One Hot Cowboy

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “Good plan,” Jake said, meaning it.

  Looking as if her hopes were pinned firmly on her future, Maggie asked, “So, when do I meet my first Mr. Right?”

  Jake thought a moment. There was no time like the present to show Maggie there were other paths to take, ones much more likely to grant her happiness, at least temporarily.

  As for the future, well, no one knew better than he that tomorrow was nothing that could be counted on. The present was the only sure thing.

  “How about tonight?” he suggested amiably.

  “IS IT TRUE, Maggie?” Rusty asked earnestly, several hours later, as Maggie tucked the boys in their twin beds. “Do you really have a date tonight?”

  “It’s not really a date, more like an introduction,” Maggie said as she scooped up miniature toy cars, stuffed animals and building blocks and tossed them willy-nilly into the brimming toy boxes at the foot of each bed.

  A curious look on his face, Wyatt propped himself up on his elbow. Freshly scrubbed and clad in Texas Rangers pajamas, he looked cute enough to grace a children’s clothing ad. And so did his fraternal twin brother. “So, when’s he coming to see you?” Wyatt asked.

  Maggie glanced at her watch, keeping track of the time. “Nine o’clock. Your uncle Jake invited him for a drink, but he said he doubted Mr. Benefield could stay long.” Unable to trust Jake’s newfound cooperativeness, Maggie paused. She knew the boys, at least, would be forthright with her. “Do you boys know Mr. Benefield?” she asked.

  They solemnly shook their heads.

  So much for finding out what her blind da—introduction would be like that way, Maggie thought, disappointed.

  “What happens if you like Mr. Benefield?” Rusty asked uncertainly as he propped himself up on his elbow.

  Maggie shrugged. “If I’m lucky we’ll go out on a date sometime.”

  “Instead of Unka Jake?” Wyatt asked, frowning.

  “Instead of Uncle Jake,” Maggie confirmed, knowing that turn of events could only be good for her, as she already found bad-boy Jake MacIntyre far too sexy as it was. “Now, do you boys have everything you need?” Maggie asked, as she finished tidying their room for the night. They’d already had their bedtime snack, as well as a last trip to the bathroom.

  “We’re okay.” Exhausted and yawning, both boys lay their heads on their pillows and snuggled beneath their covers.

  “Now remember what I told you,” Maggie schooled the boys firmly. “If you two are good for me, and go right to sleep tonight, we’ll do something really special together tomorrow morning.”

  “’Kay, Maggie,” Rusty said, seemingly pleased with the thought of that possibility. “We’ll behave, we promise,” he said.

  “Good.” Maggie smiled at both boys affectionately. “’Cause I’m counting on you two.”

  “We sure are glad you showed up,” Wyatt told her, as she bent to say good-night and tuck him in. He gave her a hug. “’Cause me and Rusty—” Wyatt’s voice caught as he unwound his small arms from around her neck “—we been awful sad.”

  The catch in his voice brought tears to Maggie’s eyes; she never had been able to turn away from a child in need. She also knew what it felt like to have your world turned upside down.

  “Yeah, we’re missing our mama something fierce,” Rusty whispered, his eyes beginning to shimmer with a telltale sheen that indicated just how deep and heartfelt this confusion was, too.

  Wyatt nodded solemnly, chiming in sadly, “We haven’t never been away from our mama this long. Our daddy, neither.” His lower lip trembled slightly as he lay on his pillow and clutched his baseball mitt tightly to his chest.

  Both boys looked so dejected and heartbroken, and Maggie didn’t know quite what to say. The truth was, she had no idea when, or even if, both their parents would be back.

  “But having you and our Unka Jake around is better,” Rusty admitted after a moment as Maggie bent to tuck him in, too.

  “Yeah, it’s almost like being with our mama and daddy and having a real family,” Wyatt agreed.

  Rusty reached out and tucked his fingers in hers. “So tell us you won’t be like the others,” he pleaded in a soft lonesome voice that brought a lump to her throat. He pinned his gaze on hers hopefully as he, too, leaned forward and gave her a fierce and impromptu hug good-night. “Promise us you’ll stay with us, Maggie,” he urged emotionally. “Leastwise, ‘til our mama gets back.”

