Matched With Her Cowboy Billionaire Ex-Fiance Page 5

  The truth.

  It snuck up and slugged him in the gut. He’d hurt her. Deeply. And in ways he’d never be able to make up to her.

  His heart softened as he let go of the anger he’d brought with him from Butte and beyond. He shook his head, speaking softly, but loud enough to reach her. “I know I hurt you. I know I hurt your entire family… and mine.” He dropped his eyes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his pants. “There’s nothing I can do about that now. But I’m here now and I’d like to compete, if that works for you.” He didn’t state it like a question, but the implication was there.

  He didn’t want to be left out of the family tradition, even though he’d abandoned them all so long ago.

  He wasn’t asking for a second chance, but instead, he was asking for some kind of leeway as he tried to find his place in the world.

  Again.

  Taken aback by Roman’s confession in front of their parents, Taylor blinked as she pressed her lips tightly together. “Not good enough. I’ll be at the café in three days. Please, provide someone more suitable to compete with me. I’d hate to destroy the Wilson reputation simply because they sent the wrong guy.” She turned on her heel and clicked sharply out the door and down the hall.

  Roman stared after her retreating form, continuing to stare long after the sound of her shoes disappeared into the sounds of chaos coming from beyond the small oasis Mr. Dean had acquired.

  He could have handled that so much better.

  Running his office-softened hands down his face, he sighed, turning back to the older matchmakers. “I’m not sure what Taylor meant by partnering with me? This is a competition, right? Why would we be partnered?” He couldn’t work with Taylor. He couldn’t even be in the same room with her without going crazy. Look at how he’d just acted. That wasn’t because he was an uncouth jerk. No, it was because he’d wanted her for so long and they just weren’t meant to be together.

  Wasn’t that something he’d worked all that time accepting? They weren’t meant for each other. Why torment either of them?

  Mr. Dean inclined his head. “Yes, it’s a competition, but the way it’s won is by the main client choosing the perfect match. They only get two choices – the one the Deans choose and the one the Wilsons choose. If neither are picked, then the victory turns over to whoever had the most successful matches over the last year. Thus, the teams have to coordinate and make sure they aren’t using the same applicants and so forth. Plus, both sides have to interview the candidates to make sure the arrangements are appropriate and consensual.”

  Similar to a match-sprint or a sprint-date. Roman had run those multiple times. “Got it.” Pointing at his chest, he shot them both a determined look. “I’m covering for the Wilsons. I’ve been in Europe long enough. I think I might have a few tricks up my sleeve.” No matter what, he had to prove he had more to offer than just money. He was a matchmaker and he needed his family to see that.

  It wouldn’t hurt, if Taylor accepted it as well.

  Mr. Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “I hope so. Taylor is our best. She knows things about women and what they want I never thought possible. Just when I think she couldn’t possibly match a more ludicrous pairing… She pulls something together that at first seems doomed to fail and then proves to be a match made in Heaven. She’s really talented. So, I don’t think I’m stretching when I say you have your work cut out for you.”

  Roman recognized the Heaven cliché for what it really was in the matchmaking world.

  A match made in Heaven meant it was Golden. It was a match you couldn’t help from happening, even if the couple themselves started out hating each other. They were rare, which made them that much more valuable.

  And very few matchmakers pulled them off. There Mr. Dean was trying to tell Roman that Taylor made matches like that all the time?

  “What is Taylor’s Golden Number?” He didn’t want to believe it, but he’d heard rumors about Mistletoe all the way in Europe. There’s no way there was actual fact behind the whisperings. And no way it was Taylor Dean.

  Mr. Dean looked up toward the ceiling and narrowed his eyes. “Um, I think she’s at sixty-two?”

  “Sixty-two? That’s pretty good.” Sixty-two was a pretty good number. Roman had no idea how long she’d been matching, but sixty-two was a respectable number over almost twenty years.

