How the Cowboy Was Won

by Lori Wilde

  No.

  Ranger’s career was his reason for living. He wasn’t like most men, given to whims of passion and the tumult of romantic relationships. He was controlled, observant, objective—practically tantric in his ability to clear his mind and steer his focus.

  Idly, she wondered if he brought that same single-mindedness to sex. If so, Fiona was in for some serious fireworks.

  A ping of jealousy hit the center of her chest like a sharp stone thrown from a long distance. Not because she was jealous of Fiona, but rather because she had never had incredible sex. At least not with a partner.

  It was another reason that going through life solo seemed to be her fate. Nothing wrong with that. She’d tried marriage. It simply wasn’t for her. She’d had to mold herself too much to fit. Had lost her individuality and independence, and it had taken her well over a year to get it back.

  Besides, she was almost thirty-three. If there was such a thing as a soul mate, shouldn’t she have unearthed him by now?

  They broke filming for lunch and Ember sidled up to Palmer. “Good camera work.”

  Palmer flushed with pride and readjusted his collar. “Thanks.”

  “Could you spare a few moments to go over the filming schedule with my assistant, Chriss Anne, before we start again? I’ve changed some of the camera angles for the upcoming scene.”

  “Sure,” Palmer said, staring across the cantina tent that had been set up by the caterers.

  Ember followed his gaze to see what had captured his attention. Fiona stood talking to Ranger. He must have said something funny, that dry wit of his that not everyone got, and Fiona was laughing.

  Good sign. Even though those two might not be dynamic on camera, they seemed to be cooking with gas on a personal level. She’d find a way to draw that out of them for the performance.

  Ranger leaned in close and whispered something to Fiona, who laughed again.

  That odd sting-ping nailed Ember’s heart once more.

  Palmer’s eyes darkened. “Are Fiona and Ranger seeing each other?”

  No, no, not Fiona. Palmer was supposed to be interested in Chriss Anne. “Yes, sorry.” Ember shook her head, put a too-bad-for-you lilt to her voice. “They’re going out. Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” Palmer raised an eyebrow.

  “They’re new as a couple.”

  “So there’s a chance for me?” Hope sprang onto his face, like a kid jumping off a diving board on Memorial Day.

  “I doubt it. Fiona’s a one-man woman, and you’ve got something of a reputation, Palmer.”

  “The rumors are overblown.” His gaze tracked Fiona as she left Ranger and headed for the buffet line. “I like to have fun, sure, but lately . . .”

  “What?” Ember prompted.

  “Um, could you excuse me?”

  “Chriss Anne,” she reminded him. “Get with her.”

  Palmer blinked, fish-eyed. “Get with her?”

  “About the script,” Ember amended, realizing she’d been a bit too forward. “She’s a real sweetheart. You’ll like her.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Palmer threw the words over his shoulder and beelined it over to Fiona as she turned from filling her plate at the cafeteria line and stood searching for a place to sit.

  Palmer practically fell over himself pulling out a camp chair at the nearest table and dealing out that megawatt smile of his. Fiona smiled shyly back at him, ducked her head and sat down. Palmer dropped in the chair next to her.

  Ember chuffed, irritated that her advice had been ignored, and located Chriss Anne, who had cornered Ranger by the drink station. Crap, why couldn’t anyone do what they were supposed to be doing?

  She hustled over and pulled Chriss Anne aside. “Sit next to Palmer and go over the flirting schedule.”

  Chriss Anne startled. “What?”

  “The filming schedule. Go over it. With Palmer.”

  “You said flirting schedule.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You did,” Ranger said, looking amused.

  “Why would I say flirting schedule?” Ember sank her hands on her hips.

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.” Ranger took a sip of water, eyed her over the rim of his cup.

  Ember turned her back to him, addressed Chriss Anne again. “Palmer, go to him.”

  “But he’s with—”

  “Go.” Ember gave the girl a gentle shove.

