Her Midnight Cowboy

by Lauri Robinson

  Ellis poured them each a glass. “I owe you an apology for the way Angel’s behaving lately. The way she’s treating you.”

  Rowdy picked up his glass and took a swallow before the glob in his throat made it impossible. Angel was not only beautiful, she was smart and compassionate, and the thought of anyone—even her father—slighting her was enough to make Rowdy see red.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into that girl,” Ellis continued, lifting his glass. “She’s always been headstrong, but lately…” His words trailed off as he took a drink.

  Rowdy clutched the glass. “Angel’s a good woman, Ellis. You have reason to be right proud of your daughter.”

  “Oh, I know, and I am. I love that girl beyond reason. I just want you to know I won’t be offended if you tell her you’re not her slave.”

  “What?”

  “She’s old enough to go to town and get her own baubles,” Ellis said, topping off both their glasses. “It’s not like her to expect someone to do everything for her.”

  “I don’t mind picking up things for her,” Rowdy assured him. “Or Mrs. Clayton. But, Ellis,” he stated sternly, “I’m not a slave to anyone. Never had been and never will be.”

  Ellis held up a hand. “I know, Rowdy. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying Angel doesn’t need to be coddled. She’s of good stock. Has what it takes to live out here.”

  Rowdy knew that, and admired Angel for her grit. But he frowned. A woman of Angel’s rank deserved to be coddled. Matter of fact, she should be spoiled rotten—treated like a queen.

  Ellis leaned back in his chair. “I do, however, appreciate the way you look out for her.” The man grinned. “Did you know she once freed a full-grown bear from a trap? And healed its wounds? The crazy thing shows up every once in a while, looking for a bowl of honey.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Rowdy admitted with a grin. He’d helped her more than once when an animal had looked to her to heal its wounds. “I’ve met her passel of critters. That one-legged rooster is nothing to mess with.”

  Ellis let out a laugh. “Last spring she convinced a fox to nurse a batch of kittens along with its cubs after the mother cat died.”

  “I believe it,” Rowdy admitted, grinning as warmth blanketed his insides. “She has a way with animals.”

  “Yes, she does. People, too.” Ellis was silent for a moment before he laid a hand on the table. “Well, now for the real reason I wanted to talk to you. Since you came to work for me…” he paused, glancing at Rowdy “…how long has it been now?”

  “A little over a year,” Rowdy answered without thought. Ellis was right. People, too, looked for guidance from Angel. The way she cajoled Hank to take it easy was remarkable. The old man didn’t know he was on light duty, yet every other cowhand did. And there again, she’d convinced them Hank wasn’t ever to know—and he wouldn’t. No one would go against Angel. Not because she was the boss’s daughter, but because she was Angel. There wasn’t a person around she wouldn’t treat just as she did Hank if the need arose.

  “You’ve made good progress in a year.” Ellis leaned forward and picked up his glass. He held it in the air, and Rowdy copied the action, but his salute was for Angel.

  They clinked glasses and each took a sip before Ellis started again. “Well, like I was saying, since you came to work for me, I’ve been able to slack off some, spend more time with Constance.” He winked. “I appreciate that, and I’ve been thinking I’d like to take a trip.”

  “A trip?”

  “Yes, to England.” Ellis nodded. “That’s where my pa was from. He came across the sea as a young man, settled out East and took to raising cotton. That wasn’t for me, though. Even before the war I knew I had to head West. My younger brother, Eli, still has the plantation.” Ellis waved a hand. “Anyway, I’d like to see England, spend time just living while I’m young enough to enjoy it.”

  Rowdy spun his glass in a circle. The notion of Angel sailing across the sea, going to England, sounded dangerous. She was curious and headstrong enough to get herself in a heap of trouble.

  “Well, that’s where you come in, Rowdy,” Ellis said with finality.

  He snapped his head up, wondering if he’d spoken his thoughts aloud.

