Wanted!

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  When he reached his room, he turned and gave her a wave and a salute with his cigar. She wished she’d thought to grab her camera. Then again, recording all these stolen moments might not be such a good idea if she wanted to keep this affair from taking on added significance.

  Once he was safely through the door of his room, she ducked back inside hers. She took another quick shower in what was now cold water, dried off and put on jeans and a fitted red T-shirt. Before Nick left, she’d almost asked him if he’d called his brother yet, but she’d restrained herself. What he said or didn’t say to Gabe was not her concern. She didn’t even know the guy, probably wouldn’t ever meet him. And that was the end of that.

  In the same vein, she vowed not to corral Mary Lou after lunch and pepper her with questions. This morning when Nick had mentioned that the ranch house cook had probably been in on the conspiracy, Dominique had realized she could be a source of information. Nick probably wouldn’t ask, but Dominique could. But she wouldn’t.

  Although she couldn’t help being curious about Nick’s mother, her curiosity would have to go unsatisfied. She had a hot cowboy who wanted to have sex with her at every opportunity. End of story.

  She was about to turn on the hair dryer when her cell phone played “Back Home Again in Indiana,” her parents’ assigned ring. She’d called them yesterday to say she’d arrived safely and was transferring to the Last Chance Ranch. She’d promised to give them a call today and let them know how everything was going, but between the sex and…well, the sex, she’d totally forgotten.

  When she answered, her mother sounded miffed.

  “Sorry, Mom. It’s so gorgeous here that I got caught up in admiring the scenery.” Now that was absolutely true.

  “Your father and I went online and looked up the Last Chance Ranch,” her mom said. “It’s quite an operation. The land must be worth a bundle.”

  “I haven’t paid much attention to the business side of the ranch, Mom.” Dominique tried not to be irritated with her mother’s constant emphasis on the bottom line. But it had been a sore point for years.

  Dominique was fairly sure her father hated his corporate management job, had hated it for a long time, but it paid well, and her mother wouldn’t hear of him quitting. It was no wonder Dominique’s artistic temperament had driven her mom crazy.

  When Herman arrived on the scene and shepherded Dominique into the wedding and portrait end of the photography business, her mother had been overjoyed. At last her daughter had a decent bottom line.

  For her part, Dominique had discovered that having a steady income wasn’t the equivalent of going to hell, and she’d decided not to reject the concept simply to rebel against her mother. The success of Jeffries Studio was an unexpected source of pride, and she was finally free of her admonitions to find something lucrative. Even so, Dominique was sick of her mom’s preoccupation with the almighty dollar.

  “You might be wise to pay attention to the business side of that ranch,” her mother said now. “Who’s their photographer? Somebody’s making a bundle taking pictures of those gorgeous horses for the Web site. It could be you.”

  “I’m on vacation, Mom. I’m not here to rustle up business.” Dominique couldn’t imagine approaching Nick about becoming the ranch’s official photographer. “I’m sure they have someone local.”

  “Your dad and I both agree that whoever they use doesn’t have your eye.”

  Dominique groaned. “Whoever they use probably lives around here, which means they don’t have to pay to fly them out. It’s a Web site. The pictures don’t have to be portrait quality.”

  “Yes, but what if they were? What if you provided the kind of photos that could be mounted on canvas and hung over the mantel? People who pay thousands for a horse would probably pay dearly for a portrait of that horse. You could divide the profits with the ranch. Win-win.”

  “You’re giving me a headache, Mom.”

  “You always say that when I suggest a way to grow your business.”

  “Seriously, I’m here to relax. That whole thing with Herman was damned painful, and—”

  “I know it was, dear. We’re as shocked as everyone else. But you have to admit that despite all that, he was good for you. It didn’t work out in the end, but you wouldn’t have Jeffries Studio if he hadn’t pushed you to create a solid business model.”

  Dominique gritted her teeth. “I do admit that. But for this vacation, I want to forget about freaking Herman, and I even want to forget about the freaking studio, okay?”

