Wanted!

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She was sorely tempted. He looked mighty fine wearing his straw cowboy hat, faded jeans and a Western shirt with the sleeves rolled back. She knew the wonders hidden beneath that ensemble, and thinking about him naked made her mouth water.

  But she’d had her impulsive moment, and she could tell this was a guy who would foster more of those. She still needed to exercise restraint even if Herman wasn’t around, to keep from doing something foolish or jeopardizing the business she’d worked so hard to build.

  “There’s a funky bar called the Spirits and Spurs, and during the summer they have live music. The dance floor’s small but adequate.”

  She could picture it—a cute little bar, some frothy glasses of beer and a tiny dance floor where they’d engage in that age-old foreplay ritual called dancing. She was a lousy dancer, but with a beer or two, she could fake it.

  Regret tightened her chest as she gave him the only answer that made sense under the circumstances. “Nick, it wouldn’t be fair for me to accept.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not going to have sex with you again.”

  His eyes became very green. “You’re blushing, Dominique. I think you want to have sex with me again.”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It is the point. You want to and I want to. We’re consenting adults who happen to be occupying the same place on the planet for the next five nights. I don’t see the problem.”

  She did. Herman was a jerk, but he’d also stabilized her life. Maybe this man had been sent as a test to see if she’d revert to the person she had been, the one who dropped everything, including her financial obligations, when the next new experience appeared on the horizon.

  She had to stay strong and focused. The trip had been excellent so far and she didn’t need to go overboard in a way that would mess it up. Therefore she’d sleep alone tonight.

  Facing Nick, she met his tempting gaze and said what had to be said. “I’m sorry. Thank you for a wonderful morning, but that has to be the end of it.”

  He threw up both hands in defeat. “I don’t get it, but I’ve never begged a woman in my life and I’m not about to start now. Hold on a minute and I’ll help you out.”

  “Not necessary.” Dominique opened the door, which squeaked on its hinges. “But thanks.”

  He gave her an impatient glance. “I hope you’re willing to walk into the dining room with me. Or would that compromise your principles?”

  “Not at all.” She climbed down from the truck and settled her backpack strap more firmly on her shoulder.

  By the time she walked around to the other side, Nick was greeting two medium-size, mixed-breed dogs that had bounded over from the vicinity of the barn off to the right of the house. One was all black with longish curly hair and floppy ears. The short-haired one was tan-and-white, with a snub nose and pointed ears.

  The dogs regarded her with curiosity, but Nick had a hand on each of their collars so they stayed by his side, glancing up at him with doggy smiles and wagging tails. Obviously they adored him.

  “And who might these characters be?” Dominique asked.

  “The tan one is Butch and the black one Sundance. Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes, very much.” Herman had talked her out of adopting one, saying she couldn’t afford the drain on both her time and financial resources.

  “Go on over and say hello, boys.” Nick released his hold and the dogs approached her with tails wagging. She crouched down and petted both at once. They sniffed her face and her hair, and Sundance gave her a little lick on the nose.

  She had the ridiculous urge to gather the dogs in a hug. When she got home, she’d head for the nearest animal shelter and adopt herself one. “They’re great,” she said. “Where did they come from?”

  “I found them wandering on the road about three years ago. Our golden retriever had died a couple of months before that, and a ranch needs a dog. Or two dogs. Besides, if I hadn’t picked them up, they wouldn’t have survived. My dad insisted on naming them after his favorite movie.”

  She heard the slight hitch in Nick’s voice. Obviously he missed his dad a lot. “They’re great names.”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s go get some lunch.”

  She’d just had sweaty sex in the woods and didn’t feel quite ready to face public scrutiny. She gave the dogs a last scratch behind the ears and stood. “I need to stop by my room and freshen up before we eat.”

  His gaze traveled over her. “You look great to me.”

  She could say the same about him, but both of them bore the evidence of rolling naked on a canvas tarp in the woods. “Thanks, but if you want to go in together, I’ll meet you back downstairs in five minutes.” She ran up the porch steps and into the ranch house.

