KILLER COWBOY CHARM

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  "What's that?" She sounded hopeful.

  "You'll have to take some ugly pills. And maybe if you smelled a little more like a garbage dump and less like a field of flowers, and wore baggy clown outfits and a rubber nose, that would help, too."

  She laughed. "Look, it's not all up to me. You're the one who put on those sexy boots. And the fit of those jeans should be illegal. We won't even mention what a hottie you become when you wear your hat. So don't think I'm taking all the blame for this fiasco."

  "Hey, I tried to avoid the cowboy thing. I didn't wear any of that stuff when you first got here."

  She sighed. "True. And I still craved your body."

  "And I've craved yours from the beginning. It's a problem." He kept his tone light, but the subject was anything but. And no answer in sight.

  "Clint, there is a solution."

  "Yeah, yeah." He tweaked her nose. "Even if you begged me, I can't see you wearing a chastity belt. That's a definite no."

  "I mean a real solution. Take part in the contest."

  "Huh?" He readjusted their position so her head was on the pillow. Then he propped himself on his elbow because he needed to look into her eyes and try to figure out what craziness was going through her mind. "Too much sex must be frying my brain, because I don't get how that ties in with anything. For one thing, the Arizona contest is over."

  "Yes, and there wasn't time to get you into the regular competition, so I called the studio this afternoon. I have permission to add a wild-card contestant at any time. He'll be called Meg's Pick, and the slot would go to you."

  "Hey, hey, wait a minute. I don't want to be—"

  "Let me finish. I wouldn't have to announce it right away. In fact, I should probably wait until all the state contests are finished. We're talking about another thirteen days."

  "I thought you knew howl felt about this contest." The longer she talked, the less he felt listened to. She was ignoring everything he'd told her about himself and that didn't feel good.

  "I know it wouldn't be easy for you, but think of the end result. You would have a reason to be in New York." She paused. "I'll be in New York."

  He knew that. It was part of the problem. "And the contest stuff would last how long—a few days? I don't think buying us a few days is worth what you're asking."

  "I'd say more than a few days. Once you're on TV, all sorts of opportunities would come your way, even if you didn't win. Endorsements, guest appearances—you'd be in demand for months. Some of the work might be in L.A., but a good part of it would be in New York."

  He couldn't think of anything he'd hate more. "Meg, that's not my thing. I've tried to tell you that." His disappointment grew. She didn't know him at all.

  "But think of what this would mean! You could earn all kinds of money, maybe even enough to buy back the Circle W!"

  "You're asking me to prostitute myself so I can maybe buy this place? Sorry, the price is too high."

  Her expression became stormy. "Come on, now, Clint. It wouldn't be that bad."

  "Easy for you to say. It's your world. You feel comfortable there. I would feel like a trained bear in a circus."

  "I don't believe that. And you don't really know, because you've never tried it. And … and yes, it's my world. I … thought I could share a part of it with you."

  "Then I guess you just don't get me." He'd felt so warm a moment ago, and now cold was creeping relentlessly through him, chilling his soul. "If you could imagine I'd want to do something like that, you don't have the first idea of who I am."

  She clenched her jaw. "Just like that, you'd give up a chance to earn a pile of money and be with me at the same time?"

  "Like I said, the price is too high."

  "I must have misunderstood." She cleared the huskiness from her throat. "I thought the ranch meant a lot to you."

  "It does."

  "Then how are you ever going to buy it back? Winning the lottery isn't a plan, Clint!"

  "I know that. So I'm racing a quarterhorse next season. Gabriel's got talent, and once he starts winning, the money will be there. It might take a couple of years, but—"

  "And me? How do I fit into all that? I thought … I meant something to you."

  "You do."

  "But not enough." Her lower lip quivered.

  "Not enough to compromise who I am."

  "I don't see it that way." She blinked away tears. "Meg, I'm sorry. It wouldn't work. I appreciate the thought, but—"

  "No, you don't." She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "You don't appreciate it, you hate it. You're insulted that I would ask it of you."