  “I need a good man to take care of Heaven on Earth while I’m gone.” Ellis chuckled. “Hell of a name for a ranch, ain’t it? Christine, my first wife, God rest her soul, named it. We traveled all the way out here in a prairie schooner, just she and I. She was a good woman, full of spice and vinegar. Angel’s a lot like her. When we topped the hill on the north side of the property, she said, ‘That’s it, Ellis, that’s our heaven on earth.’ She also insisted on naming our daughter Angel. Said it was only fitting.”

  “I reckon she was right,” Rowdy offered, having had the same thoughts. Angel was the perfect name.

  Ellis took another drink of whiskey. “So, what do you think?”

  Rowdy searched his mind for a quick second, wondering exactly what he was supposed to be thinking about. An imaginary bell went off. Ellis was asking for assistance in finding a foreman. “Well—” he nodded toward the bar “—Frank Sanders is a good man. Don’t know if he’s interested in a new job. He’s been foreman at the Double B for several years now.”

  Ellis frowned, his gaze bouncing to the bar and back to Rowdy. “Sanders is a fine man, but he’s not who I want.”

  “I suppose I could do some check—”

  “I want you, Rowdy. I’m offering you the job.”

  “Me?” A shiver ripped down Rowdy’s spine. He’d always considered employment an equal partnership. When his time was up, he left. No questions or hard feelings on either side. The responsibilities of a foreman’s job would make leaving difficult.

  “Yes, you. I want you as my foreman.” Ellis let out a small laugh. “Maybe we should talk about a partnership, given the number of cows you got running on my land.” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll think more about that while I’m gone.” He leaned forward and set an elbow on the table. “What’d you say?”

  “Well, Ellis, I—”

  “You’ll have to move out of the bunkhouse, of course. There’re plenty of spare bedrooms in the ranch house. It’ll be easier for you to keep an eye on Angel.”

  Rowdy nearly choked on his whiskey. He could barely keep his hands off her as it was, but living in the same house… “Angel’s not going with you?” he asked, sounding like a bullfrog with a cold.

  “No, it’ll be just me and Constance. I know my daughter. She’d go stir-crazy on a ship for two weeks. She’ll stay at the ranch with you.”

  Rowdy wished he’d been fired.

  Two weeks later—five days after her parents had left—Rowdy sneaked into the house before sunrise, lessening the chance he’d run into Angel.

  He was sitting at Ellis’s desk, making notes about the calves in the north pasture, when the hair on the back of his neck rose. A lump formed in his throat and his heart stomped across his chest like a stampede of yearlings.

  Wearing only a flimsy white nightgown, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the hem, Angel pushed the door open.

  His breath quickened. Her golden curls hung wildly about her shoulders, and her dark eyes still shimmered with sleepiness. He snapped his gaze back to the desktop as sweat popped out on his forehead.

  “Good morning,” she said in greeting, walking into the room. “I was on my way to make a pot of coffee. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “It’s no problem. I can’t drink a full pot by myself.” Stopping near the corner of the desk, she ran a finger over the wood. “I still don’t understand why you refused to move into the house.”

  He shuffled the papers, pretending he hadn’t heard.

  Her sigh echoed in the room. “There’s plenty of room. It’s a big house.”

  If there was any hope he’d make it through the next two months, some ground rules had to be set. He’d never been firm
with Angel, never wanted to—nor needed to be. Most mornings he woke up wondering what little chore she’d conjure up for him to do. She was clever. Her requests never interfered with his job or the ranch, and in most incidences, they were somewhat needed. The most appealing aspect was that her chores usually gave him an opportunity to tease her until her cheeks blazed.

  But lately, the unusual combination of excitement and fear he felt at the chance of running into her was like nothing he’d ever known. That she kept leaving little hints of herself around didn’t help. Right now, a hair ribbon hung on the edge of the fireplace grate, and her shoes, with stockings neatly tucked inside, sat beneath the desk. Practically every day since her father left she’d washed her unmentionables and hung them to dry right outside the office window.

  Rowdy sucked in a fortifying breath. “You shouldn’t be walking around like that.”

  “Like what?”