  True to her word, she came out of her second-floor room five minutes later and found him waiting at the bottom of the curved staircase. His damp hair was combed and he’d put on a clean shirt.

  As she reached the bottom step, a woman with fly-away gray hair barreled toward them from the hallway to their left.

  “There you are!” The woman wore a red cowboy shirt with white piping, and jeans with enough stretch to accommodate her rounded figure. “Jack said you would be here for lunch, but I let everybody else go ahead because the food was getting cold.”

  “Forgive us, Mary Lou.” Nick caught her around the waist. “But I’d rather have your cold food than anyone else’s hot meal.” He kissed her soundly on the cheek.

  “Flattery will get you everywhere, Nicholas. Are you going to introduce me to our guest?”

  “You bet.” Nick swept a hand in Dominique’s direction. “May I present Dominique Jeffries of Indianapolis. She’s a famous photographer.”

  Dominique rushed to correct that misinformation. “No, I’m—”

  “Dominique, this is Mary Lou Simms, the best cook in Wyoming.”

  Mary Lou smiled up at him. “Apparently I’m not that good or you wouldn’t be late for lunch.”

  “It’s my fault,” Dominique said. “I got carried away by the photographic opportunities.”

  Nick pursed his lips and gazed up at the wagon wheel chandelier that graced the main room of the house.

  “I love good pictures,” Mary Lou said. “What have you taken so far?”

  “Um, I took some pictures of Nick.”

  “Aha!” Mary Lou studied the man standing beside her. “Good choice. I assume you’re into people instead of landscapes. I’m an Ansel Adams fan myself, but Annie Liebovitz has done some fine work. Her portrait of John Lennon and Yoko Ono is outstanding.”

  “I’m not in that class, Ms. Simms.”

  Mary Lou chuckled. “It’s Miss Simms, and I’m proud of it. Never could see the point in marrying a man, although I’ve had my share of lovers. Couldn’t have kids—lousy plumbing—so why tie myself down to a husband?”

  “Sounds right to me.” When Dominique had researched her trip to Wyoming she’d learned that it was the first state to give women the vote, and if Mary Lou was typical of the female population, Dominique could see why.

  “Enough discussion,” Mary Lou said. “My beef stew and corn bread aren’t getting any better while we stand around yakking. I’ll go make sure there’s something left, but I’ll ask you not to dawdle getting to the dining room.” She bustled back down the hallway.

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” Dominique called out after her.

  Nick lowered his voice as the two of them followed in Mary Lou’s wake. “Now that’s the kind of response I was looking for.”

  “Let me put it this way. Mary Lou’s beef stew and corn bread is a whole lot safer option than spending an evening on the dance floor with you.”

  NICK’S MOTHER HAD designed the large dining room twenty years ago when the kitchen’s plank table became too small to hold the family and all the ranch hands for the midday meal. Breakfast and dinner were served to the hands in the bunkhouse, while the family ate in a sma
ller, more intimate dining room, but Last Chance tradition dictated that everyone get together for lunch. Grandpa Archie had declared it was the best way to find out how the day was going for everyone.

  The dining room was located at the far end of the left wing and had windows on three sides. Nick didn’t often really look at it, but today, because of Dominique, he tried to see it as she would. He had to believe she’d like the arrangement.

  Instead of one long trestle table, Sarah Chance had chosen four round wooden tables, each of which sat eight people. The ranch averaged a dozen employees, so the room was seldom filled, but it could be when horse buyers were in town.

  Today about half the seats were empty. Nick chose a different table from the one Dominique picked, but positioned himself where he could watch her. If he’d been concerned about whether she’d feel comfortable walking into a roomful of men, he shouldn’t have worried. She acted as if she sat down with ranch hands every day of the week.

  Then he realized she’d have to be good at talking to strangers, both men and women. She took portraits for a living. Part of the photographer’s skill lay in getting the subject to relax.

  Nick wondered if she’d be inspired to take pictures of any of the other cowboys in the room. He didn’t want her to do that, which was ungenerous on his part. She had the right to take as many pictures of cowboys as she wanted, and create a one-woman show with those photos in her bedroom back in Indianapolis if she liked.

