A Cowboy's Temptation

by Barbara Dunlop

  “There’s nothing to get off my chest. It was all a long time ago. And it wasn’t all that terrible. It wasn’t traumatic. It was more, well, tedious than anything else.”

  “Did you like the military?”

  “I did.” She took a sip of the tart martini.

  “But you took a discharge.”

  “I decided I could do more from the outside.”

  “More to help your country?”

  “And those in it.”

  There was a glint in his eye. “By teaching women to basket weave?”

  She raised her glass in a mock toast. “Never underestimate the power of basket weaving. Sierra Hotel is about women doing what works for women on their very own terms.”

  Seth raised his own glass. “That sounds very noble.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her. If he was, she refused to care. She was proud of her accomplishments, and completely convinced of her need to protect what she’d built.

  “It is noble,” she returned in an even tone, clinking her glass to his.

  “I think I’m starting to like you, Darby.”

  “That’s not a good idea, Seth.”

  But their gazes had become locked together, and neither seemed inclined to look away.

  “We have to go back tonight,” he said softly.

  “I know we do.” There was no way she could stay in Denver and explore her simmering feelings of desire. She didn’t dare even acknowledge them, never mind encourage them.

  “I want to stay,” he told her.

  She slowly shook her head. “You can’t want that.” Neither of them could want anything of the sort.

  There was a long pause between them.

  “What do you want?” he finally asked.

  She determinedly stayed strong, refusing to let things soften between them. “What I’ve wanted all along. To win.”

  * * *

  Travis’s fistfight seemed to launch a wave of civil disobedience in Lyndon. The city’s pro-railway signs were vandalized. Then, in apparent retaliation, someone spray-painted black lines on the banner that Darby and Marta had stretched from lightpost to lightpost across Main Street.

  A few days later, there was a march through the town square in support of the railway. It was followed by a bigger march in opposition. Blogs sprung up, the debate raging on either side. The rhetoric got nasty, insults flying.

  The referendum campaign was well under way when the local newspaper published an editorial defending the railway and urging voters to support it in the referendum. That night, a trash-can fire was lit on their porch. Luckily, the fire department arrived before it could do any real damage.

  Then, Saturday night, in a local bar, the two factions squared off in a brawl that spilled out into the streets and sent six people to the hospital with cuts and bruises.

  Frustrated, and growing genuinely concerned for public safety, Seth got up early Sunday and drove his way up to Sierra Hotel.

  He’d kept his distance from Darby since Denver—because the more he was around her, the less he wanted to fight with her. The better he liked her, the more he wanted to understand her perspective. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up in a conflict of interest—the town’s best interest versus his desire for Darby. Plus, if the public even suspected he had feelings for her, an already ugly situation could quickly spiral out of control.

  He pulled into the parking lot of Sierra Hotel. There was a whole lot more activity around the property than the last time he’d been here. Six women were doing some kind of choreographed exercise in a meadow overlooking the lake. He was guessing it was Tai Chi. Another group of women was having breakfast on the deck at the side of the building, sitting in padded lounge furniture, engaging in what was obviously a spirited conversation.

  Darby was on the deck. He stopped the truck, and she came to her feet, moving to the rail to watch the vehicle. When he exited the cab, and she recognized him, her brow furrowed. She quickly made her way to the staircase, trotting down to meet him.

  When they drew close to each other on the driveway, she scanned his expression. “Something wrong?”

  She was dressed in her typical worn khakis and a pair of practical, black sneakers. On top, she wore a blotchy, black-and-white tank. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid, with a pair of aviator sunglasses perched on her nose.

  She pulled the glasses up, sticking them into her hair as she gazed up at him. She looked breezy, unconcerned and ridiculously sexy. Her tank top fit snugly across her chest. She had amazing breasts, plump, round, perfectly shaped for the palm of his hand.

  “Did you hear about the fight last night?” he asked without preamble.

  “Travis again?” she asked.

  “No, not Travis. Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

  She frowned. “Is the fight a secret?”

  “It’s a complication. There were a lot of people involved, but there’s something I need to ask you.” He glanced at her front door. “Inside, maybe?”

  “We can’t talk out here?”

  He was trying to be circumspect, in light of her guests. He didn’t want to disrupt their vacations. Then again, what had happened last night was no secret.

  “There was a brawl at the Hound and Hen. Six people wound up in the hospital.”

  Her brow creased. “Please tell me it wasn’t about the railway.”

  “It was about the railway,” he confirmed. “You must have heard about the vandalism and the fire.”

  She nodded, looking more worried by the moment.

  “I think we can agree this is getting out of hand.”

  “Sad that it took this for us to agree.” But even as she gave him that unguarded opinion, she was moving toward the front door.

  “We agreed on motherhood and apple pie,” he reminded her.

