Falling For A Cowboy

by Anne Carrole

  She closed the door behind him and when she turned around, there was Whitey nestled snugly in Clay’s arms, licking his face. Traitor.

  “I’m not that familiar with small dogs, but I can see why people like them.” Clay nodded at the white ball of fluff.

  “Yeah. He’s a prince,” Dusty said, motioning Clay toward the sofa. She was glad she hadn’t had much time to trash the place since her mother’s departure on Wednesday. It still carried Deidre Morgan’s tidy stamp.

  Clay sauntered forward, moving with an animal’s grace. His tall form made her feel small and the room even smaller. It had been a while since a man had sat among the delicate lace and floral prints that filled their living room. Even when her father had been alive, he’d seemed out of place amid the feminine decorations her mother favored. But he’d never said a word against them. He’d always noticed a new doodad her mother had added to her burgeoning collection of knickknacks, always made a point to tell her how good it was to be home with his girls.

  The flowered cushions plumped around Clay as he settled onto the sofa. Whitey nestled in his lap, right there in the man’s crotch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “He seems to have taken right to you,” Dusty said as she sat in a large wing chair covered in pink and green chintz. She couldn’t keep the wonder out of her voice.

  Clay’s expression was one of mild amusement. “More than I can say for his mistress.”

  She leveled her gaze at him. “So what brings you here, Clay?” Remembering her manners, she added, “And can I get you something to drink?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not yet at least.” He shifted in his seat and petted the dog as if reluctant to answer her question. She waited, watching the gentle way his hand floated over her tiny, comfortable dog. She’d be comfortable too, snuggled up against him like that. Mustn’t let her thoughts go in that direction. Not here, alone with him in the house.

  “Where’s Jesse?” She realized she should have asked that right off. “Is he all right?”

  Clay nodded. “He will be. Turns out he did break a rib, but nothing else.”

  “I’m glad you talked him into being x-rayed.”

  “Wasn’t me. I’ve never been able to talk a lick of sense into him. My mother read him the riot act. Few can deny Kate Tanner when she sets her mind to something.” His smile was broad and his eyes danced at the mention of his mother. She imagined the woman had to be a pistol with a son like Clay. He wouldn’t have been an easy boy to raise. No doubt he’d been full of mischief and manipulative as the devil. “She also isn’t letting him out of her sight. He’s back home mending. He sends his regards.”

  She refused to ask Clay again what he was doing here. She’d already done that twice. So she waited. He continued to pet the dog. Whitey looked like he was ready to go to sleep in his new haven.

  “As I said, I need a favor.” He shifted his gaze to stare directly at her as if willing her to grant it.

  Looking at that smile, she had to admit she was inclined.

  “I scored in the go-round today so I need a place to stay for tonight at least. Tara Lynn said you had the house to yourself. She thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  Dusty’s jaw dropped. She wouldn’t mind? Alone with Clay? Tara Lynn had gone too far this time. How did she know he wasn’t a rapist or serial killer? All they knew was that he could ride saddle broncs.

  As if reading her mind, he continued. “She had me checked out by Andy from the sheriff’s office. Took my license and called it in. Andy gave me a clean bill. She said she’d tell you that when she phoned. Seeing as how you didn’t get the call, I can understand your reluctance.”

  He shot her that sexy grin he’d used before—on her and probably on many others. Her oatmeal insides were becoming more like cream of wheat.

  “Look Dusty, I know this is sudden. But I didn’t realize it was Heritage Days or whatever you guys call it. Apparently it pulls in a lot of out-of-towners. All the motels are full up. I didn’t think to make a reservation. Didn’t know I’d score so I’d have to stick around for tomorrow’s round.”

  Dusty still couldn’t speak. What could she say? She didn’t want to turn him out with no place to go. She didn’t want him to stay here where the temptation would be way too much.

  He draped an arm along the back of the sofa—a strong, solid mass of bulging muscles. The memory of that arm around her, pressing her close to his hard body, had her stomach doing somersaults like it was trying out for the circus.

