by Heidi Rice
No way was she going to let Logan Tate duck out of getting his picture taken on a technicality.
Clara laughed. “Honey, when you get to my age you gotta take your fun where you can find it.”
Charlie’s reply was drowned out by the round of applause from the whole shop as Lyle appeared, busy buttoning up his shirt.
He whipped the cowboy hat off his head and gave a theatrical bow—clearly extreme pain was no reason not to milk all this female attention.
“Why thank you kindly, ladies,” he said, with a rakish grin as he slapped his hat back onto his head. “I don’t know how y’all stand that on a regular basis.” He stuffed his shirt tails back into his jeans, playing to the crowd. “It hurts like hell.”
“That’s nothing. You want to try twenty-two hours of labor, big boy,” shouted one heavily pregnant woman seated under a hair dryer.
“Good thing you’re way tougher than I am, Mary-Sue, or the human race would stop with me.” Lyle shuddered as everyone laughed.
A smile spread across Charlie’s face as he approached her. Lyle Tate was hot, handsome, and an accomplished flirt—while also being unfailingly positive and optimistic and more than happy to take the piss out of himself—even when subjected to twenty minutes of death by hot wax. She wondered, not for the first time, how he had ended up being Logan Tate’s little brother. Because although the men shared the same stunning bone structure and pure Montana blue eyes, they could not have been more different—temperamentally speaking.
Then she thought of Emily, her twin, and realized, perhaps it wasn’t that hard to figure out after all.
“Hey, sugar. You come here to inspect the finished product?” Lyle asked, a teasing twinkle in his bold blue eyes as he opened his shirt to reveal the smooth contours of his chest—now devoid of hair. “Wanna have a stroke to check for quality control?”
Charlie laughed at the cheeky dare as Clara piped up from beside her. “Put it away. You’re a menace, Lyle Tate. I swear, any opportunity to show off your assets and you can’t resist.”
“Why, Miss Clara, no need to get jealous—you can have a stroke of my assets too if you want?” he teased, making the older woman giggle like a girl as she shooed him off.
“Actually, I need to talk to you about Logan?” Charlie said, when they both finally stopped laughing.
“Oh heck,” Lyle replied as he opened the shop door for her. “Now you really have ruined my afternoon. Is Logan still being a douche about the calendar?”
They both bade Clara goodbye and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Night had fallen over Main Street, the twinkle of stars giving the western-style buildings added old-world charm.
“You tell me,” she said. “He hasn’t answered a single one of my attempts to contact him.”
“Sounds like he’s sulking,” Lyle said.
“Do you think you could have a word with him, ask him to contact me?”
“Sure, but why don’t…” Lyle smiled and stopped talking. “Hey, Kyle, you up next?”
“Uh-huh.”
Charlie turned to see Kyle Cavasos, aka Fireman Hottie, strolling toward them.
“How’s it going?” Lyle nodded at the man.
“How do you think?” Kyle shot back. “I’m just about to get all my chest hair ripped out by a sixty-something sadist and her minions.” He sent Charlie a pained nod. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Hi, Kyle, thanks for coming. Clara’s expecting you,” she said.
“I’ll bet,” he replied.
Despite abstaining during the calendar vote, Kyle Cavasos had surprised her, being one of the first to agree to be waxed, even if he had made her promise that no pictures of him would appear on any of the social media platforms she’d set up to create some pre-sales buzz. He’d also asked her if he could wear his helmet during his shoot—which she suspected might be to hide his face.
For such a good-looking guy, he seemed extremely shy about publicity of any kind. But she’d forced herself not to probe. He was willing to do the calendar with a minimum of fuss—that was more than could be said for certain other participants.
Kyle glanced through the glass storefront, and winced as Clara beckoned him inside, channeling one of Harry Potter’s Death Eaters.
“Don’t sweat it,” Lyle said, but couldn’t hide the smug grin. “It ain’t that bad.”
Kyle didn’t look convinced. “How bad is ain’t that bad, on a scale of one to ten?”