  “No need to get hostile, Dominique.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” Instantly she regretted her outburst. She did love her studio. She did. Except sometimes she thought if she had to work another wedding, she’d go drown herself in the Wabash River.

  12

  NICK KEPT MEANING TO CALL Gabe and tell him about the foal. He really did. But by the time he’d gone back to the barn to check on Calamity Jane and Calamity Sam so he could give his brother an update, lunchtime had rolled around. Might as well wait until after to make the call.

  Jack wasn’t in the dining room when he walked in, and neither was Emmett. But of course Emmett wasn’t there. If Pam had succeeded in her campaign, he was off somewhere having a picnic.

  Just as well. Nick was conflicted about Emmett. Realistically, the guy couldn’t have defied his boss and risked his job to tell Nick about his parentage, but Nick wished he had taken that chance and done it, anyway. For Emmett’s sake, he would have kept his mouth shut. Over the years he’d come to think of him as a second father.

  Emmett could have taken him fishing some lazy summer day and filled him in. They would have made a pact never to tell anyone that Nick knew the truth. And that would have been that. Yeah, Nick could have lived with that scenario.

  Dominique had come in ahead of him and her table was already filled with cowhands. He allowed himself a brief moment to imagine what life would be like if she stuck around. He’d have to beat guys off with a stick, but that would be okay. More than okay. But he dared not let himself hope that she’d change her mind about staying in Indiana.

  Derailing that train of thought, he grabbed a chair at another table, where Jeb and Watkins were chowing down on spareribs and coleslaw. “Guess you guys arrived too late to sit with the lady, huh?”

  Watkins laughed and stroked his mustache. “She’s a looker, all right. I gave her my spot this morning so’s she could take pictures of the foaling. Seems nice enough. What do you say, Jeb?”

  The young cowboy’s face turned as red as his hair. “She’s okay.”

  Watkins punched him on the arm. “Come on, boy. You were drooling over her and you know it.”

  Nick decided enough was enough. “I’m taking her to dinner at the Spirits and Spurs tonight.”

  “Oh.” Jeb looked crestfallen.

  Watkins patted him on the shoulder. “Take comfort in the fact you have excellent taste, son.”

  “Here you go, Nick.” Mary Lou appeared with a plate of ribs and coleslaw. “Congratulations.” She put the dish in front of him. “Heard about Calamity Sam.”

  “Thanks, Mary Lou.” He glanced up at her. “Heard anything else interesting lately?”

  Her expression was cautious. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just anything out of the ordinary.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nick Chance. Now, eat your lunch.”

  He thought she knew exactly what he was talking about. Jack had probably alerted her that the cat was out of the bag, and now she was waiting to see what Nick planned to do next. For the time being, he’d eat his meal. He had skipped breakfast and was hungrier than a bear coming out of hibernation.

  Logically, he should be angry with Mary Lou, who also could have told him about the circumstances of his birth. She’d been here as long as Emmett.

  But Mary Lou would never have done anything to upset Sarah. Those two women stood together on issues with more solidarity than most m
arried couples he knew. If Sarah hadn’t wanted Nick to know about his mother, Mary Lou wouldn’t have betrayed that trust.

  Emmett was another story. He and Nick’s father had locked horns several times over the years, sort of the way the foreman now locked horns with Jack. Jack was more like their dad than either Nick or Gabe. Nick could look at him, especially now that Jack was in charge of the ranch, and see their dad reincarnated. Jonathan Chance had been stubborn, moody, and for some reason that Nick didn’t get, like catnip to women.

  Watson picked up his napkin and wiped his mustache before addressing Nick. “I s’pose by now you’ve called Gabe about Calamity Sam.”

  Nick finished one rib and picked up another. “You know, I haven’t had a chance yet.” A picture of Dominique naked in the shower made him glance down at his plate to hide the self-satisfied smile that threatened to break out.

  “You haven’t?” Jeb sounded amazed. “He said to call the minute Janey dropped that foal.”

  Nick dredged up another excuse. “I figure this time of day he’s in the middle of an event and wouldn’t even get the call.”

