It Takes A Cowboy (Heart Of The West #5)

by Gina Wilkins

  He looked relieved.

  “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, can we have dessert?” Scott asked with a greedy look at the aluminum pan of cobbler. “You like peach cobbler, Jeff?”

  “Yeah,” Jeffrey agreed eagerly, obviously relieved that the discussion of his behavior was at an end.

  Scott met Blair’s eyes across the table, and he smiled. As her heart fluttered in reaction, she worried about just how much both she and Jeffrey were beginning to depend on him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AFTER DESSERT, Blair sent Jeffrey to take his bath. “And don’t splash Belle,” she called after him. “Cats hate to get wet.” She’d told him that before, but thought it bore repeating since Belle was right at his heels when he left the room.

  “Okay, Aunt Blair,” he shouted back.

  She waited until he was out of sight, then groaned and laid her head on the table.

  Scott chuckled sympathetically. “This child-raising thing isn’t easy, is it?”

  She answered without lifting her head. “I’ll never survive it.”

  Resting a hand on her shoulder, he gave a bracing squeeze. “Sure you will. Remember what they say about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”

  “Just shoot me,” she moaned. “Shoot me now.”

  He laughed. “Come on, Blair, it isn’t that bad. Trust me, I’ve seen some rotten kids—hell, I was a rotten kid. Jeff’s just high-spirited.”

  “High-spirited,’” she repeated, finally lifting her head. “Isn’t that just another way of saying pain in the—”

  “Neck,” he supplied with a quick grin.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was going to say.”

  He urged her to her feet. “You look as though you could use a hug.”

  Though she was a bit skeptical of his motives, he was right about one thing—she could use a hug. She burrowed into his chest. “What if I handled that all wrong? What if he ends up in a tower with a rifle someday because I made him repress his anger? Or what if he knocks over a bank or...”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a slight tendency to overreact, Counselor?”

  He was teasing her, but she nodded anyway. “I know. I just worry so much about doing the right thing.”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “In the past week, he has gotten lost, scraped his hands and knees, been in a fight and got a black eye, and he’s been suspended from school. If I do any better, he’s likely to end up in traction or in jail.”

  Scott’s arms tightened. “Buck up, Blair. Remember, you’ve got a few years yet before he enters puberty.”

  With a gasp, she buried her face in his shoulder again.

  Laughing softly, Scott lifted her head with his fingertips. “Have I mentioned yet this evening that you look gorgeous? Very prim and professional in your neat blue lawyer suit.”

  Her mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Sometimes I’m not sure if you’re complimenting me or mocking me.”

  “Definitely complimenting you,” he assured her. “I’m beginning to realize—rather to my surprise, I’ll admit—that this particular prim and proper attorney appeals to me very much.”

  Even knowing that he was probably feeding her a line, she couldn’t help but respond in a purely feminine manner. “And I have to admit—greatly to my surprise—that I’m rather taken with a certain charming cowboy.”

  He seemed quite pleased with her comment. So pleased, in fact, that he kissed her.

  The teasing quickly faded from the embrace. Scott’s mouth was hungry against hers, almost fierce as he claimed her lips and then urged them apart. His hands were warm through her ‘neat blue lawyer suit’ as they swept her body from shoulders to hips. They stood thigh-to-thigh, so that Blair couldn’t help but be aware of Scott’s reaction to the contact. His arousal only fueled her own.

  Blair’s breathing was unsteady when Scott finally lifted his head. His was ragged-edged, his face a bit flushed, his eyes glittering. “Do you know what I would really like for dessert this evening?”

  Reluctantly, she drew herself out of his arms. “You’ve already had your dessert,” she reminded him firmly. And then some.

  He drew a deep breath. “I suppose it will have to do—for tonight.”

  He left unsaid the implication that there would be other times when neither of them would want to stop with a kiss. Though she still doubted the wisdom of this course she was taking, she was beginning to accept its inevitability. Scott didn’t linger long after that interlude. He said good-night to Jeffrey, who was still damp from his bath and dressed in Star Wars pajamas, his bruised face looking sweet and innocent. And then Scott kissed Blair’s cheek. “Seven o’clock Saturday evening?”