  “Look, I know you don’t know me very well. And I came on a little strong last week. But if it’s just friendship you want, that’s fine with me.”

  Somehow she didn’t think it would be fine but, then again, she wasn’t his type.

  “I promise I’ll be a perfect gentleman. I can sleep on the sofa, right here. If I can just use your shower—”

  Shower? Naked? Her body went into overdrive as imagined images of his toned, tanned, and nude body danced across her mind. She visualized every line, every muscle, and every hard plane. A moist warmth settled between her thighs.

  “—to clean up that’s all I need. I even bought some ribs at the Dixie Pig and if you have a grill, I do a mean barbeque. I know it’s an inconvenience, so I’m willing to pay you what I would have paid The Ranch Inn.”

  Dusty held up a hand. “No need to go that far. I get that you’re desperate. It will be Texas hospitality or nothing.” How could he think she’d charge him if she allowed him to stay? Her reluctance had nothing to do with inconvenience and he knew it.

  “And I promise I’ll be a Texas gentleman. Whatever rules you want to impose, I’ll abide by.” He gave her a schoolboy look, the kind of look you’d give the teacher when she’d caught you doing mischief to convince her you were really an angel. But there was nothing angelic about Clay Tanner. He was all sex and sin in one delicious package.

  She stroked her hands down her sweats trying to rid them of moisture. Her sweats. She’d forgotten how awful she must look. Of course he’d have no desire to pursue her after seeing her with her hair a mess and clothes fit only for shoveling manure. What the hell. She nodded before she could think too hard about the answer.

  Relief spread across his face like melted butter over biscuits. “Thanks. I promise I won’t be any trouble. And how about taking me up on that barbeque? I’ve got the groceries in the car along with my bag.”

  “You were pretty confident I’d say yes, I guess.” She imagined few women would say no to him. The thought that he’d played her, and correctly, irked.

  “Actually, I was praying it would be a good enough bribe. Of course, you haven’t had them yet, but when I’m done with those ribs, I’m hoping you’ll be impressed.”

  He hoped to impress her. Those cream-of-wheat insides had already gone to mush.

  * * *

  Clay lathered more of his special barbeque sauce onto the ribs sizzling on the small grill in Dusty’s fenced back yard. Beer, maple syrup, ketchup and some secret ingredients he shared with no one made for mighty good eating. He’d taken a fast shower and done a quick change of clothes while Dusty got the grill fired up. Then she’d disappeared. He hoped it was to change out of those sweats. Though she looked cute as a button in the over-sized garments, he’d prefer to see her legs and sweet figure.

  He imagined her in that feminized pink-tiled shower, water spraying over her lithe body, her hair falling long and wet, steam rising as she scrubbed some sweet smelling gel over all those tempting places. Damn, what had he set himself up for?

  Already she’d been invading his dreams, both day and night. How many times this week had he walked out of the house without his keys or been unable to find his wallet because he’d been thinking of her instead of watching what he was doing? And why he’d become obsessed with her (because what else could he call it?) he didn’t know. She wasn’t the kind of girl he generally looked at twice. Apparently, that had been a mistake all these years. Because, damn if he hadn�
�t driven like a maniac to get here, blowing off a meeting with a beef contractor, too.

  He’d thought he might find her at the rodeo. Instead he’d found Tara Lynn, right after he’d called every motel in the area and discovered there were no rooms. He hadn’t thought to book one because there had been no problem last weekend. He’d planned on staying around, whether he scored or not, just to see Dusty.

  He’d asked Tara Lynn about another place to stay and she’d told him there were none. The bed-and-breakfast in town apparently filled first, so if the motels were full, so was it. In the next breath she’d been convincing him to try Dusty’s. She won’t mind. She’s home all alone in that great big house.

  Of course, before Tara Lynn would give him Dusty’s address, she’d had him checked out by the cops. He couldn’t blame her. And he had nothing to hide.

