The Cowboy Claims His Lady

by Meagan Mckinney

  And now, because of one foolhardy night, she was bound to fail.

  Depressed, she turned off her laptop.

  She looked at the pine log bed and wanted to throw herself upon it in a fit of tears. But it was no use. She’d cried a flood of tears over Mitch, and they were not the answer. The only thing that was, was diligent hard work.

  Clearly, as exhausted as she was, she was still not working hard enough. The only thing left for her was to pack her bags, return to New Orleans and rededicate herself to her business. It was the only way to find happiness. It was the only thing she could control, and she was doing a poor job of even that.

  Her head still feeling as if it was being breached by a ballpeen hammer, she retrieved her suitcase from under the bed and unzipped it.

  “You’re late.”

  She looked up to see Bruce Everett standing in her doorway, a scowl on his handsome face.

  He looked wonderful, of course. Dust from the trail clung to his well-worn chaps. His face was hard and unshaven, but it only added to the overall ruggedness of his appearance. His gray stare pinned her down with icicles.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” she offered, unable to hate him when she was so busy hating herself right now. “But I’ve realized I’ve got to get back to New Orleans today. Business.”

  She tried to ignore him and the uncomfortable way he made her feel, by grabbing her clothes from the bureau and stuffing them in the suitcase.

  “No planes today. You won’t be going. So let’s get on the trail. That way you can keep up with the others.” His words brooked no discussion.

  She looked up from her packing. “What do you mean there’s no plane today? If I can get to Salt Lake City or Denver—”

  “There’s no plane out from the airport today. It’s Sunday and this is Mystery—a small airport. And if you’re thinking Hazel can drive you to the next nearest airport, she can’t. It’d take too long, and then you’d miss that flight. So you’re stuck here for at least a day. Let’s go.”

  She stood, dumbfounded. He motioned the way out of the bunkhouse. Numbly, she followed, feeling like a canary in a cage.

  “We’ll start in the corral today. No time for a trail ride.” His gaze slid to her. “I’ll get you through all you need to know for tomorrow’s ride.”

  “But what’s the point of a riding lesson if I’m leaving?” She wondered how he was going to get around that fact.

  He stopped and stared at her. “Why do you have to leave?”

  “I told you. Business,” she answered coolly.

  He lifted one dark eyebrow. “You mean that silent partner stuff? You don’t need it.” He took her arm and led her to the corral.

  She widened her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Know-It-All, but I really think since it’s my store, and my concern, maybe I should be the one to determine that.”

  She had such a visceral reaction to his expression, she actually took a step backward.

  But it was no use. He took her by the arm and led her to a pretty palomino mare.

  “Get on up there,” he ordered. “Here, I’ll give you a leg up.”

  Before she could utter another word, his arm went around her waist. She was reminded of their kiss at the gristmill and a strange electricity crackled through her. Their gazes met for a millisecond—too quick to even measure—but the current between them increased to unbearable wattage.

  He drew his hand down her thigh until he gripped her shin, then he hoisted her on top of a solid palomino. Her leg still felt the heat of his touch even through the thick denim of her jeans.

  “Name’s Girlie. Fitting for you, I think,” he mumbled, glancing at her with those cold eyes.

  The male-to-female reaction was only heightened by his words. She didn’t want to feel feminine or “girlie” with him around. She wanted to be neutral, invisible, sexless, particularly around this swaggering tall cowboy who seemed to sniff out a woman’s vulnerability to the opposite sex like a bloodhound on the trail of an escapee.

  Shaken and discombobulated, Lyndie petted the pretty animal’s flowing yellow mane in an attempt to ignore him. The palomino tossed her head, rattling her rider.

  Frightened, Lyndie lashed out at her keeper. “Hey, I really don’t need a riding lesson when I’ll be taking off tomorrow—”

  He ignored her. “The Western horse has five gaits—a walk, a jog…” he rambled.

  Lyndie hardly listened. Her head still pounded, and now she was seeing red.

  The man was a lout.