  He sat up, too. "Okay, I do think it shows that you don't understand me, and that's disappointing."

  "I understand that you're so set in your ways that you won't compromise, not even to get what you say you want." She walked around to the other side of the bed and gathered up her clothes.

  "Meg, I don't want us to end like this."

  She held the bundle of clothes against her like a shield. "I didn't want us to end at all. I wanted to find a way that we could keep seeing each other. To know that you're ready to give up—well, that hurts." She turned and walked out of the room.

  "Wait! You don't have an alarm clock!"

  Her voice floated back to him. "Don't worry. I won't need one."

  With a groan, he flopped back onto the mattress and stared up at the beamed ceiling. Dammit, why couldn't she understand? Why did she have to imply that if he really cared about her, he'd parade around in front of a TV camera?

  If she really cared about him, she'd never ask. It seemed as if she was trying to turn him into a different kind of guy. He could keep the cowboy outfit, but underneath that she wanted a more sophisticated man, one who moved in the same circles she did. She didn't really want him the way he was.

  Endorsements and public appearances. The concept gave him hives. Even if he wanted to do it for her sake, he didn't think he could. He wasn't cut out to be in the limelight.

  But she was. She'd found her calling, and he'd found his. And the two were totally incompatible. As perfectly as their bodies meshed, their lives were exact opposites and always would be that way.

  He should probably consider himself lucky for what they'd shared. He should, but he didn't. After the kind of loving he'd had with Meg, anything else would be a joke. He'd always expected to marry some day, but Meg might have spoiled him for another woman. And, God help him for being such a selfish bastard, but he hoped he'd spoiled her for another man.

  * * *

  Meg took a cat naps throughout the night. She was too exhausted to stay awake and too upset to stay asleep. When she'd conceived her plan, she hadn't considered that Clint might say no.

  Between his love of the Circle W and his obvious attraction to her, he had two strong reasons to agree. She hadn't expected him to be crazy about the idea, but she had expected him to be willing to give it a shot. After all, she's eliminated any need for him to compete here on his home turf.

  All he'd have to do was appear on TV. Surely even the most private guy in the world could do that if it meant getting everything he wanted as a result. Maybe he didn't care enough about her—and that stung—but the ranch had been in his family for generations. He could reclaim it now, instead of waiting around to see if his precious horse Gabriel won enough races.

  The more she thought about his stubborn refusal to try, the angrier she became. Well, if he wanted to be a martyr, then let him. She was sorry that she'd ever become involved.

  She was especially sorry because, stubborn and proud though he was, he'd given her the best climaxes of her life. Although she didn't have a huge basis of comparison, she had a hunch that sex like that didn't come along very often. She had enough problems in the dating arena already, without having Mr. Yummy Cowboy raise the bar to impossible heights.

  Every time she woke up and remembered where she was, and who was right down the ball, she had to control the urge to make that trip. He wo
uld take her back into his bed, no question. She was the one who had called a halt.

  But she'd had to do that once she'd known for sure he wouldn't make any effort to keep the relationship going when she so plainly wanted to. A girl had to preserve a little of her pride after being so resoundingly rejected. So she stayed in her room and checked her watch every time she opened her eyes.

  Although she'd originally planned to get up at five, she'd decided six was soon enough now that Jamie was staying on. If she hadn't been so angry with Clint, she'd feel grateful that he'd apparently convinced Jamie not to leave. But she didn't have room in her heart for gratitude right now.

  At five she heard a tap on the door. "I don't need to get up yet!" she called, irritated by a summons she didn't even need.

  "Yes, you do. I want you to get dressed and come down to the barn with me."

  Instantly her body reacted, yearning for a predawn rendezvous in the barn with Clint. She envisioned the two of them getting it on in the hay, their bodies hot and yearning, the earthy scent of the barn filling her nostrils, a climax building… "I am not having barn sex with you! Of all the nerve!" Beg me, plead with me and maybe I'll change my mind.