  “Everyone agrees on motherhood and apple pie. Are they going to be okay?”

  He fell into step. “Eventually. It’s mostly cuts and bruises.”

  “What sparked it? Who started it?”

  “You’ve amassed a loyal following,” he observed.

  “And you haven’t? It’s encouraging that so many people are choosing tranquility over industrial development.”

  “I didn’t have to amass them. The majority was on board with the railway all along. That’s why they voted for me.”

  She stopped halfway up the short staircase, turning to meet him at eye level. “Are you blaming me for a barroom brawl?”

  “I’m not sure whether to blame you or admire you,” he answered honestly. “You’ve turned this into one hell of a horse race.”

  She took the last couple of steps backward, as if she wanted to keep an eye on him. She reached behind her to turn the doorknob, pushing the door wide open. “I never intended for anyone to get hurt.”

  “I know you didn’t,” he allowed.

  The inside of the building was cool and bright, light from a glass wall flooded into the great room. He noticed the furniture was oversized, leather and extremely comfortable looking. The couches and chairs were earth tones, arranged in small groupings around a central, stone fireplace.

  The ceilings were high, with massive cedar beams arching across the room. A natural wood staircase led from the entry to an open hallway along the second floor with six doors leading off.

  “My office is through the kitchen,” she said, leading him past an island, past the freshly painted alcove, along a short hallway and through a door to a bright, octagonal room.

  It had a multitude of windows and several skylights. Opaque blinds on the lower windows provided privacy, but it remained bright and cheerful. A maple desk with a computer, guest chairs and bookshelves took up one corner. A small meeting table was centrally located. Darby bypassed t
hem all, leading the way to a sofa with a pair of matching armchairs facing it across a glass-topped coffee table.

  She took one of the armchairs, while he took the other.

  “This is nice,” he complimented, feeling very much at home in the room.

  “Thank you.” She paused. “Ironic that you’re setting out to destroy it.”

  “This has never been about you, or about Sierra Hotel,” he couldn’t help but put in. If he could support the town and make her happy at the same time, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

  “Funny, it feels like it’s always been about me.” She kicked off her running shoes and pulled one leg up beneath her in the big chair.

  She looked vulnerable, beautiful and so incredibly sexy that his breath stalled in his chest. He didn’t want to defeat her. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to hold her safe in his arms and keep the entire world at bay.

  “So, what now?” she asked, unfastening her braid, raking back her hair with spread fingers and refastening it into a ponytail.

  He watched her movements, remembering the softness of her hair between his fingertips, the feel of her lithe body in his arms, the taste of her lips on his.

  “Seth?”

  He shook himself back to reality. “I need your help.”

  She coughed a short laugh. “Why am I skeptical?”

  “We need to do something about the rhetoric. The debate. The escalating arguments.”

  “I’ll take care of my arguments. You’re on your own.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t mean you should help me frame them. I want you to help me stop them.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because there are some very impassioned people in this town.”

  “Yeah?” She cocked her head sideways. “That sounds like the mayor’s job to me.”

  “Agreed. But for better or worse, you and I are the ones setting the example, and I think for everybody’s sake we need to dial it back.”

  She dropped her hands into her lap, looking suspicious and skeptical. “You’re asking me to back off? Back off from pushing my side of the referendum?”

  “You agreed that things are getting out of hand.”

  “I did. But dialing it back helps your side, not mine. You said it yourself, your supporters are already your supporters. I’m the one with ground to make up.”

  He struggled to hold his frustration in check. “You think I’m asking to gain an advantage? Six people went to the hospital last night.”

  “I will concede, as mayor, you probably also want to stop the public fistfights.”

  “As mayor, or as anybody else, that’s exactly what I want to do. Quite frankly, at this point, that’s all I want to do.” Swaying voters on the referendum was going to have to wait until the peace returned to Lyndon.

  “Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about the spin-offs of this plan for your side of the debate. I can see them already, and I’ve only been thinking about it for two minutes.”

  “I think you’re better than me at gauging the angles.”

  “Don’t give me that ‘aw shucks, ma’am’ response and pretend you just wandered in off the back forty. It won’t make me let my guard down.”

  “I’m not pretending anything. This is how my brain is working.” He counted on his fingers. “Step one, stop the bar fights. Step two, worry about the referendum. And that’s it. Maybe you can do five things at once, but I’m a sequential guy. I want my city to be safe. And if you have a better idea of how to make it safe, I’m all ears.”

  She paused, obviously considering his perspective. As she should, because he was right. Their best possible move was to tone down their own argument. They needed to set an example. If the two of them demonstrated restraint and calm, there was a chance their supporters would follow suit.

  “How would that work?” she finally asked.

  He tried not to let the relief show in his expression. “You and I would be cordial, friendly and respectful.”

  She blew out a skeptical breath. “You and me? We may have to practice a bit to get to that.”