  He needed to accept her decision to have nothing more to do with him. But he couldn’t help thinking that if Jack hadn’t interrupted them, she might not be as jumpy about getting together. Nick could have eased her into the situation rather than have Jack be the black cloud raining on their parade.

  Speaking of Jack, Nick didn’t see him in the dining room. But Emmett Sterling, the fifty-something ranch foreman, happened to be sitting at the same table as Nick. Nick unfolded his cloth napkin, a dining room staple Mary Lou insisted on, and glanced at him. “Where’s Jack?”

  Emmett, whose salt-and-pepper hair, craggy features and solid build marked him as a man to be reckoned with, put down his spoon and picked up his coffee mug. “Ate fast and left. Said something about checking on Calamity Jane.”

  That was damned irritating news. “I checked her this morning. I give her at least another two or three days.” He didn’t appreciate Jack’s behavior.

  By announcing that he was going to see about the pregnant mare, Jack was implying Nick wasn’t doing his job. Calamity Jane was Nick’s responsibility and he was on top of it. She wasn’t due for another week and had shown no signs of giving birth in the next twenty-four hours.

  “Jack was just looking for an excuse to head for the barn,” Emmett said. “He doesn’t like hanging around during lunch.”

  “He used to.” Nick glanced up to thank Mary Lou for putting a steaming bowl of stew in front of him.

  “Are we talking about Jack?” Mary Lou plopped another basket of corn bread muffins on the table. “That boy isn’t eating right and he acts like somebody shoved pinto beans up his nose.”

  “Or shoved them somewhere else,” Emmett said with an evil grin. “Believe me, I’ve had the urge a time or two. What are we going to do about him, Nick?”

  Nick glanced around at the expectant faces of the men at the table. “Damned if I know. Get him laid?” His response got the reaction he’d hoped for. Everybody had a good laugh, and most likely forgot their grievances against Jack, at least temporarily.

  Emmett picked up a muffin and broke it in half. “Good luck with that. I think Jack’s taken himself permanently off the market.”

  Nick thought so, too. His brother had been in town playing bedroom games with his girlfriend the day their father died. Although he had agreed to help their dad pick up a filly from a neighboring ranch, he’d begged off, claiming that a storm was coming and they should wait until the end of the week.

  Their stubborn dad, who hadn’t much liked Jack’s girlfriend in the first place, had driven off to fetch the filly by himself. The storm had hit, making the roads slick.

  Ironically, the filly, a brown-and-white paint named Bertha Mae, had survived the crash. Nick had doctored her minor wounds but nobody had ridden her since the accident.

  Emmett leaned toward Nick. “Who’s that good-looking woman you’re keeping tabs on?”

  And here Nick had thought he’d been subtle about it. “Her name’s Dominique Jeffries. She’s a photographer from Indianapolis. The Bunk and Grub ran out of room.”

  Emmett stroked his graying mustache. “Have you ever noticed that whenever the Bunk and Grub is over-booked, we always get the good-looking women over here? I can’t remember ever getting a guy, or a couple, or a family with kids.”

  Nick had to agree that was true. “Maybe it’s just easier to relocate a single person, and if you think about it, Pam doesn’t get many single guys at the Bunk and Grub. I’ll bet she has mostly couples and single women. If I were her, I’d move the singles to an alternate location before I’d move a couple, although I suppose that’s some sort of discrimination.”

  “Your explanation is perfectly logical,” Emmett said. “But my gut’s telling me that Pam’s trying to fix up those ladies with a cowpoke. Or fix up the cowboys with a tourist. I guess it could be either. Or both.”

  “I think it’s pure coincidence.” Nick took another bite of stew.

  “Think what you want.” Emmett helped himself to more cornbread. “Oh, and by the way, that Jeffries woman is spending as much time checking you out as you’ve spent checking her out. I think you need to ask her to dinner.”