  His hands balled into fists, but it didn’t stop him from glancing up. “Any one of the cowhands could walk in here.”

  She let out a little laugh. “My father would fire them on the spot.”

  “He’s not here.”

  Her trim brows arched. “Then he’d expect you to fire them on the spot.”

  Rowdy stood, and his eyes locked near the neckline of her gown. The thin material revealed where her breasts darkened, and highlighted the peaks of her taut nipples beneath. His lungs locked. “Let’s get something straight, Miss Clayton.”

  “Hmm, let’s, Rowdy,” she whispered, leaning across the edge of the desk.

  His teeth clenched, yet the ability to be angry, really angry, at her didn’t exist. “That’s Mr. McGuire.”

  “Mr. McGuire, is it?”

  Her husky whisper sent his insides in all directions. He attempted to glare at her, but failed when his eyes encountered the sparks glittering in her big brown ones. Leaning toward her, he copied her whisper. “Yes, Miss Clayton. It’s Mr. McGuire. That’s how you’ll address me, when and if you see me.” The heated vibrations between them made the air snap and crackle.

  A coy smile formed as she moved, coming nose to chin with him at the corner of the desk. “All right, Mr. McGuire.”

  Rowdy had to delve deep to find the willpower to keep his lips off hers. He took a step forward, forcing her to take one back. “I’m the foreman of this ranch, which means I’m in charge of everything.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, “you are.”

  He took another step, then another, inching her backward toward the door. Keeping his lips hovering over hers as they moved, he said, “Including you.”

  One of her slender brows arched. “Me?” Her tone was soft, yet challenging.

  They were through the doorway, and he kept moving, forcing her down the hall. “Yes, you.” His nose bumped hers. “You will not parade yourself about half-dressed. Not in front of me or anyone else.”

  She grabbed the end post of the large staircase, stopping both of them. “Not even my father tells m—”

  “Nor will you ride the hills by yourself, or run to town on a whim.” He laid a hand on the stair railing, curling his fingers around the polished wood for support. No longer whispering, he said, “I have ten thousand head of cattle to see to, and don’t need any trouble from you.”

  Huffing, she asked, “Trouble from me?”

  “Yes.” He nodded toward the second floor. “Now hightail your little butt upstairs and get dressed.”

  Her eyes widened. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Oh, yes, I can.” He took a step back and pointed upward. “Go, now.”

  Angel’s chin dropped. “I don’t—”

  His palm playfully connecting with her backside stopped her outburst. It had been action without thought. Being responsible for her virtue was more than he’d bargained for. “Go before I drag you up those stairs and dress you myself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Try me,” he challenged.

  The staring match lasted a few minutes before she gave in and stomped up the stairs. Stopping on about the fifth one, she turned around and glared at him. “You’ll rue this day, Mr. McGuire.”

  His eyes locked on the way her breasts rose and fell. “I already do, Angel girl. I already do.”

  Chapter Three

  The ire Rowdy had created lingered, and made Angel recall every one of her failed attempts. After a morning of sulking, she found her determination rebounding, and by the end of the week she had her plans for retaliation fully in place.

  Shading her eyes with one hand, she searched the valley below. Tiny dots came into view and her heart skipped in her chest. “You can run, Rowdy McGuire, but you can’t hide.” She slapped her hat back in place.

  Templeton picked the trail down the hill. The horse was sure-footed and didn’t need guidance from her. The two of them had been roaming the hills and valleys of the ranch for years—long before Mr. McGuire had said she couldn’t.

  After that morning on the stairs, Angel had taken Constance’s suggestion to heart and decided to ignore Rowdy. It hadn’t been too difficult, since he never came within one hundred yards of her.

  Then two days ago, her plan took a new route, after she’d had a ranch hand take her to town. She’d needed the counsel of another woman, and who better than the one woman who knew Rowdy better than anyone else—Liza?

  No matter the profession the woman chose, Liza Spencer was a stellar citizen of Cottonwood. The woman was not only beautiful, she was smart.