  “You could leave him a message,” Jeb said. “You could phone now and then Watkins and me, we could yell out, ‘It’s a boy!’ Gabe would get a kick out of that.”

  Nick wiped his hands and picked up a fork to tackle the coleslaw. “Don’t have my phone with me.”

  “Use mine.” Jeb unclipped a cell phone from his belt and slid it across the table.

  “Cell phones.” Watkins shook his head. “A self-respecting cowboy does not carry a cell phone. It’s unnatural.”

  “It’s the modern age,” Jeb said. “Might as well get used to it, Watkins. For all you know, Jack’s gonna require us all to carry them.”

  “God, I hope not. I hate those damn things.” Watkins stared at the phone on the table. “But as long as the contraption’s among us, I say you call Gabe on it, Nick. He’d appreciate it, even if you just leave him a message.”

  Nick realized this could be a way out of his dilemma. “Sure, why not?” He picked up the phone and punched in Gabe’s cell number.

  Nick hated to inform Watkins, but all the Chance men had been carrying cell phones for years. They weren’t requiring it of their cowhands yet, but the day might come. A few, like Watkins, would resist. Emmett wouldn’t be crazy about the idea, either.

  “Listen, Jeb,” Watkins said as he glared at the redhead next to him, “we’re not doing that tomfool thing you came up with, either, yelling, ‘It’s a boy!’ It’s not dignified.”

  “I think it would be cool,” Jeb countered.

  Watkins snorted. “Cool like carrying a cell phone clipped to your belt like some geek from Silicon Valley? I need to educate you on the tradition of the American cowboy, son. We’re strong, we’re silent and we don’t carry an effing cell phone.”

  Jeb lifted his chin. “I do.”

  Nick had to give the kid props. He didn’t back down from Watkins’s bluster. As Nick listened to the phone ring on Gabe’s end, he hoped his brother would answer. He couldn’t be expected to tell Gabe about his discovery in the middle of the lunchroom. But leaving a message meant Gabe would call back, and then Nick wouldn’t feel so great about omitting critical info from the conversation.

  Just his luck, the call went to voice mail. “Hey, Gabe!” Nick pumped enthusiasm into his message. “We’re celebrating today, buddy-boy, because Calamity Jane delivered a spanking new colt. We named him Calamity Sam, but if that doesn’t work for you, we haven’t done the paperwork yet so there’s time to change it. I hope you’re kicking butt out there!”

  “It’s a boy!” Jeb called out, as Watkins cringed and muttered something under his breath.

  “That was Jeb,” Nick said. “Obviously, he’s a happy man. Wish you were here to smoke a cigar with us. Talk to you later, bro.” He snapped the phone shut and handed it back. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll bet Gabe is going to be happy when he hears that message,” Jeb stated.

  “I’m sure he will be.” And then he’ll call me back. Nick wasn’t ready for that. Although generally speaking he missed having Gabe around, he was grateful that his brother wasn’t here.

  DOMINIQUE WASN’T SURE what people considered proper dancing shoes out here in the West, but she’d decided the boots she’d bought back in Indiana would have to do. Western wear was in style these days, so even in Indianapolis she’d found boots, boot-cut jeans and outfits decorated with fringe.

  She’d packed a white circle skirt that would flare out nicely if Nick twirled her on the dance floor tonight. Her skirt might be the only thing that would make her look like a dancer, because her moves had never been very good. And after two years with Herman, she was extra rusty, because her boyfriend didn’t dance.

  As she dressed for the evening, adding a green plaid Western shirt tied at her midriff, she thought of what Herman would have said about this outfit. It’s so obviously trendy. You’d be better off investing in something classic.

  “Get out of my head, Herman,” she muttered. “You’re a jerk and I’m not living by your rules anymore.” Or mostly not. He’d taught her to balance a checkbook, and encouraged her to set up an IRA. She needed to keep some of that discipline in her life.

  As she transferred a few essentials from her big purse to a little fringed shoulder bag she’d brought for exactly this kind of evening, she found the stapled together sheets of paper that comprised her e-mailed ticket confirmation.