  “Well, that’s for this year. Her overall number is well into the triple digits, but she doesn’t count them. I try to stay on top of them, but she has multiple matches going all the time.” Mr. Dean shook his head, dropping his gaze back to meet Roman’s. “Yeah, that’s just this year. It was a slower year compared to last, though.”

  Roman held his breath as he processed what Taylor’s father had said rather nonchalantly. In one year she’d made sixty-two Golden Matches? She was the unicorn he’d heard rumors about? If that was true, then the myths about his hometown hadn’t just followed him to France, they were true and gaining speed as they spread across the world.

  Mistletoe was the place to go, if you wanted to find your happy-ever-after. That was going to be the place to invest most of his time and energies. Especially if he wanted to continue to build the matchmaking name of his family.

  If Roman could make the match against Taylor and win, he’d secure himself a reputation he would never be able to tarnish. If he lost, the Wilsons would stay in the Deans’ shadows for even longer than was acceptable.

  Roman didn’t lose. His pride demanded otherwise. His heart demanded he win. Losing wasn’t going to be acceptable.

  Unfortunately, going against Taylor might make him decide between winning for himself and winning for her. As long as he remembered that he’d given up any shot at being with her long ago, he could go forward thinking of how to benefit his family. That’s all he needed to do.

  Anything else was foolhardy and a waste of time.

  ~~~

  Roman pulled up to the Kringle Ranch. His parents had teasingly named it Santa’s Retreat once a long time ago, but Kringle Ranch wasn’t a name to be replaced when the more than one-hundred-thousand acre ranch was a predominant source of deer meat to the restaurants in Wyoming and Montana.

  He rubbed his eyes as he turned off the engine to his new truck. He hadn’t been home in years, but nothing had really changed.

  White Christmas lights glowed on the trees leading up the drive to the house, giving it a magical ambience. If things really hadn’t changed, those lights wouldn’t come down at all throughout the year. One thing his family seemed to delight in was the Christmas spirit and stretching it out as long as possible. Usually December twenty-fifth through December twenty-fourth, every year.

  That holiday spirit could wear on a soul.

  Roman climbed from the rig and rounded the front of the hood. It wasn’t excruciatingly late, but the fall sun had already decided to set, casting the majority of the Kringle Ranch into shadow.

  Lights from the house lit up the drive and Roman climbed the steps to the wide wraparound deck, trailing his fingers along the handrails rising up each side. He moved slowly, unwilling to jump into the inevitable chaos of the house. He wanted to drag out the quiet moment of reuniting with his childhood home just a little longer.

  The log cabin style exterior should have faded in all that time, but Roman’s parents had always maintained their home with an eye to details. The wood glowed warmly under lights spilling onto the deck through open curtains from the living room and kitchen.

  Adirondack chairs were set at seemingly random places on the porch while Roman knew nothing was random with his mother.

  Every other chair grouping was set with a nicely folded Sherpa throw for evening setting. In the corners of the deck, the patio extended out, leaving room for an inset bench to line the railings for more sitting. Those were all new since Roman had left.

  Off in the distance an arena-sized red and white barn lorded over the nearby pasture and riding rings. If Roman went inside the large building
, he would find a loft where he and Taylor had spent many summer nights talking about their dreams and plans. Plans he’d thrown away with his father’s doubts.

  Roman approached the front door to the home, his dress shoes scuffing on the painted wood. Raising his hand, he awkwardly rapped his knuckles on the door panel. And waited. He hadn’t been home in all that time. He didn’t have the right to just walk in.

  He stood there and waited… Waited. Waited.

  Finally, the door opened, revealing a well-muscled dark-haired man with a white and red apron tied around his neck and waist over jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt. The man stared at Roman for a long moment and then blinked. “Roman? Oh, my word, man, how are you? Brock said you were going to be here today.”

  “Flynne?” Roman stared at one of his younger brothers in astonishment. When Roman had last seen him, he’d been twelve and nothing like the strapping young cowboy standing before him.