  Angel gazed at the men branding the young stock below. Even from this distance she could pick out Rowdy. She didn’t need to see his hair, which teetered between dark brown and black, nor those gray eyes that looked like pure silver when the light hit them just right. No, from this distance it was his tall form, the self-assured, yet lofty way he held himself and his easy, but determined swagger that identified him.

  Shifting her weight in the saddle, and hoping the movement would quell the tingling quivers that infested her body whenever she thought of him, Angel followed his shape as he moved from the fire to his horse.

  She had the wherewithal and determination to get what she wanted. Hunting Rowdy down like a rabid wolf hadn’t worked, and neither had pretending he didn’t exist. But with Liza’s aid, she’d come up with a new plan. The woman said Rowdy needed to be nudged in the right direction. Angel knew how to nudge.

  Rowdy mounted and turned his horse her way. Suppressing a grin, she kneed Templeton, steering the gelding straight toward Rowdy’s black mustang.

  “Miss Clayton,” he said as their horses grew closer.

  She brought Templeton to a halt. “Mr. McGuire.”

  The mustang stopped next to her knee. “Is there something wrong at the ranch?”

  The sun, high overhead and blazing with all the heat it could muster in early May, made his eyes silver. “No,” she answered, tipping back the brim of her hat.

  “Then is there something you need?” he asked, looking everywhere except directly at her.

  “No, I just thought I’d check on the branding, see how everything’s going.”

  His gaze went to the half-dozen cowhands working the herd several yards away. “Fine, everything’s going just fine. We’re almost done for the day.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” she asked.

  The gaze that swung around to settle on her was cloudy, and his brows were furrowed. “No,” he said, somewhat cautiously.

  She fanned her neck with her fingers, hoping to draw his attention to the top three buttons of her blouse, which she’d left undone. “All right, then, I’ll just go talk to Hank for a moment.”

  Rowdy reached down and took hold of the rein looped along Templeton’s neck. “Why do you need to talk to Hank?”

  “I want to ride to town with him tonight.” She turned to the group of cowhands as if searching for Hank, and tried not to smile. If Rowdy’s scowl was anything to go by, he wasn’t happy about her plan.

  “What for?”
/>   She shrugged. “It’s Saturday night. I don’t feel like sitting home alone.”

  “Cottonwood gets a little rough on Saturday night. I don’t think your father would approve of you going there.”

  She met his gaze, smiling openly now. “My father is most likely boarding a ship in the New York harbor right now.”

  “That doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t approve.”

  “My father hasn’t stopped me from going to town for years. I highly doubt he’d start now.” This was the first time she and Rowdy had spoken all week, and the exchange, though not overly friendly or romantic, had her senses reeling.

  His lips drew into a tight line. “What, Miss Clayton, do you plan on doing in town?”

  Those silver eyes of his were no longer on the men, but roaming her torso. Her nipples hardened and tiny jabs of sweet pain shot across her breasts. She sucked in a breath and squeezed the saddle horn with her fingers. “Oh, I don’t know. I have several friends I could visit.”

  The mustang shifted, and Rowdy’s knee brushed against hers. “Why don’t you invite your friends out to the ranch?”

  She let out a nervous laugh, more from the shock of their bodies touching than his words. “It’s a little late to send out invitations.”

  He still held Templeton’s reins, which kept their knees pressed together. “Who would you invite?”

  Angel hadn’t thought that far in advance. A frown tugged at her brows. She’d assumed he would offer to take her to town, or refuse to let her go. “Oh, uh, probably Tanna Brown and Carla Snipe.”

  “Go write out the invitations. I’ll take them to town for you.”

  “Row— Mr. McGuire,” she started, “It’s—”

  “I’ll ride back to the ranch with you,” he interrupted, steering the mustang aside so Templeton could turn about.

  “Wh-what about the branding?”

  They were riding up the hill, so he had to let go of Templeton, but he didn’t answer. Angel kneed the horse and they reached the summit at the same time. “What about the branding?” she repeated.

  “The men will finish.”