  “No shouting,” he elaborated. “No name-calling—”

  “I never—”

  “No eye rolls, no dismissive gestures, no sarcastic contradictions.”

  “I’m serious.” She sat forward in her chair. “If we want to pull that off, we’re going to have to practice.”

  “You don’t think you can control yourself?”

  “I don’t think either of us can control ourselves. You know what we’re like when we get together.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he wished he did. There wasn’t a thing in the world he’d like better than getting together with Darby, in every possible sense of the phrase.

  “That’s not what I meant.” She correctly interpreted his expression. But her hands had tightened on the arms of the chair, and her eyes had turned opaque with what looked like desire.

  Her posture and expression sent his libido into overdrive. He gathered his self-control and lowered his tone. “That might not be what you meant. But it’s something else we better worry about. Nobody can know about this thing we’ve got—”

  “There is no thing.”

  “Oh, yes, there is.” He knew enough to realize that the attraction between them was a complicating factor. They had to keep it firmly in check, not let a hint of it sneak out. “You look at me with those bedroom eyes.”

  “I don’t have bedroom eyes. Leave my eyes out of this.”

  “We need to be careful.”

  “I’m not worried,” she retorted.

  “I am.”

  “I’m not likely to throw myself in your arms in front of an audience.” But her expression said she was thinking about it.

  “If you look at me like that, you won’t have to.”

  “You mean they’ll figure it out for themselves?”

  “I mean, I’ll grab you and carry you out the nearest exit.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “I’m not joking. It’s a fight for me to keep from kissing you right now.”

  A slight flush rose on her cheeks, making her look even more desirable. “You can’t just up and kiss me, Seth.”

  “You can up and kiss me,” he told her softly and honestly. “Any old time you want. I won’t mind in the least.”

  She didn’t seem to have a comeback for that.

  Instead, her jaw dropped ever so slightly. Her lips were dark and full. And as she blinked, he watched her lashes sweep across her gorgeous, moss-green eyes.

  Seth crooked his finger, motioning her toward him.

  She gave a very subtle shake of her head.

  But he knew he was right. His voice went lower, husky with desire. “We should get it out of our system.”

  A few moments passed in absolute silence.

  “That’s a ridiculous plan.”

  “You got a better one?” He eased forward in the chair. “Because, if you do, I’m all for it.”

  “We ignore the attraction.”

  “Tried that. Only made it worse.”

  She didn’t answer. If he had to guess, he’d say she was stunned into silence.

  “Can you stop thinking about me?” he dared to ask.

  She still didn’t answer.

  He reached for her hand. It felt warm, soft, delicate in his own. “If we let it keep bubbling under the surface, it’s going to explode at the worst possible moment.”

  “Nothing’s bubbling anywhere.”

  “Yes, it is.” He tugged her forward.

  “Seth, please.”

  He stopped pulling on her, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “Can you get through a day without thinking about me?” he repeated.


  “No,” she admitted, with what looked like annoyance. “I can’t.”

  He knew this was the time for sincerity. It was the only thing they hadn’t tried yet, and he needed to shake things up.

  “Is it getting worse for you?” he asked. “Because it’s sure getting worse for me.”

  She glanced at their joined hands. “This isn’t the answer.”

  “Diffusing the tension is the only answer.”

  Her mouth quirked in a reluctant grin. “I’m not going to kiss you again, Seth.”

  “Give me another answer.”

  “We’re adults. We ignore it.”

  He stroked his thumb along her palm. “And when that stops working?” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “What then?”

  “By then, the referendum will be over.”

  “You think we can hold out for fifty-three days?” He wasn’t sure he could hold out for fifty-three minutes.

  “Let’s practice,” she suggested, pulling her hand away from his.

  “Practice not sleeping together?”

  Her expression faltered for a split second. “I meant practice discussing the railway without shouting and name-calling.”

  Six

  For a moment, Seth looked like he was going to argue, but to her surprise, he didn’t. Instead, he settled casually back in the armchair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “Sure, Darby. Let’s practice.”

  Unfortunately, he looked ridiculously sexy lounging in her office. She wanted to think about the railroad, but it was so much easier to think about his kisses.

  “Uh…I…okay.” She swallowed, while he cracked a knowing smile.

  It was what she needed to focus her thoughts. “With due respect, Mr. Mayor,” she told him evenly and carefully, without inflection, “Lyndon Valley has thrived for decades now without the benefit of a railroad.”

  “With due respect, Ms. Carroll,” his tone was equally mild, “improvements are improvements, even if they are a long time in coming.”

  “And sacrifices are sacrifices.”

  “Perhaps you would be so kind as to enumerate those sacrifices.”

  “Certainly. Again, respectfully. While I do understand some people’s desire for corporate profit above quality of life—”