  First he tried to seduce her by taking her skinny-dipping, then he rejected her, now he was bossing her around as if she were the employee, not him.

  The nerve.

  “Got it?” he demanded when his speech was through.

  “Got it,” she spat, eyeing him balefully.

  “Then, walk.” He bit out his words like a Marine commander. His lips twisted in a taunt. “Just squeeze your thighs. Both horses and men respond to that command.”

  Her breath caught in her throat by the innuendo. Unable to deal with him anymore, she squeezed Girlie as hard as she could, choosing to focus on her rather than him. The mare went forward with a jolt. She nearly got tossed on her backside as the mare began to jog.

  Lyndie tossed Bruce a baleful stare. Inside she was steaming.

  He laughed. His white teeth flashed. “Just like a city slicker, wanting to lope before she can walk.”

  He went to the mare and tugged on her bridle to slow her down.

  The animal went down to a manageable walk. Lyndie caught her breath and renewed her nerve.

  In the lull, she studied him as he stood watching from the center of the ring.

  It’s as if he’s running from something—and I just want to see him stop and turn around, is all. Lyndie recalled Hazel’s words describing Bruce.

  She looked down at the golden horse beneath her. Instinctively, she trusted the mare. The animal was responsive and gentle. Lyndie thought she could actually get used to being on her back, but that wouldn’t be a luxury she would allow right now.

  Hazel may think Bruce needed to quit running, but as she rode round and round the ring, his piercing icicle gaze heating her, she knew she was the one who wanted to run.

  And just like the domineering male he was, all he would let her do right now was walk.

  Okay, so she fell off a few times.

  Big whoop, Lyndie thought as she limped back to her bunkhouse. The whole experience racked up to zero, anyway, since all she was going to do was pack up her bags and leave.

  However, she had to admit she did like Girlie.

  The quarter horse had shown the patience of Job during the lesson. While Lyndie had bounced and shifted, desperate to gain her equilibrium, the palomino had been steadfast.

  Even Lyndie knew the reasons she’d fallen off: her own thick head and her inability to take instruction from Mr. Bruce Everett.

  Exhausted, she flung herself onto the pine bed and booted up her computer, oblivious to the dust on her jeans and boots. Going online, she checked her e-mail to see how her accountant was faring in her absence.

  There was an urgent message from him, and she knew the man had to be panicking since there was no cash to pay off the new orders.

  She was surprised to read his message:

  Lyndie,

  No worries! A new investor, the MDR Corporation, came forward with quadruple the cash we thought we’d need for the expansion. MDR heard about the deal and has assured us the money will be wired first thing Monday morning.

  We can look over the deal and sign all the documents when you return at the end of the month.

  In the meantime, I insist you have a great vacation because I am now proceeding with mine.

  All is extremely well in the Big Easy!

  Rick

  Lyndie read the message twice. She had a thousand questions for Rick Johnstone, CPA, so she quickly picked up her cell phone.

  “Rick, this is Lyndie,” she said when he answered. “Tell
me, tell me,” she pleaded.

  He laughed. “We got a faxed letter practically begging us to take MDR as a silent partner.”

  “But who are they?” she asked.

  “We’ll look the gift horse in the mouth when you get back.” He chuckled. “I only know you must have converted someone out west, because the corporation’s address is there in Mystery.”

  She stared at the phone as if she were hearing things.

  “Lyndie?”

  “Uh-huh.” She frowned. She knew exactly who had bailed her out.

  Great-aunt Hazel. The woman owned most of Mystery. She had plenty of ready cash on hand to become a silent partner in a business.

  But Lyndie couldn’t accept it. Hazel was family. She couldn’t take the risk with the money if there was family involved. Her mother had been too proud for charity, and Lyndie was, too.

  She rubbed her still-pounding head. “Let me think on it. I’ll try and be back tomorrow.”

  “It’s a good deal, Lyndie. But do what you have to do.”

  They hung up.

  She sat on her bed for a long time.

  She couldn’t let Hazel be her guardian angel. The hole she was in, she had dug herself. The expansion had already been in the works when Lyndie found out she didn’t have enough capital. Both she and Rick knew she would have to sell off Milady to pay her new debts if they couldn’t raise new capital.