  The grill sizzled as he turned the ribs and basted them some more. Whitey sat at attention near his boot, probably hoping for something to fall his way. “I’ll save you some,” Clay told him.

  Nice night. Clear and warm, but comfortable. The yard was well tended with flowers everywhere. One of the Morgan women loved flowers. Flowers on the upholstery, flowers in the yard, even a flowered shower curtain. He’d resisted peeking into the rooms upstairs, since the doors were closed, but he was sure curious about Dusty’s bedroom. Hell, he was curious about Dusty.

  How could such a little thing pack such a punch in her kiss? It had been just one kiss, but it had set him off like an incendiary bomb. And he wanted more. More of everything, including knowing more about her. Jesse had told him a little. Tara Lynn had filled in a lot. Freshly minted teacher. Worked the Sweet Water ranch during the summer. And then there was that relationship she’d just finished. A guy named Bradley. Was he the reason for her prickly behavior? For her not wanting to get involved with Clay? Tara Lynn had warned him not to break her heart.

  Her heart? That comment had reminded him that Dusty was a relationship woman. And he’d still come. Still wanted more. What did that say?

  Being with her tonight was what he’d hoped, imagined, and dreamed about this past week. But that had included being in her bed, and he’d just promised to be a Texas gentleman.

  Courting. That’s what Jesse had called it, and the man was right. Clay didn’t know a thing about courting a woman. He’d never had to. Women came on to him. And he had a good time and that was it. He’d never even been in a relationship that had lasted longer than a few months. Hell, if it had lasted a few weeks he was lucky. He’d never looked for more. Too much investment. Too many other women to choose just one.

  A bee buzzed by, looking for a taste of sauce no doubt. Clay swatted the air with his spatula, sending him on his way.

  Jesse had been right about another thing. A one night stand, a good time, was not Dusty’s style. This was a girl you dated. Took out to dinner. Went on picnics with. Went away for romantic weekends. And took home to your mother.

  He was twenty-seven and he’d never yet bought a girl back to meet his mother. Oh, she’d seen him with a woman here and there, at an event or function and had been introduced, but nothing he’d ever planned. And she always had plenty to say afterward about his choice, little of it positive. His plain-spoken, forthright mother would love a girl like Dusty—sweet, unaffected, and sassy.

  “Hey, how’s it coming?” A flowery scent more potent than the roses lining the fence wafted across the warm breeze as she moved up next to him.

  Clay turned and his mouth went dry. Her shiny blond hair cascaded in thick waves around her face and down, past her shoulders. She had on a little pink tank top, stretched just enough to outline two enticing nipples, and cuffed, white short-shorts exposing a pair of tanned and sexy legs. And he didn’t dare touch any of it.

  This was going to be a long night. A very long night.

  Chapter Five

  “I won again,” Dusty said, sweeping a pile of pennies across the wooden kitchen table. They jangled as they fell onto the paper plate she held at the edge to catch her bounty. Her beatific smile said she was satisfied with the night so far. Too bad he couldn’t say the same.

  She’d told him she loved the ribs and, given the amount she’d eaten, he believed her. For a little thing she sure had a big appetite. She’d pulled out a bottle of red wine with a fancy label and offered him the choice of a beer. He’d chosen the wine. Three glasses later he was feeling mellow and way too romantic to be on the other side of the table from her.

  Playing poker had been her idea. Right now he’d like to turn it into strip poker, see all that silky skin of hers, and caress those slightly rounded mounds hiding under her shirt. And he’d sure like to feel those legs wrapped around his hips, squeezing tight as he drilled for oil. Instead, here he sat like a saintly school boy watching an angel.

  “Just got lucky is all,” he said. He shuffled the cards, letting the deck rip once, then again, complimenting Kenny Wayne Shepherd’s riffs from the MP3 player blasting out of the living room. Who would have guessed the little angel liked a mean blues guitar? He’d had her pegged as country and western all the way.