  How could she refuse such sweetly uttered requests? Especially when she knew Jake and Harry couldn’t begin to handle the boys alone. “I promise I won’t leave you guys in the lurch,” Maggie vowed, bending to kiss the top of each little boy’s head in turn. Even if it meant putting up with the ornery Jake MacIntyre a few more weeks…

  “THESE JUST ARRIVED for you, from your brother, via taxi,” Jake said, meeting Maggie in the hall outside the boys’ room.

  Maggie grinned at the way Jake was loaded down with luggage.

  “You didn’t have to carry them all at once,” she teased. He had a carry-on, flight bag and garment bag looped over his broad shoulders, plus a large Pullman suitcase in each hand. “Frankly, I don’t know how you manage to stay upright with all that weight. I can hardly lug one of them around at a time.”

  “Understandable,” he muttered, “considering they each weigh a ton. Didn’t anyone ever tell you to travel light?”

  “All the time. I never did.” She reached for one of the bags, prepared to do her share. “Let me help you.”

  Jake shook his head and backed up, refusing to let her handle even the flight bag containing her makeup, hair dryer, hot rollers and toiletries. “I can manage.” He inclined his head to the front of the ranch house. “This way. I’ll show you your room.”

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “Shouldn’t I sleep next to the boys?”

  “I’ve got the bedroom on one side of them, my sister Kelsey and her husband, should they ever show up again,” Jake told her gruffly, “have the room on the other side.”

  Maggie blinked, caught off guard by the inherent pessimism in his statement. “What do you mean, if?” she said, feeling both stunned and aghast as she stopped dead in her tracks. “I thought this was just a temporary arrangement, Jake.”

  Jake shrugged his broad shoulders aimlessly and continued swaggering down the hall. “As far as I know,” he answered casually, “it is.”

  “But—” Without warning, Maggie’s heart was pounding as she caught up with him.

  Beneath the dark mustache, Jake’s lips took on a cynical curve. “Let’s just say I don’t have my hopes pinned on a happy ending.” He paused in front of an open doorway. “Be that as it may, I figured you might be happier down at this end of the house. It’s quiet. You’ll have your own bath and phone.” He led the way into the rose-and-white bedroom, adding, “Harry’s suite of rooms is just across the hall.”

  Good, Maggie thought. A chaperon!

  Jake set her bags down with a thud. He looked her over and drawled, “You gonna meet Travis Benefield like that?”

  Because all her clothes had gotten drenched in her impromptu dive into the swimming pool and she had initially brought nothing with her save the clothes on her back and her horse Buttercup, Maggie was now dressed entirely in Jake’s clothes: a blue chambray work shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the long tails knotted at her waist, elastic-waisted dark green flannel boxer shorts from the Gap that came only to her upper thighs, and a pair of borrowed white sweat socks. She thought she looked just okay; considering the shirt was far too big across the shoulders, the boxers showed way too much leg and she had no shoes to wear at all. The look in his dark eyes said otherwise. She didn’t think he could have appeared more admiring, had she been dressed to compete in the Miss America Pageant.

  “’Cause I don’t know how it’d go over, meeting him,” Jake drawled, “if you’re dressed in my clothes.”

  Nevertheless, Maggie had been thinking about it. Not because she wanted Travis Benefield to dra
w implications about her relationship with Jake. There was, after all, nothing to speculate about. No, she’d go as is just to let Mr. Travis Benefield know she didn’t have to put on airs to meet any man, rich or not.

  Aware Jake was staring, fascinated, at the length of suntanned leg exposed beneath the hem of his boxer shorts, Maggie tugged them a little lower down her thigh. “I suppose manners dictate I make some effort, since this is a first impression,” Maggie murmured reluctantly.

  Jake looked relieved she wasn’t going to be wearing his boxer shorts, shirt and socks to meet Travis; she wondered if that was because he had figured out she hadn’t anything on beneath them, since her undies had been drenched, too.

  “I think I’d agree with you on that,” he said.

