Reality hit like a splash of cold water. “I really should go,” she said, taking a step backwards. Her voice sounded higher than normal and she swallowed. “Your mother will be expecting me here on time tomorrow. Weddings are all well and good, but real life has a tendency to intrude, and your dad has physio in the morning. It was nice meeting you, Ty.”
“You’re not going to stay for a dance or two?”
“God, no.”
The answer came so quickly and with such force that she didn’t have time to think about not saying it. There was acknowledging the presence of some sort of … chemistry, she supposed was a good word for it. But dancing—touching—in front of people? She swallowed. Her progress hadn’t quite extended that far. She’d even said no to Sam—who she trusted more than she’d trusted any man since leaving her ex—when he asked for a dance. He’d been perfectly understanding, but she’d stood by the sidelines watching everyone else dance, feeling silly. Like a coward.
Ty’s gaze darkened until it was almost black, and she felt his cool withdrawal. Leaving the half-full bottle, he headed towards the deck doors, stopping for just a moment beside her. She could feel the heat from his body and the crisp scent of whatever aftershave he wore surrounded her in a cloud of masculinity. “Miss Ferguson.” He nodded, then continued on his way. The click of the French door let her know that he was gone in a swell of country music that was immediately muted; she couldn’t bear to turn around and watch him stride away.
She hadn’t meant it how it sounded. She’d only been thinking of the idea of being held close in a man’s arms. The very prospect was laughable. Dancing was so intimate. The one thing she still hadn’t managed to shake in all the therapy sessions and the time that had passed was her aversion to having her personal space invaded. She hadn’t been held by a man since walking away. It triggered too many memories of how Jackson had held her and told her he loved her, only to turn around and use those same loving hands to …
She shuddered. But she knew how it must have sounded to Ty. It had been an indirect invitation on his part and she’d refused before he’d been able to take a breath. Right after he’d called himself the adopted bastard. He’d looked at her lips and she’d acted like she was repulsed.
He would think she considered herself just like Amy—a cut above. But he was wrong, so very wrong.
Tomorrow she’d have to face him. He was living here now, and she would be here every day, helping Molly with the household chores and putting Virgil through his physio exercises. It would be incredibly awkward at best if they left things the way they were now. She should at least explain that it wasn’t him, right?
She rolled her shoulders back and resolved that she would not have an anxiety attack in the next fifteen minutes. Instead she would take another step towards having a normal life. She couldn’t lean on Angela and Sam any longer. “Living in fear is not living,” she repeated to the empty room. Wasn’t it about time she started putting that mantra into practice? Wasn’t it time she did something about the one thing that still held her back?
Her hand tightened on the handle of the French door. She’d be able to face herself—and Tyson Diamond—in the morning.
It was time to move on.
CHAPTER TWO
TYSON PULLED THE TIE from around his neck and rammed it into his pocket. The fall evening was cool and twilight was setting in. White solar minilights were twisted around the garden poplars creating a fairy glow, and chafing dishes held the last remnants of the wedding feast. This was so not his scene. He’d far rather be enjoying a steak in a comfortable pair of jeans. But he’d promised Sam to see out the day and he’d do it.
He hadn’t expected the sudden hit to his pride just now, though. He hadn’t even had the chance to actually ask Clara to dance before she’d flat-out refused. For the first time in as long as he could remember, his charm had let him down. It was humbling to a man who’d spent a good amount of his youth perfecting his way around women, and with a consistent rate of success. Riding bulls and charming cowgirls was what he’d done best.
And Clara Ferguson had seen right through his act.
He shouldn’t take it personally, he knew that. Not considering her past. But he did just the same. The same way he did whenever someone slapped him on the back but offered Sam their hand. Always second-best. Not that Sam had ever bought into the idea. He’d always insisted by word and deed that they were equal brothers.
Oh, he knew there were people who thought that there was some weird sibling rivalry thing between them, but they were wrong. It was why Ty was willing to come back now. For Sam. And deep down, for his dad, too. Virgil had always picked apart every single thing Tyson ever did. He’d never understood that Tyson loved this ranch as much as Sam did. Trying to get the old man’s approval had been killing him, so he’d ventured out on his own years ago to save his sanity. To avoid saying things he might always regret.
Now he was back and already feeling suffocated. But it was time to stop running away. Time to take his place in the family—whether the old man liked it or not.
He frowned and checked his watch. He’d give it ten minutes, and then he was taking his dented pride and packing it in. Tomorrow the real work began—Sam would be gone on his honeymoon, and the day-to-day running of Diamondback would be left to Ty. He was looking forward to the work.
The butting of heads with his dad would start, too, he imagined. He rolled his shoulders, willing out the tension. Virgil had hardly spoken to him since his return two days ago, other than a few grunts and disparaging comments that Ty had, for the most part, ignored, more out of consideration for his mother, Molly, than anything else. Ty knew very well that their father thought that Sam could do no wrong and it was a big mistake to give Ty equal say in running the ranch. He was a damn sight smarter than his father gave him credit for. He always had been. And he intended to prove it. He had ideas. But first he needed to assess the operation and make a plan. Virgil considered Tyson unreliable, but Tyson knew all about calculating risks. He’d been doing it for years.
The hired band whipped the crowd into a frenzy with a fast-paced polka, and Ty checked his watch again—only a minute had passed.
It had been a mistake to go after Clara. He’d been waylaid by the bouquet and garter catching, but when he’d gone in the house and realized she was locked in the bathroom he’d been alarmed. He knew what Butterfly House was about. He’d felt her fingers tremble in his when they shook hands and had been automatically transported to a day three years ago when he’d interrupted a “situation.”
All he’d wanted to do was reassure her that Diamondback was a safe place … and then she’d run into him, he’d put his hands on her and everything he’d planned to say evaporated. The shocking thing was for a moment he’d thought she’d felt it, too, when the air hummed between them in the kitchen.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong.
The music changed and a movement caught his eye. Clara, in her sage-colored dress, tugging a shawl closer around her shoulders against the fall chill. She’d be leaving now, then, he thought, and scowled. He’d been an ass, trying to flirt with her. He hadn’t mastered the art of polite chit chat and other social graces. Until tonight, they hadn’t been required. How did a guy talk to a woman who was in a situation like hers, anyway? He did the only thing he knew how—and came off looking like an idiot. What had he been thinking, asking her to dance?
Clara didn’t go around the house to where the cars were parked. Instead she crossed the grass towards the crowd. She looked up and around the throng until she met his eyes and her gaze stopped roaming. His heart gave a sharp kick in response—a surprise. Frightened girls with innocent eyes were so not his type. He was more into confident women who hung around waiting for the bull riders with the big belt buckles. Girls who