“One to ten?” Lyle stroked his chin as if giving it careful thought. “Seven, max.”
Kyle’s hunched shoulders relaxed a bit. “Thank the Lord. I do not want to break down and start crying like a girl with that audience, or I’ll never live it down.”
“Don’t sweat it, buddy,” Lyle said. “A few manly cusswords is all you’ll need.”
But as Kyle headed into Clara’s lair, Lyle grasped Charlie’s arm and tugged her down the wooden sidewalk. “Move it, Charlie. Let’s get the hell out of here before he discovers the pain goes all the way to eleven.”
Charlie laughed as he dragged her into Java Café.
Even though he didn’t have the same incendiary effect on her as his big brother, Lyle Tate was impossible to dislike.
Not only was he extremely easy on the eye, but he could take the piss out of himself as well.
He might just be her perfect guy.
*
“So how’s everything going? Apart from my brother being a dick,” Lyle asked as they settled at a corner table in Java Café.
“Good.” Charlie took a sip of the latte she’d ordered and hummed her approval. “That’s good, too.” Who’d have thought you’d get a coffee in a small Montana town that could compete with the best they could offer in St Mark’s Square or Paris’s Left Bank? “I’ve scheduled nearly all the shoots over the next couple of weeks. Everyone in town’s being super co-operative. I thought I might have trouble with the proprietor of Big Sky Photography, worried I’d be stepping on her toes, but McKenna’s been terrific. All I need now is for the weather to stay above freezing and for your brother to get in touch.”
“Everyone loved Harry,” Lyle said simply.
Charlie nodded, toying with the slice of carrot cake Lyle had insisted on buying her—because it was the best in the West, apparently. “I’ve heard some great stories about him.” She’d been waylaid everywhere from The Main Street Diner to the library by people wanting to tell her how excited they were about the calendar, and that had usually led to a reminiscence of Harry Monroe. She now had a picture of the man that had made her even more committed to doing a terrific job.
“Harry was one of a kind,” Lyle said, surprisingly somber for once.
“How did you know him?”
Lyle looked up from his slice of cake. “We went to high school together and we worked together at the Marietta Fire Department,” he said, but didn’t elaborate, his usually bright eyes shadowed—and it occurred to her that behind the happy-go-lucky charmer was a man who was still grieving, like the rest of the town.
“So apart from giving my brother a kick up the butt,” he said, deftly changing the subject, “is there anything else you need help with?”
“No, you’ve been terrific. Except…” She paused. “I could do with finding a new place to live.”
“Bramble House not working out?” he said, clearly surprised.
“Oh no, it’s gorgeous and Eliza’s been terrific.” The Bed and Breakfast that backed onto the Marietta River told a story all its own—of graciousness and romance with a backbone of good ole American hospitality. Charlie had already taken a ton of shots of the redbrick mansion with its wide porch and white trim and its pretty and efficient manager Eliza Bramble. “But I need to find my own space. I’m going to be here for at least a month to get this project done and I’d like to set up my own darkroom for starters.”
“I thought photography was all on computers now?” Lyle said.
“A lot of it is, and I always use digital technology for work. T
hat’s what I’ll be using for the calendar shots. But I like working with thirty-five millimeter in my spare time.” Maybe it was quirky and nostalgic, but she loved the honesty and integrity of film, seeing the images come to life in the shadowy light of a darkroom still gave her a thrill. And she’d already decided she would need to take some old-school black-and-white shots of Logan Tate to get over her obsession with that face—and the secrets that lay behind it.
“I don’t suppose you know anyone with a couple of spare rooms to rent, short term?” She swallowed a bite of her carrot cake—and had to agree it was luxurious. “I’ve already checked out the ads in the Copper Mountain Courier and there was nothing closer than Bozeman. I don’t want to have to get a car if I can avoid it.” Because she’d always found that once you got behind the wheel of a vehicle, it stopped you looking at the world around you.
“How about you come stay out at the ranch?” Lyle said with barely a pause.
“What ranch?”