  She nodded. “Pick me up here?”

  “Right. I’ll be counting the minutes,” he murmured as he stepped away.

  So would she, Blair thought in resignation.

  *

  IT WASN’T a major rodeo event Blair and Jeffrey attended Saturday morning. The competitors weren’t big stars in pursuit of a heavy rodeo-champion belt buckle. This event was to benefit a local charity, and the entrants were area ranchers and teenagers, some former rodeo competitors, a few young Shane Daniels wanna-bes and others who were simply competing for fun and charity.

  The audience consisted mostly of local families out for a good time on a beautiful spring morning. Dress was western casual—which meant Blair blended in well enough in her denim shirt with a red plaid yoke, comfortably loose-fitting jeans and the leather hiking boots she’d worn at Scott’s cabin. In his baggy jeans, oversize jersey and black basketball shoes, Jeffrey looked more urban than western, but he seemed intrigued by the new experience.

  He tossed his shaggy hair out of his face and glanced around the crowd, studying the boys who were close to his age. “Maybe I should get a cowboy hat,” he muttered.

  Blair rested a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should.”

  A pretty little girl with long brown hair and big brown eyes passed them with her parents. She smiled shyly. “Hi, Jeffrey.”

  Jeffrey straightened his shoulders. “Hey.”

  “Who was that?” Blair asked, noticing that Jeffrey watched the little girl walk away.

  He quickly turned his gaze forward, feigning indifference. “That’s Casey. She goes to my school.”

  “She seems nice.”

  “She’s okay. For a girl.”

  “Of course. We’d better go find a seat. It looks as though the stands are filling up quickly.”

  The seats they found were in the center of the stands, surrounded by a noisily enthusiastic crowd. Jeffrey ended up sitting next to another student from his school, a boy who was in the fifth grade. Blair watched as they greeted each other with nods and mutters. She wanted to nudge Jeffrey and encourage him to make conversation with the other boy, who looked quite nice—but she knew her interference would only be counterproductive. As much as she wanted Jeffrey to make friends, she knew she couldn’t make them for him.

  The rodeo got under way with the calf-roping event. The audience cheered and laughed as young competitors pitted their skills against fast-moving, feisty calves. Sometimes the cowboys prevailed and sometimes the calves loped away untouched, but it was all quite entertaining. Blair was concerned at first for the animals’ safety, but she soon relaxed, realizing that the calves were occasionally annoyed, but unharmed.

  “No, ma’am, they won’t hurt them calves,” the portly rancher sitting elbow-to-elbow beside her commented. “Rodeo comes from real ranch work, you know. Part of the skill is to handle the animals without damaging them.”

  From that point on, he seemed to think it was his duty to educate Blair on some of the finer points of each event. He kept up an amusing running commentary, including dry comments about the competitors, giving her an impromptu lesson on how to tell the real cattlemen from the city dudes. She noticed, to her satisfaction, that Jeffrey had begun to talk to the boy from his school.

&n
bsp; Though all the events were rough-and-tumble, it was the bull-riding event that really made Blair wince. “Now, this looks dangerous,” she murmured to the congenial cattleman next to her.

  “Oh, no, ma’am. Them bulls are tough. They don’t get hurt.”

  She gaped at him. “I wasn’t talking about the bulls. I meant the riders. And those guys in the silly clothes and makeup who keep running in front of the bulls.”

  “They’re called clowns, ma’am. Their main job is to try to keep the bulls off the riders once they’re down.”

  She grimaced when a would-be rider went hurtling through the air to land hard in the dirt. The bull immediately turned, lowered his head and made a valiant effort to stomp the fallen cowboy, but the clowns’ interference gave the cowboy time to scramble to his feet and over the fence. “You aren’t telling me those guys never get hurt?”

  “Well, no. Broken bones are as much a part of rodeo as boots and spurs,” her new friend admitted with a crooked grin. “Back when I was young enough and dumb enough to do some riding, I broke both arms, an ankle, a whole bunch of ribs and my tailbone—now that hurt,” he added reflectively.