  “We all grew up, brother.” While Flynne’s words could have been taken wrong, his easy-going affectation and wide grin suggested otherwise. He flexed his muscles and wiggled his eyebrows. “I probably look the best though. Muscles will do that to you, you know?” He winked and laughed out loud.

  Roman swallowed regret he hadn’t realized he’d been harboring and nodded. “I can see that. Is everyone here?” He suddenly wanted to see all of his brothers more than he’d wanted to combined over the last eighteen years. What had he missed out on?

  Flynne motioned for Roman to follow him inside. “Nah, Colt, Austin, and Levi are riding the fence. One of the neighbors called and said a line fell. They don’t trust the ranch hands to do this work. I guess last time they set it up and didn’t secure it.” Flynne rolled his trademark Wilson blue eyes. “Can’t get good help these days, no matter how much you’re willing to pay them.”

  “I agree.” Roman removed his hat as he stepped inside, looking around the warm, inviting interior of his mother’s home. “You guys all live here still?”

  Flynne shut the door, shrugging. “Well, when Dad died, a bunch of us lived in town and stuff, worked at the office there and came out when we needed to help and stuff. That worked fine for a bit, but Brock said he didn’t want Mom out here by herself with ranch hands in the barn. Rather than just one of us moving back, I think we all just decided to come back home. It just made sense. None of us are married so, whatever, you know?” Flynne led the way into the expansive kitchen where he motioned at the chili slowly simmering on the stove. “I’ve got dinner almost done. No one was here earlier, so this will be my second meal.” He rubbed his stomach. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  Roman chuckled, already feeling the effects of being home working on his mood. He might be tired, but at least he was home.

  Flynne rested his hip on the counter and folded his arms while studying Roman with open curiosity. “Mom called and said you’re going to run the Contest. Are you up for this? It isn’t easy.” He huffed, shaking his head.

  Roman sighed and shrugged his suit jacket off, hanging it on the back of the stools sitting at the island. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve run the international branch all this time by myself. I think I’ve done pretty well.” He’d taken the Wilson match-making name and turned it into a world-wide household brand.

  “Yeah, it’s just… Well, everyone thinks you’ll mess up because of your history with the Deans.” Flynne’s candor was hard to get irritated with, even though his insinuation should have offended Roman.

  Instead, Roman grinned. “You’re blunt. I like that.” Roman tapped his finger on the counter and then nodded. “Yeah, I have some history with the Deans. I actually ran into them at the hospital when I was visiting Mom. Taylor, too.” He had to say her name a thousand more times before he could desensitize himself to it. Maybe more.

  “Wow, what was that like? I mean, that’s all I’ve heard about since I was twelve when you walked out. I can’t imagine how awkward that must have been.” Flynne pushed off the counter and moved to the stove, stirring the chili as he looked over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, actually, I… I was madder and more on edge than I should have been.” Roman ran both hands down his face. “I definitely could have handled it better. But that’s okay. We won’t have to see each other that much. We can just get through this competition and move on.” That was the plan. Don’t see each other much and move on.

  Because if he had to see her too much, he might regret his decisions to leave even more and he wasn’t sure how much more regret he could handle.

  Flynne dropped the spoon in the pot and turned slowly around, his brow furrowed under his dark hair. “Wait. Not see her as much? Didn’t anyone tell you? We do the contest with a helicopter mentality now. They want both contestants working tightly together to make sure the integrity of the process isn’t compromised. You’ll see more of Taylor now than you probably did when you were dating.”

  Was that possible? They’d been inseparable. Roman’s heart couldn’t take that much time with her. He already regretted everything from that fateful day.

  The last thing he needed was a daily dose of Taylor’s addicting presence. What exactly had he gotten himself into?

  Chapter 6

  Taylor

  Tapping her finger on the edge of the foldout seat, Taylor leaned over and searched the stage one more time for Roman.