  Maggie opened one of her suitcases. She carried fistfuls of filmy lingerie to the bureau. Folding them neatly as was her custom, she put them in one item at a time. “What kind of a man is he?” she asked curiously, a little put out to be deviating from her already made, heavily researched wish list of hot prospects.

  “Rich.”

  Jake suddenly seemed to be having trouble swallowing.

  “Besides that,” Maggie urged, wondering if it was the sight of the lingerie or the fact it was her lingerie, bothering him. Either option annoyed her, as she was tired of being regarded as just a pretty face and an incredible body. “What else do you know about Travis Benefield?” she asked impatiently.

  Without warning Jake looked very irritated at her questions. “He’s very busy. He’s also always on time, so you better hurry. Meet you downstairs in five minutes?”

  Maggie nodded, knowing it wasn’t much time but she could manage. “I’ll be there.”

  A BRIMMING GLASS of ice-cold Lone Star beer in hand, Jake was deep in conversation with Travis Benefield about the easiest ways to saddle break a horse when Maggie entered the room. “Jake, you didn’t tell me you had company!” Travis said with a chuckle.

  Jake swung around to see Maggie, and felt the air go out of his lungs.

  He’d thought she was desirable as all get-out in borrowed shirt, boxers and socks. In a floaty white halter dress that stopped just above her knees, she was incredible. The soft fabric clung to her breasts and tiny waist with unerring accuracy. The backless design of the dress showed a wealth of creamy suntanned skin. High-heeled sandals made the most of her fabulously sexy legs. Just looking at her made his mouth grow dry and his lower body come alive in a way it hadn’t been since…Hell, it had never felt quite that way. Which was another reason to get on with this, he thought sourly.

  Mindful of his manners, he stepped forward to make introductions gracefully. “Travis Benefield, I’d like you to meet Maggie Porter. She’s been helping me out with my nephews today. She’s a New York fashion model.”

  “Don’t I know that,” Travis drawled, as he stood and stuck out an arthritic hand to shake Maggie’s with heartfelt if overly enthusiastic gratitude. His leathery cheeks pinkening with masculine appreciation, Travis Benefield announced proudly to one and all, “I may not live in a bunkhouse any longer, but I didn’t stop getting Sports Illustrated just ‘cause I turned seventy.”

  “THAT WAS A LOUSY thing to do.” Maggie turned on Jake the moment Travis Benefield left, two excruciatingly boring hours of small talk later. Although, she thought furiously, she should have known all along that the mischievous Jake would pull something like this on her.

  Jake feigned innocence, much as she had expected he would, as he flattened a palm across his chest. “Hey,” he defended himself, his dark eyes glittering with thinly veiled amusement. “You said you were looking for a husband. I have it on good authority that Travis is looking for a wife. Hence, I figured he’d be a really hot prospect for you.”

  Maggie sent him a withering glare.

  Jake paused. In the spark-filled silence, he narrowed his eyes at her speculatively, then asked with a naiveté she was sure was designed to grate on her nerves, “You’re telling me you didn’t like him?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Maggie swore at Jake in exasperation. “I’m thirty years old, Jake. Travis Benefield might once have been a horse wrangler but he is also old enough to be my grandfather!”

  “So…” Jake ruminated a moment as he smoothed the ends of his sable brown mustache. “Am I to deduce from this that men who are seventy and older are out, even if they are cowboys through and through and rich and eccentric to boot?”

  Maggie clamped her arms in front of her defiantly. Only the knowledge that it would give him a great deal of satisfaction to see her completely lose her temper with him, kept her from decking him. “You bet your britches they are.”

  He grinned at the fire in her eyes. He leaned closer, and with a leering grin, said, “If age was a factor, Maggie honey, you should’ve said so to begin with.”

  Maggie followed his taunting words with another glacial look and the carefully worded admonition, “I’m mentioning it now. Do not introduce me to any men who are too old to be a father.”

  “Actually,” Jake transferred his beer bottle to his other hand and stroked his ruggedly carved jaw to comic affect, “I’m pretty sure that Travis still has a few…uh…potential babies…in him, Maggie.”