“The Double T. Our ranch. Mine and Logan’s. We’ve got tons of space.”
She almost choked on her cream cheese frosting. “You’re not serious? Move in with you guys?” That the prospect of sharing a ranch with Logan brought with it a definite hum of excitement did not make the suggestion any less insane.
“Sure.”
“But I don’t have a car. How would I get into town?”
“Logan works most days at the Sheriff’s Office; you could hitch a lift with him. And I spend a lot of time in town too. I do shifts at the Fire Station here when I’m not working as a smoke jumper. And, I’m not gonna lie to you, the social life on the ranch sucks. Plus we’ve got a couple of hands who live in the bunkhouse—Tad and Ryan. Between the four of us it won’t be a problem.” He grinned, his trademark come-on-sugar grin.
Four guys? Did she really want to be sharing a ranch with four Montana guys? Especially as one of them gave her goose bumps while also pissing her off.
“And just think,” Lyle continued, the challenging grin turning wicked, “no way will Logan be able to duck your calls if he’s sharing a bathroom with you.”
The mention of Logan Tate and a bathroom had visions of his big body naked and steamy and covered in soapsuds swirling into her head and kicking off a whole new melting sensation.
Whoa, girl. You are not interested in Logan Tate in anything other than a professional capacity.
She needed to control her party-hearty hormones before they partied her into a decision that could cause more problems than it solved. A lot more problems.
She had decided to keep her attraction to Logan on the down-low for one very good reason. The man was a hard-ass. And she didn’t do hard-asses.
“Won’t Logan be pissed off if you invite someone to stay without his say-so?” she said, struggling for rational, coherent thought, despite her OTT reaction to the thought of Logan Tate naked.
“Probably. But Logan’s always pissed about something. I can handle Logan.” His eyebrow popped up. “And I’ve got a feeling you might be pretty good at handling him, too.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Had she given herself away somehow, to his little brother? The thought might have been mortifying—but it was hard to get embarrassed when there were so many go-for-it-girl vibes pinging off Lyle.
“Sugar, there were enough pheromones coming off the both of you on Monday night to turn Grey’s into the Playboy Mansion.”
She frowned. Terrific. Not only did Lyle know she had a thing for Logan, he seemed to be encouraging it as well.
“That obvious, huh?” she said, because she had never been coy.
“That obvious,” he concurred, watching her over the lip of his coffee mug and still grinning.
The fact she and Lyle had no chemistry and he was acknowledging it ought to have simplified things. But it only made her inexplicable urge to jump Logan even weirder.
Because Lyle Tate—reckless, impulsive, way too sexy for his own good and with a streak of bad boy charm that pulled women in like a magnet—was exactly the sort of guy Charlie usually hooked up with. In other words, the polar opposite of his bossy, broody, uptight older brother—at least on the surface. She still wasn’t convinced Lyle didn’t have a few hidden depths, too.
But she wasn’t interested in finding out what Lyle’s hidden depths were.
For that reason, hooking up with Lyle would have been so easy. Logan, on the other hand, not so much. Because she did care about his hidden depths. Which was so not like her. Dating had always been a recreational sport for her. Fast, furious, and purely physical. But she was curious about Logan, far too curious for her own good.
“So let me get this straight,” Charlie said. “You’re offering me a place to stay, precisely because you know it will piss off your brother?”
Lyle’s grin became decidedly smug. “Logan’s been on my back for as long as I can remember. What he needs is a distraction. And, honey, you distract the hell out of him—which, I’m guessing, is why he hasn’t answered any of your texts.”
So Logan had been avoiding her for personal as well as professional reasons? The thought left her feeling hot, bothered, and belligerent. Not a safe combination at the best of times.
“You guys have got a powerful chemistry,” Lyle continued. “But Logan is above all a gentleman. He won’t push, unless you push first. So if you want to hang at the ranch without jumping him, there’s no pressure.” He laid his right palm on the left pocket of his shirt, raised the other hand. “I swear on my sweet mamma’s grave.”