  She forced herself to look at it as a reminder that four days from now she’d be back in Indianapolis. Nick would be here taking care of the new foal and figuring out how to handle the recently revealed circumstances of his birth. They would be leading separate lives, which was as it should be.

  But thinking about that separation made her tummy clench. That wasn’t good. It meant the light and carefree fling she’d hoped for wasn’t going according to plan. She was bonding with Nick and perhaps even bonding with this place.

  As she put on her makeup, she allowed herself to think of what would happen if she decided to leave Indianapolis and move here. Economic disaster, that’s what. Although Shoshone was still a sleepy little town, Jackson, where she’d landed two days ago, was far from sleepy.

  Nick hadn’t been kidding about Hollywood types coming to Jackson Hole. And where there was Hollywood money, there would be a horde of folks offering services exactly like hers. Well-known photographers probably summered there. Dominique might like to imagine she’d be competing with small-town amateurs, but that would be naive.

  Not that her host had asked her to pull up stakes and move here—far from it. When she’d made it clear that she would be going home and the affair would be officially over at that point, he’d been fine with the news. She wasn’t a cowgirl or a ranch woman, and he obviously realized that. Once he found out she had no talent for the two-step, he’d really know she wasn’t cut out for this life.

  At least she apparently hadn’t lost her talent for sex. That was good to know, after two unimaginative years with Herman. She dabbed her spicy cologne behind her ears and into her cleavage. For good measure she lifted her skirt and patted a little on the inside of each thigh. She might be a liability on the dance floor, but she’d make up for it once she arrived in his bed.

  At precisely seven he rapped on her bedroom door. She opened it to discover that he’d traded his straw cowboy hat for a black Stetson that made him look vaguely dangerous. His green shirt, cut in the Western style, matched his eyes, and his jeans showed off the body she had grown to know and love. His polished silver-and-turquoise belt buckle was better than a neon sign. Her fantasy cowboy had come through for her again.

  His gaze swept over her outfit. “I like it.”

  “Don’t be fooled. I may look as if I could two-step into the night, but I truly am a klutz on the dance floor.”

  He smiled. “I’ll bet you’re the sexiest klutz in the place.”

  “Just give me a coupl
e of beers and I’ll fake it. That always worked for me in college.”

  “I really don’t care if you can dance.” When he slipped his arms around her waist the pearl snaps at his cuffs rubbed tantalizingly against the bare skin of her midriff.

  “That’s good, because I can’t.”

  “I just want to get you hot and bothered.” He pulled her closer.

  She breathed in the scent of a shaved and showered Nick, and decided she liked that version almost as much as the sweaty one. “You’ve already accomplished that. Should we raid the kitchen and stay home?”

  “No.” He gave her a quick kiss and guided her toward the stairs. “This is your vacation, and it wouldn’t be complete without spending one evening in a honky-tonk drinking beer and making some attempt at the two-step.”

  She wished he hadn’t mentioned that she was on vacation. But maybe he’d done it on purpose, to remind them both that this happy little situation was only temporary. If she was smart, she’d keep her plane reservation information out on her nightstand to make sure she didn’t forget.

  She probably wasn’t very smart, because as Nick helped her into the old ranch truck, which looked suspiciously as if he’d washed it sometime this afternoon, she refused to believe this would be the only time she’d go out two-stepping with Nick Chance.

  THE ROAD INTO SHOSHONE ran past the Bunk and Grub, and Nick glanced over at the small parking lot beside the B and B. “Emmett’s truck is still there. The picnic must have extended into dinner.”

  Dominique didn’t look surprised. “You do know that Pam has a thing for Emmett, right?”

  “Sort of, I guess. I wasn’t really positive until she came up with that picnic idea.”

  “I think they look good together.”

  Nick thought about it. “Maybe, but it’s not that simple.” He slowed the truck as the only stoplight in town turned red. “This always happens. How can I continually hit the red? There’s not another vehicle in sight. I’m always tempted to run it, but sure as I did, Elmer, who owns the gas station on that far corner, would report me to the county sheriff’s office.”