  Her attention split between the action in the arena and her talkative companion, Blair asked curiously, “Then why did you do it?”

  His self-deprecating grin was charming. “Why, for the fun of it, darlin’.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “If that’s your idea of fun...”

  A familiar name spoken over the loudspeaker suddenly caught her attention. “Did he just say—”

  “Aunt Blair, Scott’s riding next!” Jeffrey said excitedly.

  Before she could recover from her surprise, the gate opened and a massive black bull exploded into the arena with Scott McKay straddling its back. His gloved right hand was secured beneath the rope around the creature’s neck, and he held his left arm suspended in the air for balance. A dusty black hat was pulled low over his face. Along with the leather vest, denim shirt, chaps and boots, the ensemble made him look the exact opposite of the man in the suit and silk tie that Blair had bought at the bachelor auction. She could hardly believe she’d been so mistaken about him.

  The bull bucked and twisted, furiously trying to rid itself of its human burden. Dirt flew beneath its slashing hooves and Blair could only imagine the damage those hooves could do to a human body. Scott shifted dangerously to one side, seeming in imminent risk of sliding directly beneath the animal. Blair covered her face with her hands, watching through her fingers as he somehow recovered his balance.

  It seemed like forever before a buzzer indicated that eight seconds had passed. The clowns ran toward the bull as the crowd cheered and Jeffrey crowed with pleasure.

  “He made it, ma’am. The full eight. He can dismount now.”

  But just as the rancher spoke so confidently, the bull gave a huge lunge and twist that sent Scott flying. He landed some distance away with a bone-jarring thud and billowing clouds of dust. Blair’s breathing stopped when Scott didn’t immediately move.

  The clowns ran the bull through a gate and out of the arena while a couple of guys ran toward Scott.

  “Is he hurt, Aunt Blair?” Jeffrey asked in a small voice.

  “I don’t know, sweetie,” she said, covering his hand with hers.

  They both sighed in relief when Scott sat up, waving away the two men who would have helped him to his feet. He stood on his own power, although his movements were somewhat stiff. The crowd applauded as he limped away, pausing to scoop his hat off the ground and then wave it at the cheering audience, a showman to the end.

  “He’s okay, Aunt Blair,” Jeffrey said, then looked to her for confirmation.

  She managed a smile. “Yes, he seems to be.”

  At least he was until she got hold of him and ripped a piece off his hide for scaring her—for scaring Jeffrey so badly, she corrected herself.

  “Friend of yours, ma’am?” the rancher inquired.

  She nodded, unsure exactly how to describe her connection with Scott McKay.

  “He done real good. He’s made it to the finals.”

  She turned to him in disbelief, ignoring the ride that had just started in the arena. “You mean he’s going to do that again?”

  “Well, yes, ma’am. There were two other riders so far who hung on for eight seconds.”

  She groaned and wondered if she should leave right then rather than go through that traumatic experience again.

  Her new friend smiled and patted her knee in a fatherly fashion. “Don’t you worry, darlin’. Your friend looked like he knows what he’s doing.”

  Was that before or after he’d eaten dirt? Blair wanted to ask as she shifted on the hard seat and braced herself for the finals.

  *

  SCOTT WINCED A LITTLE when he climbed out of his Yukon in Blair’s driveway that evening. His body was reminding him graphically of the two hard falls he’d taken earlier that day. The first had mostly just knocked the wind out of him. The next—after only five seconds on that mean SOB he’d been assigned for the second ride—had hurt. No broken bones this time, fortunately, only a few ugly bruises, but he ached all over.

  It occurred to him that he was getting a bit too old for some of the activities he had enjoyed in the past, but he dismissed that thought immediately. He had a lot of life in him yet, he decided firmly, and several things still to try. He wasn’t quite ready for a rocking chair.

  He eyed the doorbell, wondering how Blair would react to having seen him ride. He hadn’t told her he would be participating in the rodeo—yet another charity contribution on his part. He’d thought it amusing to surprise her. Of course, he’d have preferred to land victoriously on his feet rather than ignobly on his face. He’d hoped to find Blair and Jeffrey after the rodeo, but by the time he’d gotten checked out and cleaned up, they had already gone.