He dropped his hands to fork up another generous helping of moist carrot sponge and cream cheese frosting. “And like I say, there’s lots of spare rooms, and regular rides into town, so it hits all your happy buttons, accommodation wise.” He swallowed down the cake. “Plus the sunset over Copper Ridge from the Ponderosa forest in the foothills on our land is a thing of beauty. I’m thinking you might want to take a picture or two of that for your book.”
Her heartbeat slowed then shot into overdrive, because she knew he’d hooked her like a prize trout. She might, just about, have been able to resist the chance to drive Logan Tate wild—and catch him wet and soapy in the shower—but passing up a chance to take some amazing shots? Not gonna happen.
“No wonder Logan’s always on your back,” she said, not prepared to admit defeat gracefully. “You’re a dangerous man, Lyle Tate.” Not just smart and sexy, but astute and surprisingly observant too—because he’d just made her an offer she was never going to be able to refuse. Even if she’d wanted to—and she wasn’t even sure about that anymore.
He licked the frosting off the corner of his mouth and sent her a grin that said he knew he had her. “And you’re a dangerous woman, Charlotte Foster—which is exactly why I like you.”
And precisely why his big brother was going to hate having her in his home.
“Have we got a deal?” he said.
“You know we have, you bastard,” she said.
He laughed. “I can’t wait to see my big brother’s face when you turn up.”
“Neither can I,” Charlie replied—as the melting sensation went molten.
Chapter Four
It didn’t take Charlie long to find out Logan’s reaction, because it transpired that when Lyle Tate had a prime opportunity to annoy his brother, he did not mess about.
Less than two hours after their dangerous deal had been struck in Java Café, Charlie was sitting in the passenger seat of Lyle’s battered old Chevy pickup truck, with her pack on the seat between them, approaching a beautiful Victorian-era ranch house with white wood siding nestled between a cluster of evergreens on the banks of the Marietta River.
“Welcome to the Double T.” Lyle sent her an easy smile as he pulled up next to another dust-covered pickup. “And lookee here,” he added as he turned off the ignition, “Logan’s home.” The grin widened. “You’ll be able to get settled in and nail down his waxing schedule at the same time.”
Charlie gave a s
trained laugh as Lyle grabbed her pack. She slung her camera bag over her shoulder and climbed down from the cab.
Something jitterbugged in her stomach. Something that felt a lot like nerves. Except she never got nervous around guys. Not since she was fifteen and had lost her virginity to Colin Spencer after lights out in one of the many boarding schools she’d breezed through as a teenager.
Get a frigging grip. It’s just Deputy Hard-Ass. You don’t even like him. And you have a perfectly legitimate reason for intruding on his private space.
She mounted the steps to the porch while ignoring the Mexican Jumping Bean Convention kicking off in her tummy. The peeling paint on the house’s siding and the dusty old swing hooked to the porch rafters—which looked as if no one had used it since the turn of the last millennium—gave the lovely house a lived-in but also slightly neglected look.
Lyle gave her a quick tour of the living room—there was no dust here she noted, two comfortable well-worn sofas faced a majestic fireplace with a potbelly stove. A flat-screen TV sat on the shelving next to books on ranching, a few western novels, and an impressive collection of out-of-date hunting magazines. She began to get the feeling that the house might once have been a home, but was now more of a home base for the bachelor ranchers.
Then she spotted a single framed family photo on the mantelpiece. The picture had been taken on the then freshly painted porch, the fall foliage of the trees in the background adding vibrant autumnal color. A tall and skinny young Logan, and baby-faced Lyle barely out of toddlerhood posed on either side of a heavily pregnant woman. She had the same stunning bone structure as both of her sons but Lyle’s dancing blue eyes and dark blond hair.
Charlie felt a pang in her chest at the way their mother gripped both boys’ shoulders while grinning at the camera. A boyish Logan beamed back at her as if she were the center of the known universe. So Deputy Tate hadn’t always been a hard-ass. Where had all that childish joy gone to?