  Like she didn’t know that a gun could still fire even though it was old? Maggie exhaled, shut her eyes, and very slowly opened them again. “I’m not talking about the biological factors, Jake,” she corrected sternly, refusing to so much as crack a smile. “I’m talking about the business of being a parent.”

  “Oh.” Jake nodded as if a light had just suddenly gone on in a darkened room. “So what’s the cutoff point then?” he asked helpfully, now that he was thusly illuminated.

  “I don’t know.” Maggie regarded him with mounting exasperation as she began to pace. “How old are you?” He seemed about the right age.

  “Thirty-two. But just so you know, Maggie honey, I’m not in the running for daddy anything,” he said firmly.

  One look in his dark brown eyes told her that was true. “Trust me,” she said, quelling her inner disappointment, that was as much a surprise to her as it obviously was to him. “I have already deduced as much,” she finished dryly. “And the answer is forty-five.”

  Jake blinked. “Forty-five what?”

  “My cutoff age!” Maggie replied, irritated Jake couldn’t seem to keep track of the conversation, when they were only talking about one thing. Advancing on him, she waved a lecturing finger beneath his nose. “So from this point on do not introduce me to anyone older than that,” Maggie said firmly.

  “Not even forty-five and a day?”

  She refused to play his game.

  Apparently aware her patience was at an end, Jake held up his hands in an age-old gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. Don’t get your knickers in a knot or go packing any suitcases just yet. We can work the kinks out of this arrangement.”

  “Can we?” Maggie regarded him, still unimpressed.

  “Sure we can,” he assured her smoothly, “if we discuss the…shall we say…credentials…you are looking for in a mate a little more thoroughly, before I go a’looking again.”

  “You mean my wish list?”

  “Whatever you want to call it.” Jake reached for a pen and paper.

  While he sat at the writing desk, she circled closer. “First, any beau you set me up with has to be smart ”

  Jake made a disapproving face. “There’s such a thing as being too smart, you know,” he admonished.

  “Not in my book.” Maggie watched as Jake scribbled obediently. “And he has to be kind,” she continued.

  “A wimp then,” Jake paraphrased as he scrawled “kind of wimpy?” on his copy of her alleged list.

  “No, not a wimp.” Maggie snatched the pen from his hand, crossed out wimpy, and wrote precisely what she’d wanted there in the first place. “Just kind.” Maggie jotted down the word kind. “And nice.” Maggie jotted down the word nice.

  Jake squinted at her thoughtfully
and screwed up his lips in comical fashion as she handed the pen to him.

  “Sounds like you’ve just described a sissy.”

  “I have not!” Maggie countered, aware her blood pressure was beginning to rise once again.

  “I disagree. If a guy is too nice, he tends to get run over in business and every other aspect of life. To be perfectly blunt, I don’t really know any nice, kind millionaires, Maggie. None that are self-made, anyway.”

  Maggie could tell he was trying to stall her until she quit; nevertheless she remained undaunted. “I am sure there are some,” she insisted, folding her arms in front of her, as the air conditioner clicked on and cool air poured out of vents overhead.

  “Not who’ve made money the hard way,” Jake disagreed, his eyes drifting to the way her folded arms pulled the chiffon fabric tightly across her breasts, defining the sensual curves and gathered nipples.

  “Then look for someone who inherited,” Maggie advised, exasperated, dropping her arms, but able to do nothing about the chill in the room or the effect the suddenly cool air had on her thinly clad breasts.

  “Even less of a chance of an old money fella being nice,” Jake said. His eyes fixed on her face, he continued, “’Cause all they’re trying to do is hang on to their money. Why? ‘Cause they don’t know how to survive without it, and are afraid to try. So, nope, you’re not going to have much luck there, either.”

  She glowered at him. “Are you trying to be helpful?” She stalked back and forth. “Because I swear, Jake ‘honey,’” she said hotly, “it doesn’t sound as if you are.”

  Jake let his glance drift down her legs, before slowly, slowly returning to her face. “If I was trying to be helpful, Maggie, honey, I would advise you to forget the marriage and just have a hot passionate affair. Less risk, less trouble, tons more pleasure.”