  “Playing matchmaker again, huh?” Ranger drawled. “Palmer and Chriss Anne, really?”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “She’s small town, and he’s headed for the big city—”

  “How many couples have you successfully matched?” She arched an eyebrow and sent him a parboiled look.

  “None.”

  “I rest my case.”

  “Because I don’t consider other people’s love lives any of my business.”

  “Because you’re not a matchmaker.”

  “Neither are you.”

  “Maybe not professionally, but I’ve successfully matched four sets of happy couples in the last two years.”

  “Some people might find it ironic that the matchmaker can’t find a match of her own.”

  “Low blow, Lockhart.”

  “Irony. I’m a big fan.”

  Ember flicked a hand. “Then go over to Fiona and figure out why you two are so flat on camera together.”

  “Oh, I can tell you that.”

  “What is it then?”

  He tilted his head to where Fiona and Palmer were eyeing each other. “She’s got a thing for Palmer.”

  “No, she doesn’t. She has a thing for you.”

  Amusement lit up his eyes. Ranger crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” She scowled. When he backed off an argument, it meant he was stepping back to watch her stumble into a mess of her own making.

  He raised his hands, palms up. “I’m staying out of this. You’re the matchmaker. Have fun keeping Fiona and Palmer apart.”

  She raised her chin. “Go sit with Fiona.”

  “It’s good to see you back in rare form, Sparky. I was afraid Trey had stomped the spice out of you.” His face was animated and he stepped closer.

  “Fiona.” She pointed and snapped her fingers.

  “Only if you come sit beside me.”

  “I’m the director. I have to keep myself apart from the actors and crew.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It’s lonely at the top.”

  “Top of the bullshit heap?”

  “Are you going to do this or not?” Ember sank her hands on her hips.

  “Or not.” He turned and walked away.

  Ember hurried to catch up with him. Talk about self-sabotage. Didn’t he want that job at the observatory? “Why not?”

  “Because Fiona and I have a date tonight.”

  “Well, all right.” Ember bobbed her head, but her chest was strung so tight she was having trouble breathing. “Why didn’t you say so. That’s good. Good for you.”

  “Ahh . . .” He started and then just let the sound hang there in the tent, unattached to anything.

  “Ahh what?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  “Wondering?”

  “Is it good for you?”

  “Is what good for me?” Okay, she was starting to sound waspish. She heard it in her voice, softened her tone and her stance.

  He smiled, the enigmatic Dr. Sphinx, PhD.

  “Stop doing that,” she said.

  “Doing what?”

  God, the man could drive her up the wall. “Acting like you know every thought that goes through my head.”

  “I never said a word.”

  “You didn’t have to. You had that look on your face.”

  “What look is that?”

  “Smug. Superior. The way Ricky Ricardo looked at Lucy when she did something he thought was goofy.”

  “Well, you are a redhead, and you do c
ome up with some daffy-assed schemes.” His smile widened and his eyes were full of tenderness, letting Ember know he approved of both traits.

  “You forget,” she said, grinning right back.

  “Forget what?”

  “By hook or by crook, one way or the other, no matter how goofy, Lucy always won,” Ember said.

  “But then she would jump into another scheme that Ricky would have to fish her out of, and start the whole cycle all over again.”

  “If Ricky hadn’t always been trying to make her toe his chauvinist line, Lucy wouldn’t have had to plot and scheme.”

  “Ricky was a product of his time.”

  “And so are we.”

  “Meaning?”

  Before Ember could figure out what the hell she was talking about, the makeshift tent door flopped open and a long-legged, platinum-blonde goddess strolled in.

  The gazelle goddess paused, sunlight streaming in from behind her, lighting her up like rare treasure. Her golden tresses flowed down her slender shoulders, a waterfall of gorgeous hair. She glanced right, then left, finally spied Ranger and broke into a beatific smile.

  Damn if Ranger didn’t smile twice as big, his entire face basking in the heat of her ethereal glow.

  “Dawn!” he exclaimed.

  “Ranger!” the goddess said with a New Zealand accent, flew across the room, flung herself into his arms, and hugged him as if they were fated.

