'd been thinking that she could somehow hide beneath layers of pink organza ruffles. She should have remembered that her friend had exquisite taste and an eye for fashion. There had been no way to hide in the strapless satin gown that hugged her curves. And she could hardly refuse when the bride suggested that her maid of honor should have her hair and makeup professionally done.

The result was that, as she'd made her way up the aisle,
she'd been aware of the attention focused on her—and the speculation. She recognized some of her regular customers from the Hitching Post who had never looked twice when she'd waited on their tables and others who she'd met through her duties at the resort. None of them seemed to realize who she was. And although she'd been all too aware that the groom's brother wasn't the only man who had been watching her, he was the only one she'd watched back.

 

Corey snapped his phone shut when Erin came back with her jacket and boots.

“Everything's arranged,” he told her.

“What is
everything?
”

“You'll find out soon enough.”

“I don't like surprises,” she warned, following him out the door.

“Everyone likes surprises,” he insisted.

She shook her head as she turned her key in the lock, engaging the deadbolt.

He slid an arm across her shoulders and steered her toward his truck. “What happened, darlin'? Were you traumatized by a clown jumping out of your cake on your fifth birthday?”

“Nothing so dramatic. I just like to have a plan, and I don't like when things interfere with my plans.”

He opened the passenger-side door for her. “Didn't John Lennon say something about life being what happens while you're making other plans?”

“Maybe that worked for him,” she acknowledged, “but it's a strange philosophy for a management consultant.”

“It's not my business philosophy,” he told her. “But when I'm out of the office, I don't like being shackled by rules and schedules.”

She stepped up into the truck, obviously thinking about
his response. He closed her door, then went around to the driver's side.

“My aunt died,” she finally said.

He paused in the act of inserting the key into the ignition. “Today? Is that why you called into work?”

She shook her head. “No. A few months ago.” She folded her hands, staring down at the fingers linked together in her lap. “You asked why I don't like surprises. Her death was a surprise. And she gave me some information just before she passed that was…unexpected. I had so many questions that I never got to ask her.”

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I know how hard it is to lose someone out of the blue, feeling as if you'd left something unresolved.”

She looked at him, as if surprised by his response. “Who did you lose?”

“My father.”

“I didn't realize—” She frowned. “I should have. When you introduced your mother and her husband, I just assumed your parents were divorced.”

He shook his head. “My dad died in an explosion on an oil rig when I was eight. The last time I saw him, before he went to work that day, he swatted my butt for talking back to my mother. When he walked out the door, I was happy to see him go.”

She touched a hand to his arm, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “You were eight,” she reminded him.

“I know. I got over the guilt a long time ago but only after I'd carried it around for a lot of years first.” He frowned.

Her hand dropped away. “What's wrong?”

“I was just thinking that it's mighty easy to talk to you.”

“It is?”

“I haven't ever told anyone that story. Not anyone outside of the family, anyway.”

“Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who isn't close to a situation.”

He turned into the long, winding drive that led to the Hopping H Ranch. “And sometimes a man just doesn't have the sense to hold his tongue around a beautiful woman.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I might be a California girl, but I've heard plenty of stories about you smooth-talking cowboys to know that I'd be a fool to trust even half of the words that slide off of that glib tongue.”