  Since Blair had last seen him filthy and bedraggled, he’d taken pains with his appearance this evening, choosing a gray, tweedy sport coat and navy slacks with an open-necked pale blue shirt. He’d debated for a time about whether he should add a tie—after all, it had been a tie that had prompted Blair to bid on him at the auction—but he’d decided to skip it. He’d been making an effort to introduce Blair to the real Scott McKay, rather than the illusion she’d purchased, and a tie wasn’t a typical part of the picture.

  He pushed her doorbell and donned his most charming smile.

  The smile became genuine when Jeffrey opened the door, holding his cat in his arms. “Well, hi, partner. How’s it going? I thought you’d be at your great-aunt’s house.”

  “She’s staying with me here. You were so cool at the rodeo today, Scott.”

  He smiled wryly. “I lost, Jeff.”

  “Yeah, but you should have won,” the boy insisted loyally. “Those other guys got easier bulls than you for the second ride.”

  It wasn’t entirely accurate, but Scott appreciated the support. “Well, that’s the game. Sometimes you win the buckle, other times you’re face down in dung.”

  “Eeww, gross,” Jeffrey said with relish. “Are you okay, Scott? You sure fell hard.”

  “Yeah, just a few bruises. Guess you know how that feels, hmm?” he added, gently touching the bruise on Jeffrey’s face.

  Jeffrey wrinkled his nose, looking a lot like his aunt at that moment. “Yeah, it’s kinda sore.”

  “Uh-huh. Me, too.”

  “Invite the gentleman in, Jeffrey. Don’t just leave him standing on the doorstep.”

  In response to the woman’s voice from behind him, Jeffrey flushed and moved quickly aside. “Sorry. Come in, Scott.”

  “Thank you.” He crossed the threshold and glanced toward the broad-hipped, gray-haired, pleasant-faced woman in the living room doorway. “Will you introduce us, Jeff?”

  Looking quite important, Jeffrey squared his shoulders. “Aunt Wanda, this is my friend, Scott McKay. Scott, this is my great-aunt Wanda. Er, Mrs. Townsend,” he added quickly.

  Wanda nodded approvin
gly to the boy before extending her right hand to Scott. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKay. I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Townsend.”

  “Jeffrey told me he saw you ride in a rodeo this morning.”

  “A charity event,” he explained. “The coordinator is an old acquaintance who talked me into participating.”

  “That was very generous of you. You’ve donated a great deal of your time to charity lately.”

  Scott shrugged. “It was just a coincidence that two charity functions fell almost back-to-back.”

  “Please, won’t you have a seat?” She motioned toward the sofa. “I’m afraid Blair’s tied up with a telephone call from one of her clients. I’m sure she’ll try to hurry. In the meantime, can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” He waited until she was seated, then took a place on the couch. Jeffrey immediately sat beside him, just a bit closer than absolutely necessary.

  “When did you learn to ride, Scott?” the boy demanded eagerly. “Was it scary the first time? Have you ever been stepped on?”

  “I was a teenager, and yes, it was pretty scary. And no, I haven’t been stepped on—at least, not full weight. I’ve been kicked by a hoof or two, and grazed by a couple of horns, but on the whole I’ve been pretty lucky. But then, I’ve never pursued rodeo full time—not like Shane Daniels or the other rodeo stars. For me, it’s always been just a hobby.”

  “An insane hobby.” Blair entered the room with that dry comment, looking fresh and pretty in a purple pantsuit in some soft, silky fabric that made his palms itch to feel it.

  He rose to his feet, hiding the dull protests from his assorted bruises. “You look great,” he greeted her. “All finished with business for the evening?”

  “Yes. At least, I hope so,” she added, crossing her fingers. “I have a slightly hysterical client who thinks I should be on call twenty-four hours a day.”

  Wanda smiled faintly. “Your uncle had a few of those—probably the same ones you’re dealing with. I can’t tell you how many dinners and movies were interrupted by calls for him.”