  There was a pause followed by the sound of him clearing his throat. "If you're planning to get on a horse today, I want you and the horse to become acquainted. Jamie said horses scare you."

  Damn Jamie and his big mouth. "Not so much." And his suggestion had nothing to do with sex, which was a big disappointment.

  "Meg, I know how much this broadcast means to you. And I know you don't want to give Mona the satisfaction of seeing you sitting up there frozen with fear. It'll show on camera, and you know it."

  Unfortunately, he was right. "For a guy who never plans to be on TV, you sound like quite the authority."

  "Okay. Suit yourself."

  "Wait. Let me throw on some clothes." The thought of Mona snickering as she watched Meg paralyzed with fright on top of that horse was enough to overcome her reluctance.

  "Tuck will probably be down there, too, so you don't have to worry about … anything."

  "I'm not worried." Hopeful, but not worried. In spite of being furious with him, she still wanted him. Just the sound of his voice got her hot.

  She searched her wardrobe and discovered she had nothing that fit the occasion. She'd expected to spend her time in the public eye, not down at the barn with Clint getting acquainted with a horse. After pulling on the plainest pair of cropped jeans she'd brought, she shoved her feet into a pair of denim slides and pulled a turtleneck sweater over her head.

  All her jackets were too nice to risk getting chewed and covered with horse slobber. She'd seen enough cowboy movies to know that getting acquainted with a horse usually involved the horse chewing or drooling on something, probably the fringe on her black suede jacket. The sweater might be warm enough and was more horse-proof.

  As she opened her bedroom door, the aroma of coffee greeted her. Clint's coffee. As rocky as she felt after so little sleep, she could use some. She walked into the kitchen to find him sipping from a mug.

  He wore a white T-shirt that did wonders for his pecs, and another pair of wear-softened jeans that she thought ought to carry a warning label for susceptible females. His denim jacket with the lamb's-wool collar lay over the back of a kitchen chair.

  He lowered the mug and gazed at her. A tense silence stretched between them. "You'll need a jacket. It's cold out there."

  She watched his lips as he spoke. "I'll be fine." She hoped someday she'd be able to forget about his wonderful mouth and all the pleasure it had given her.

  "No, you won't. You'll freeze. But I can understand if you don't want to wear your nice ones." He put down his mug and picked up his jacket. "Take this. I'll get another one for me."

  "Really, I'll be—"

  "Take it, Meg." He thrust it toward her.

  She decided not to argue and took the jacket. "Thanks. Can I … have some coffee?"

  "I thought you didn't like it."

  "I never said that. I only said it's strong. Strong is good, especially this morning."

  He nodded, as if agreeing with her. "Help yourself. I'll be right back."

  When he was gone she gave in to the temptation to bury her nose in the lamb's-wool collar of his coat. After breathing deeply, she sighed. Pure cowboy.

  Then she hung the jacket around her shoulders while she opened cupboards until she found the mugs. There were a slew of them, all the same—thick, white, utilitarian. Ranch-house mugs.

  She poured herself a cup of Clint's ranch-house coffee and knew she would miss this place, in addition to missing the man who lived here. The simplicity of living out in the middle of nowhere had more appeal than she could have imagined.

  She'd been appalled to discover Sonoita had no department stores, but she'd never once had the urge to shop. She'd worried about the lack of TV reception, and except for the basketball game on the sets in the bar the night before, she'd seen no television and hadn't missed it.

  The coffee smelled wonderful when she lifted the mug to her lips. It tasted like desire—hot, thick and pungent. Clint made love the same way he brewed coffee.

  He walked in wearing a lined flannel shirt over his white T-shirt. "How's the coffee?"

  "Perfect." She took another swallow.

  He came over to get his mug, and she decided not to move away, although having him close made her heart pound. She was still angry with him, but that didn't mean she'd lost the urge to kiss him. If he felt the same, he deserved to be tortured by having her close by.