  She would have to see Hazel tonight and refuse the money. Tomorrow she would fly out and begin the process again. Maybe this time it would work.

  Now she just had to get a ride after dinner to Hazel’s. And she would probably have to ask Bruce Everett to take her.

  She moaned. Was there no saving face in front of the man?

  Heaving a great sigh, she gathered her bath supplies.

  Surely there was a cab company in Mystery. As soon as she soaked her sore muscles, she would find out how to call one. Then she could avoid asking anyone for favors, let alone being indebted to Bruce Everett and having to endure his damnable all-knowing gaze.

  The plan sounded so good. On paper. Just like her investors.

  “Heard a rumor Hazel’s girl is leavin’.” Justin Garth, the stable manager, said while the cowhands were gathered in the cookhouse.

  Bruce looked up from his laptop. He kept track of his herd in eastern Montana by way of reports from his ranch.

  “She’s not going anywhere. She needs this vacation.” He bit out the words, then went back to his computer screen.

  “Not what I heard,” Justin retorted, his handsome tanned face crinkled with suppressed laughter. “I heard she can’t wait to beat a path out of Mystery since she went swimming with you at the mill. What happened, partner? Was it too cold to impress her, or what?”

  All Justin got was a snarl. “I don’t need to impress no woman from New Orleans. I’m sure she’s seen more naked men at a tea party down there than most women see in a lifetime.”

  “So you both were naked, eh?” Justin whistled. Though short of stature, he was a bearish man with thick red hair and an easy grin, and he was usually considered the troublemaker in the lot.

  “We weren’t naked,” Bruce said.

  “Almost naked?”

  Bruce finally laughed. He didn’t confirm or deny the charge.

  “She’s sure a beauty, that one. I saw her at the stomp and near fell in love right then and there. And I’ll bet she’s headstrong, too, if Hazel’s blood’s in her.”

  Bruce frowned.

  “Are you thinkin’ a goin’ for it? If not, I certainly wouldn’t mind—” Justin stopped his offer dead.

  Bruce’s expression told him all he needed to know.

  “Fine. Fine,” the cowpoke finished. “But don’t let me hear she’s gone back to New Orleans without any Mystery hospitality. It would break my heart.”

  A snort was Bruce’s response.

  Justin looked at him working on the computer.

  “It’s about time you took a woman. I’ve never seen a grizzly so mean as you without one.”

  A shrug and then the words “I’ve quit hibernating” was the only answer Justin got.

  If there was one thing Lyndie could say about Montana, it was that it certainly increased her appetite. Gone were the days of existing on a café au lait and a salad. The Mystery Dude Ranch’s chuck wagon served steak, and she found she craved it like an anemic.

  Filling her plate, she sat down at a rustic pine table in the middle of the lodge. There were maybe fifteen people at most making up the ranch’s guests.

  “Roger Fallon, and this is my wife, Annette.” A bearded and bespectacled middle-aged man stood up at Lyndie’s picnic table while she seated herself.

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” she replied, suddenly self-conscious of her heaping plate.

  “We saw you at the stomp last night. We’re from London. Living the real cowboy life here, ain’t we?” Annette was a matronly, twinkle-eyed, bleached blonde with a contagious smile.

  Lyndie liked them both immediately. There was something disarming about the couple. She thought perhaps it was the cowboy attire. Both had enthusiastically dressed for the trail, right down to the leather-fringed vests and red knotted kerchiefs.

  “You’ve come far to ride a horse,” Lyndie commented pleasantly.

  “This is the best dude ranch in the U.S. How could we resist—despite the cost?”

  Annette’s words took Lyndie aback. She hadn’t paid anything for the dude ranch; she figured Hazel had owned it, and just let her come. Now she wondered if she was even more indebted to the cattle baroness than she’d thought, for letting her take the place of a well-heeled, paying tourist.