  And Ranger, majestic in his Edward Beale historically accurate costume, hugged her right back.

  Chapter 11

  “Badly done, Emma, badly done.”

  —Jane Austen, Emma

  “One big question for you, Ranger.” The goddess pronounced his name Ranja.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Why are you dressed like a wanker?”

  Ranger’s face flushed, and he plucked at the collar of his period piece uniform. “I got wrangled into the lead role for a Chamber of Commerce film.”

  “You?” The goddess hooted as if it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “An actor?”

  “Ridiculous, isn’t it.” Ranger’s grin was lopsided and adorable, like a puppy tripping over his own too-long ears.

  Ember cleared her throat, making a solid aren’t-you-going-to-introduce-me-to-the-mystery-woman-in-your-arms noise.

  Ranger jerked his head around, slung his arm over Dawn’s shoulder, and scooted her closer to Ember. “Hey, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

  For a second there, Ember didn’t know if he was talking to her or Dawn, but then he followed up with, “Dawn, this is my best friend in the whole world, Ember Alzate.”

  Dawn, the sunbeam of a woman, pumped her hand as if Ember were a slot machine and would spit out money if she just kept priming her. “It’s so good to finally meet you.” Dawn glanced back to Ranger. “She’s as sweet as . . .”

  Ember waited for her to finish the simile, but Dawn did not. Sweet as what? Sugar? Vinegar? Turpentine?

  Ranger’s eyes were trained on Dawn, and Ember’s stomach was in her throat. Fiona and Chriss Anne looked as surprised as she felt, while the tongue of every male in the place was practically hanging out over Dawn.

  The old Four Seasons’s song “Dawn” rolled through her head. Dawn, please go away.

  But old Dawn was as sweet as honey. Yes, Ember was going to finish the simile rather lamely. Her smile was genuine, her enthusiasm contagious, and the woman was a walking centerfold. Ember wanted to hate her, oh yes she did, but she just couldn’t.

  “Ember, this is Dawn Reid, my research partner from New Zealand.”

  “Oh.” Ember stared, shocked but trying not to show it. “I thought your research partner was named Don.”

  “No, it’s Dawn. Like the morn.” Dawn giggled as if the mistake in gender was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard. “You thought I was a dude.”

  Ember cast her mind back to all the phone conversations she’d had with Ranger over the past year since he’d been gone. When he spoke of her or texted her about his research partner he’d called her Dr. Reid or just plain Reid. She couldn’t ever recall him using a pronoun in reference to Dawn. Using instead, “we” or “us” or “our.” Had that been intentional?

  A drop box of disappointment opened up inside Ember. Had Ranger been keeping secrets from her? Did his relationship with Dawn extend far beyond research partners?

  It certainly seemed that way.

  Dawn and Ranger were grinning at each other like . . . well . . . like she and Ranger usually grinned at each other. As if they were in on a cosmic joke the rest of the world knew nothing about.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but—” Ranger began.

  “Why am I here early?” Dawn asked, finishing his sentence.

  “Exactly. I thought you weren’t coming until September.”

  “Change of plans. You’re not happy to see me?” Dawn tickled him in the ribs the same way Ember did when they were horsing around.

  “Thrilled.” Ranger beamed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “We’re all surprised.” To say the least. Ember sandwiched herself firmly between Dawn and Ranger. “Why are you here?”

  Dawn blinked those soft doe eyes at Ranger, looked all innocent and sweet, but she didn’t fool Ember, not for a second. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “Tell me what?” A lump of fear skidded into Ember’s throat. Were Dawn and Ranger dating? Engaged? Secretly married? Her stomach slumped to her shoes. She felt like a passenger jumping onto the caboose as the train was pulling back into the station. She hated being the last to know something.

  “I got a fellowship at the observatory. I’ll be living in Fort Davis for the next year,” Dawn said to Ember. Several men ringed around them mumbled happy noises at that news. To Ranger she said, “Why didn’t you tell your friend about me?”

  Ranger splayed a hand on his nape. “Um . . . it sort of slipped my mind.”