  He picked up his mug and closed his eyes as he swallowed a mouthful of coffee. Then he opened them again and lifted the mug in her direction. "You can bring your coffee if you want. We should probably get on down there."

  "Okay." She put the mug on the counter and shoved her arms in the sleeves of the jacket. They hung a good two inches below the tips of her fingers.

  "Here. Let me fix that." Clint put down his mug, grabbed a sleeve and started rolling it up.

  She'd maintained control until that moment, until his fingers brushed her skin and she remembered how his tongue had felt on the inside of her arm. Her tummy clenched and she began to quiver.

  If he noticed, he gave no indication. After finishing with one sleeve, he began rolling up the other. She had trouble getting her breath. She wanted him so much she couldn't see straight.

  "There." He seemed to avoid looking at her deliberately as he turned to pick up his mug again while she did the same. At the door he grabbed his hat off a peg and settled it on his head. "Let's go."

  It was still dark outside as they made their way by the glow of the back porch light down the hill to the corrals. Meg's toes quickly felt like ice cubes, and she wished she had real boots instead of the trendy shoes she'd brought But inside Clint's denim jacket, she was snug and warm.

  She wondered what it would be like to dress for warmth and comfort instead of catering to fashion all the time. She'd always told herself that updating her wardrobe was a fun part of being a celebrity, but she was a little tired of the pressure to look good. Days off now and then wouldn't be a bad thing.

  She held Clint's coffee mug for him while he opened the heavy barn door. When he took it back their hands brushed, but again he didn't seem to take any notice of it. Inside the barn he switched on a light

  The scent of horses, hay and leather swirled around Meg. She felt vaguely uneasy, but having Clint next to her helped. The barn had six stalls on each side, and the first two were empty.

  Horses immediately popped their heads over the stall doors of the other ten. They gazed eagerly toward Clint and a couple of them nickered a greeting. Tuck was nowhere around.

  "Not quite chow time yet," Clint said. "But I guess we can give each of you a little early-morning snack." He drained his coffee cup and set it down on a ledge just inside the door.

  Meg followed suit. She wasn't sure what he expected of her, but she'd probably need both hands. />
  He picked up a bucket and took off the lid. Inside was something that looked like uncooked oatmeal. He held the bucket toward her. "Take a handful of oats. You can feed a handful to each one of them."

  "With my hand? Won't they bite me?"

  "No." He picked up a handful and held his palm flat, the oats in the middle of his palm. "Especially if you do it like this."

  "I … I've never fed a horse before."

  Clint smiled at her, not a trace of animosity in his gaze. "Come on, Meg. Considering how fast you had me eating out of your hand, these horses should be no challenge at all."

  A curl of sexual tension twisted inside her. "I don't have you eating out of my hand anymore, now do I?"

  "That's what you think. No matter how much I tell myself to leave well enough alone, all I want to do is grab you and kiss you all over."

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  «^»

  Clint knew he probably shouldn't have admitted that, but Meg looked so sad and vulnerable that he'd wanted to bring some color to her cheeks. His comment must have worked, because now she sparkled again.

  She gazed at him as if she'd like nothing better than to have him kiss her all over. "Thanks for saying that."

  "I can't do it, though."

  "I know."

  "Tuck could be along any minute. He wouldn't tell anyone, but…"

  "It's better if no one knows." She hesitated. "Especially if you should change your mind about the contest."

  "I won't," he said, as gently as he could. "I'm sorry."

  Her chin lifted, and her brown eyes gleamed with the kind of determination that had probably gotten her where she was today. "I think you will be sorry, in the long run. I think you're making a huge mistake, which is why I want to leave the door open. You can notify me anytime between now and the day we bring the finalists on the show."

  "Meg, it's not going to happen. You'd be better off forgetting about it."

  Her spine straightened even more. "Don't worry about me, Clint. I'll be so busy I won't have time to think about you. You're the one with the front porch you Love to sit on and the far horizon you love to stare at. Maybe during one of those times you'll figure out that you're being an idiot."