  Prepared for a large group and multiple people opening and closing the doors, the inside of the building had the heat up higher than it probably needed to be. The seating area was set for five-hundred but the crowd teeming around far surpassed that number. It would be well into standing room only as well as whatever they could fit out the doors.

  Mistletoe hung from every light fixture, every doorway. Boughs of holly, some fake and some real, had been strewn about the walls and tacked to various fixtures in an attempt to be decorative for Christmas. Even an influx of fir limbs and evergreen branches were hung for a thicker green appearance.

  Taylor didn’t see most of the decorations, since they were present year-round. The red velvety bows, the gold and silver garland, tinsel that she would never be able to ever completely get out of her clothing or furniture seemed to blend into the background.

  If she looked close enough, she could still identify the flocking from the year they wanted everything white – they’d never gone back to that. Even over time, the flocking remnants still popped up in the most unlikely of places like the carpet, cracks of chairs, even in the bottom of boots when they were shaken out to check for mice or spiders.

  Flocking was not the smartest decision the town decoration committee had ever had.

  Craning her neck, Taylor couldn’t find any sign of Roman or the other Wilsons. Even Elizabeth was a no-show and the kickoff was supposed to start in the next ten minutes. Why was Taylor the only one who was ever on time?

  Ten minutes early was already five minutes late in her book. Most people understood that about her and when they agreed to work with her, they took on the timeline expectations.

  Even the committee had agreed to guarantee a prompt start.

  Taylor stole another peek at her watch. Only thirty seconds since the last check which was actually better than the fifteen second intervals she’d been running when she first got there twenty minutes earlier. There was nothing she could do about other people’s lack of manners. She just wished she didn’t care so much.

  Plus, it didn’t help that one of the people she watched for was Roman Wilson. The man was definitely on her list of people to avoid and yet there she was, waiting to see when exactly he was going to come through the doors. She’d never admit to it. To anyone.

  Waving her hands, Lily stood at the edge of the stage, staring up at Taylor. “You okay? You look like you’re about to combust.”

  Taylor rolled her eyes and laughed at the same time. “Really? I look that mad?” She wouldn’t doubt it. She’d been on edge since leaving the hospital three days before and she couldn’t shake the way she’d felt. Of course,
she was mad. Everything she’d ever wanted had walked out of her life without a word of explanation and then waltzed back in with challenges and an apology Taylor didn’t want to accept.

  She couldn’t get over how graceless she’d been. And in front of people, at that! Whether he’d meant the apology or not had nothing to do with how she should have reacted. Instead of being mad, she should have smiled and said it was okay or something – anything – but what she did.

  In response, she’d been bombarded with sleepless nights, distracted days, and a lackluster appetite which combined had left her lethargic and irritable. The consequences were all brought on with the simple knowledge that Roman was back in town.

  No. It wasn’t as simple as that. It actually had everything to do with the fact that he was in town and she had no idea what he was doing. Was he married and waiting for his wife to show up? She’d heard a rumor not that long ago that he’d gotten married, but anything regarding Roman was questionable considering the sources and what the family actually shared about him.

  Maybe he’d gotten married. Maybe he hadn’t. But the hard truth was, he was back in town and they were at odds with each other. Why couldn’t have come back with his heart in his hands, begging for her forgiveness? That would have been so much more gratifying.

  Taylor shifted on the hard-plastic chair assigned to her. Thoughts about Roman had increasingly bugged her until she could feel her nerves tightly strung as if she were close to a fire and couldn’t get away.

  If that’s how it felt just thinking of him, what was it going to be like when he walked into the room or had to sit beside her on stage?

  Taylor took a deep breath and smiled at Lily’s festive dress. “I love your scarf. It’s all…” What was it? “Glittery?” Leave it to Lily to be well dressed. The girl was the model of the family with her long legs, height, and well-defined features.