  “I— I have to confess I don’t know much about the dude ranch,” Lyndie said. “My great-aunt, who lives here in Mystery, told me to come. She was convinced I was working myself to death, but that really wasn’t so.”

  Lyndie cut into the thick juicy filet still sizzling on her plate. She was mortified that Hazel might have allowed the Mystery Dude Ranch to take a loss on her. She’d assumed the ranch was Hazel’s, to do with as the cattle baroness wished.

  “The cowboys here are supposed to be the best in the state. But Bruce Everett was recommended to us from Tokyo to Timbuktu,” Roger Fallon commented with a charming smile. “We’ve waited five years on the list to get to come here. How about you?”

  Color crept into Lyndie’s cheeks.

  She’d had no idea Mystery Dude Ranch was such a desirable destination. If anything, she figured Hazel had let her come because the ranch was desperate for customers.

  “I really don’t know anything about a list. As I said, my great-aunt got me up here.” Lyndie chewed her steak, hoping they could change the subject.

  “So you have real relations here who are cowboys?” Annette seemed amazed. “How utterly fascinating. You have no idea how far the average Londoner will go to live the life of a cowboy for just a week.”

  “I had no idea,” Lyndie conceded.

  “Oh, darling. Look who’s here!” Annette jabbed her husband.

  All at the table looked to the chuck wagon. Bruce Everett was at the grill, getting his steak.

  “He is the most fantastical person, don’t you agree?” Roger said to Lyndie. “All those rodeos. All those championship belt buckles. I feel like we’re living a Clint Eastwood film with him around. The ranch’s fees were worth double what we paid, just to experience what he can show us.”

  Lyndie glanced at Bruce.

  He glanced back.

  A strange unwanted shiver shook her very core. As much as she fought it, consciously, valiantly, she was succumbing. Desire crept up on her with every swagger of his hips, with every flash of his lazy smile. If she didn’t fight it, she might fall altogether.

  “What can he show us? I’m not that familiar with him.” Lyndie turned her attention back to her steak.

  “Why, he’s considered one of the best cattle breeders in all of the West. He has a ranch a couple hundred mi
les from here. And he does have a legend around him,” Annette chimed in.

  “We read that he once saved a pair of grizzly cubs from the highway by scooping a cub up in each arm and running them to safety. The man’s strong, because even a baby grizzly’s bloody heavy.”

  “And what did the mother think of all that?” Lyndie couldn’t help but ask.

  “She was right smitten with him, like all the other of her sex,” Roger finished. “She just put her cubs in check and disappeared to the other side of the highway.”

  “Certainly sounds like a tall tale to me,” Lyndie commented drily.

  “Miss Clay. May I have the pleasure?”

  She looked over her shoulder and found the subject of their discussion standing—no, looming—over her.

  “Mr. Everett,” she acknowledged as he sat next to her with his steak and his thick, muscular thigh pressing against her own, reminding her of all the things she was lonely for.

  Annette and Roger both gaped.

  Lyndie could only offer a weak smile.

  After all, there was so much to deny, and so very little to acknowledge.

  “Have you fully recovered from last night?” Bruce asked.

  Annette looked ready to swoon and Roger certainly needed to close his jaw.

  “Have you met Roger and Annette?” Lyndie asked in a perky tone. “They’re from London. Big fans.”

  Bruce nodded. “I met you on the trail. You both have a good sense of balance. That’s to be appreciated in a greenhorn.”

  “Th-tha-thank you,” Roger stuttered, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching with pleasure.

  “We were just telling Miss Clay here how wonderful the ranch is,” Annette added. “She doesn’t seem to be as familiar with it as most.”

  Bruce slid Lyndie a glance. “She’ll find her way. Besides, she’s come highly recommended.”

  “By my great-aunt Hazel,” Lyndie finished, trying to set it straight.

  “Yes, Miss Clay is a businesswoman. She doesn’t feel the need to get back in touch with her natural side.”

  Bruce dug into his steak as if it were his last meal.

  Lyndie watched that hard, punishing mouth tear into the meat, and the memory of his kiss made her melt from the pit of her stomach all the way down to her knees.