  He dealt out seven cards each and tried to think of a way to get her naked. Nothing came to mind except an image of her nude. He said a silent curse as a certain body part twitched.

  She settled back in her chair and perused her cards. Awful lot of rearranging going on over there. She’d been distracting him every hand. With the last one, he hadn’t even seen the flush before he folded. She’d laid down only two pair to take the pot. He’d lost ten whole cents over that one.

  “You open,” he reminded her.

  She threw two pennies on the table. He watched one roll on its side before keeling over with a clank.

  “Why do you do it?” She pressed her cards to her sweet little chest and stared at him as if he should know what she was talking about. He didn’t.

  “Do what?”

  “Ride saddle broncs.” She shook her head, blond hair swinging, as if he was some recalcitrant kid.

  “I raise you one.” He threw in three pennies. How was he supposed to answer that question? How could he make someone who had never done it understand? He shifted in his seat while he considered his words. “Partly for the challenge,” he finally said.

  Her eyes scrunched up. “And the rest of it is for what?”

  She looked cute as the dickens when she was pondering. Something told him, though, this was more than just an idle question to make conversation. The answer mattered to her for some reason. Was it something to do with him? Or maybe a rodeo cowboy had hurt her. It wasn’t that fool Bradley. Tara Lynn had said he was a computer geek.

  He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table as he held his cards. “There’s a rush, adrenaline probably, when you’re sitting on that horse waiting for the chute to open. It opens and you usually know within the first few seconds if you’re going to make it. When you finally hear the buzzer, and you’re still on his back, that rush increases several fold. Like going from 80 to 160 in a car in the same amount of time.”

  “And that’s why you risk getting bones broken or your head stomped on?” A deep furrowed frown appeared on her lightly tanned face. She had the cutest freckles dancing across her nose before they faded into peach-toned cheeks.

  He shrugged. He knew she couldn’t appreciate it. But he sensed she was trying to understand because it was important to her. He gave it another shot. “There’s also knowing that you’ve faced a difficult challenge. A challenge a lot of other people wouldn’t be able to meet. And you’ve succeeded. Against pretty significant odds. Done what most people in the stands wouldn’t even attempt, much less pull off.”

  “Why not team roping or tie-down?”

  He smiled. Those were safer sports in many respects, though they took a lot of skill. “I’ve competed in those events during ranch rodeos. But besides the money, rough stock is more of a test for me.”

  She cocked her head. “It is about guts then.” She tossed i
n two pennies.

  “Some, but I think there are other factors. Hell, sitting on a bull or bronc is nothing compared to facing down the enemy in a place like the Middle East, or saving people from a burning building. There’s an element of courage involved, sure, but it’s more like you’re testing yourself. Most rough stock riders aren’t really competing against each other. Rodeo riders are a pretty tight bunch even though we play for each other’s entrance fees when the purses aren’t supplemented like here in Langley. You try to better your own score, increase your standing. It’s a way, I guess, to measure yourself against the rest of the world. And if you measure up, you can take home some serious money. Does that make sense?”

  She nodded, but her smile had tightened. Maybe it was time to change the subject.

  “So you’re going to be a teacher and your mom’s a teacher. What about your dad?” She hadn’t said a thing about her father. The house didn’t seem like a man’s home. Flowers on everything, pale shades of pinks and greens. Even the kitchen looked like a garden with its floral wall paper and green lattice print curtains. No sign of a male presence anywhere, except a photo on the fireplace mantle in the living room he hadn’t had a chance to inspect. Maybe her parents were divorced. Having divorced parents could make a person wary of men. He added two pennies to the pile.

  She worried her lower lip and stared hard at her cards. “He passed away nine years ago.” Her voice was steady, no inflection from emotion.

  “I’m sorry.” He was. More than she’d guess. “I lost my own around that time.”

  She peered at him over the top of the cards, those blue eyes curious. “Really? How?”

  He shrugged. Time had made it easier to talk about at least. “Got kicked in the head helping shoe a horse.”