It was a warm night and the small town was bustling with people, laughter and music streaming out of all the bars and restaurants lining Main Street.
He wanted to hear her voice a little longer, and looking at her was no chore. He tried to maintain his gentleman status, but his eyes kept straying to her mouth, lingering on her lips. When he tried to look away, his gaze snagged on her perfect, high breasts.
So he looked down, only to see her incredible legs.
His dick was throbbing. He wanted this woman badly.
Keep it casual.
“This is a pretty cute area,” Charlotte said, staring up at the massive Wrangler sign on the corner ahead. The three-story retail store took up a whole city block and was red with white trim. Truth be told, it looked like an old brothel.
“That Wrangler store was built in 1882,” he said.
Charlotte’s eyes went wide, and her smile brightened. “It’s beautiful. All the retail stores I see in the city are modern and boring.”
Tripp smiled. “Cheyenne has its charm. This whole area is considered ‘historic’ but really, even the Starbucks they just put in is in the bottom story of an old bank from the late 1800s.”
“I love it,” she breathed. “And this is the town square, I take it?” she asked, pointing across the street to the open patch of park. At the entrance, a gate made of wrought iron had been bent and worked so that it read “Cheyenne” over the top.
“Town square makes it sounds so hillbilly,” Tripp said.
She laughed. “No offense, but you kind of are.”
“Don’t knock hillbillies ’til you try one,” he teased back.
Her eyes went hooded, and the look she gave him from beneath thick lashes—a look that made him think she might be interested—made Tripp’s dick go to “game on” mode.
Pull yourself together.
He took her hand and led her to the entrance of the park. “You wanna see something really special…”
Only a few paces in, the field opened up to showcase Cheyenne’s pride and joy.
“Oh, wow,” she breathed, staring at the hundred-year-old train station.
It was quiet away from Main Street, but even in the dark, the station still glowed, the stone glistening like gold under the soft lamps that kept the historic site lit.
Tripp moved behind her, his hand on her waist keeping her close. “This was one of the first things built in this town, and over a century later, it’s still a major railway.”
“All the adventurous men coming and going, looking for something better,” she murmured.
Tripp frowned, because there was a hint of something painful in her voice. He may not be an expert on women, but he knew it wasn’t in the words they said but how they said them that a man had to pay attention to. Tripp had learned that the hard way during the great hair-cutting debacle of kindergarten when Gracie said she wanted to have pretty hair. When Tripp took her in and had it cut, she cried for days because she really meant she wanted a new headband.
Tone. It was all in the tone.
Too bad he didn’t know how to interpret Charlotte’s.
“The Frontier Days festival is held here,” he offered lamely, cradling her back against his chest. “Named after all those frontier men and women.”
“There’s always a better stop and another train around the corner,” she said, staring at the station, then shrugged it off and smiled up at him over her shoulder. “That’s what my mother used to say.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “She was a traveler?”
“No, it was what she said when my father left. He hopped a train and never came back. Then she—” Charlotte shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
Her smile was back in place, but Tripp wanted to know more. To ask. He would throw himself in front of a train before ever considering getting on one and leaving Gracie.
But this was supposed to be casual, so he couldn’t say any of this. Instead, he offered the only truth he could.