  Dawn, with her damned musical laugh, punched him lightly on his shoulder. “Trust you to forget me, my absentminded professor.”

  Ember gritted her teeth.

  “We should have you meet everybody.” Ranger slipped his arm around Dawn’s waist. “I’ll introduce you around.”

  Chriss Anne eyed Ranger and Dawn’s cozy stance, and jammed her hands in her skirt pockets.

  Fiona watched the pair and chewed her bottom lip. Ember caught Fiona’s eyes and touched her own lip, mouthed, nervous habit.

  Picking up on her cues, Fiona stopped gnawing.

  Clearly, Ember wasn’t the only one distressed by Dawn’s unexpected appearance.

  Ranger guided Dawn over to where Zeke and Palmer were standing slack-jawed. A whole queue of men lined up behind them, eager to shake Dawn’s hand.

  Ember leaned in toward Fiona, whispered, “You okay?”

  “Are you?” Fiona whispered back.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because Ranger has a ‘down under’ Ember.”

  “Why should I care?” Ember shrugged like it was no skin off her nose, but she cared. Oh boy, did she care.

  “Umm . . . maybe because you’re wrong about Ranger being the man for me.” Fiona traced a finger over her chin and slid a glance over at Palmer.

  “Trust me,” Ember said, more because she wanted to break up this thing between Ranger and Dawn than because she thought Fiona and Ranger were a perfect match. “Dawn is not a threat.”

  Bad matchmaker. Bad, bad.

  Who was she trying to convince? Fiona? Or herself?

  Honestly, she was flabbergasted to discover that Dr. Don Reid was Dr. Dawn Reid, and she still couldn’t figure out if Ranger had allowed her to assume Dawn’s gender was male.

  Ranger and Dawn were gabbing like it was old home week, talking about their adventures in New Zealand over the past year. A year that Ember knew little about.

  She had to do something to break up this chummy tête-à-tête,
or her plans to hook him up with Fiona were kaput. Fiona was already staring at Palmer with knight-in-shining-armor eyes.

  Dammit. When had things started unraveling?

  “We should go out for a beer later,” Ranger told Dawn. “Celebrate your arrival in Cupid.”

  Jealousy was a jumping jack, bouncing around inside Ember. Oh no, no, no. Ember could not let those two get alone for beers and giggles.

  Ember grasped Fiona by the arm and thrust the poor girl in front of Ranger. “Aren’t you forgetting your date with Fiona?”

  Ranger smiled at Fiona, a kind, gentle smile that did not say I find you hot and sexy. “You wouldn’t mind if everyone joined us on our night out.”

  He said it as a statement, not a question, and dear, sweet, mousy Fiona simply nodded, the lovely Mary Beale bun pinned to the top of her head bobbing along with the rhythm.

  “Whoever wants to join us,” Ranger announced to the populated tent at large. “We’re headed over to Chantilly’s after we finish filming today. See you there.”

  Then he looked straight at Ember and winked as if to say, checkmate.

  “So Dawn, huh?” Ember pinned Ranger down just like he hoped she would after everyone had dispersed to various places before filming resumed at one o’clock, leaving just the two of them, and the caterers cleaning up, in the cantina tent.

  “Uh-huh,” he said smoothly, loving how flustered she looked.

  When Dawn had called him three days ago to tell him she was on her way to Texas earlier than expected, he’d enlisted her help to make Ember jealous. He kept his fingers crossed, praying his plan would work.

  After that day they went land sailing, Ranger knew something monumental had shifted between him and Ember, but he also knew the woman was as stubborn as the day was long, and it would take something big for her to admit her changing feelings for him. When she got an idea in her head and set out on a course to achieve her objective, it was almost impossible to derail her.

  But derail her he must, if he hoped for them to have a happy ending. A lot was riding on this scheme. The very fabric of their relationship. He could only pray she would forgive him once she found out what he was up to.

  From the irritated expression on his best friend’s face, his ploy to make her jealous was working far better than he imagined. Good start.