  Nick had known Emmett all his life, so there was no point in trying to maintain his manly rep with the guy. “I did ask her,” he said. “She turned me down.”

  “And now she’s looking at you as if you’re the last piece of chocolate in the box. If I were you, I’d ask her again.”

  Nick shook his head. “I made my offer. The next move is strictly up to her.” Swallowing another mouthful of stew, he decided to abandon the field. Let her come and find him if she’d changed her mind.

  In the meantime, he would head down to the barn and have a word with Jack. The guy was getting on his last nerve.

  5

  DOMINIQUE DECIDED she was a hopeless case. Yes, she’d turned down Nick’s offer, which was the sane thing to do. But she’d spent the lunch hour regretting her choice. She could probably handle another night with him. It wasn’t as if she’d put a limit on how many sexual experiences she might have on this vacation.

  She’d nearly made up her mind to go over and tell him she’d like to have dinner with him, after all, when he disappeared. She’d lost her chance, and trying to track him down was too obvious a move.

  Excusing herself from the table, she climbed the curved staircase up to her room and grabbed one of the books she’d brought along. She could sit in one of the rockers on the front porch and read for a while. Nick might happen along while she was sitting out there.

  On her way back down the stairs she paused to admire the room below. The focal point, on the wall opposite the front door, was a huge fireplace made of mammoth chunks of butterscotch-colored stone. Four brown leather armchairs plus one love seat were grouped in front of the fireplace, along with sturdy wooden end tables. Overhead was the expected wagon wheel chandelier complete with antique oil lamps wired for electricity.

  No rugs covered the gleaming hardwood floor, but several hung on the walls. She was no expert, but the Native American designs looked handwoven and extremely valuable.

  Logs were stacked on the hearth, and she could easily imagine sitting in this room before a blazing fire, curled up either with a book or a cowboy. Behind the large freestanding fireplace screen she glimpsed andirons in the shape of a horse’s head. A thick slab of wood at least ten feet long formed the mantel, where framed family photos were displayed.

  She decided to be nosy and examine them. As she came down the stairs, a good-looking older
man walked in from the direction of the dining room. He carried his hat.

  Pausing, he smiled at her. “Nick says you’re a photographer.”

  “That’s right.” She held out her hand and introduced herself.

  “I’m Emmett Sterling,” the man said as he shook her hand.

  “Do you work here?” Dominique didn’t plan to make any more assumptions about who was hired help and who was family.

  “I’m the foreman. Been here almost thirty years.”

  “Wow.” She waved a hand at the mantel. “Then you could probably tell me about some of those pictures.”

  “I could tell you about all of them, probably bore you to tears with stories, but I have to get on down to the barn. We could have a situation brewing.” He put on his hat and adjusted the brim.

  “I understand. This is a working ranch.”

  Emmett laughed. “With working being the operative word these days.”

  “Nick mentioned that his brother Jack was pushing everybody pretty hard.”

  “That he is. Anyway, when you look at the pictures, you’ll probably recognize Nick and Jack, since you’ve met them. The guy doing those fancy cutting-horse maneuvers is Gabe, the competitive one in the family. That trophy case in the far corner is a testament to his abilities.”

  “Wow.” Dominique took note of the gleaming trophies. “He must be really good.”

  “He is, and his dad was right proud of him. Jack looks like his dad, so you should be able to pick out Jonathan Sr. The woman in the pictures with him is Sarah, his wife. Well, gotta go. Nice meeting you, ma’am.” He touched two fingers to the brim of his hat and headed for the door.

  “Same here. Thanks for the quick rundown on the family.” Dominique turned toward the mantel just as the front door opened and Pam Mulholland, the owner of the Bunk and Grub, stepped inside. Dominique raised a hand in greeting and started to say something to her, but quickly realized Pam was so focused on Emmett that she hadn’t noticed Dominique at all.

  Emmett whipped off his hat in deference to Pam’s arrival, and Dominique was struck by how good they looked together. The B and B owner was probably in her late fifties, but she likely hadn’t spent as much time outdoors as Emmett, so although his skin was more leathery, they might be about the same age.