Seduction, Cowboy Style

by Anne Marie Winston

  Or at least he had been until Silver Jenssen had sashayed into town.

  And as with every other time he’d thought of her in the past couple of days, he formed a carefully detailed picture of his sister’s broken body. Cal deserved whatever he got.

  Lula May arched a brow in wry amusement as she hefted her drink tray. “Marty Stryker, there’re a lot of things I’d be glad to do with you but marrying isn’t one of ’em. No way do I want to be stepmama to that little firecracker of a daughter of yours.” And with one final flirtatious smile, she headed back to the bar.

  Marty shook his head and heaved a mock sigh. “Damn. Struck out again.”

  Deck grunted. “I’d like to see your face if she’d said yes.”

  Marty hooted, giving him an exaggerated leer. “So would I.” Then his grin faded, and he rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I did something kind of crazy today.”

  “Just today?”

  “Jerk.” Marty pulled a crumpled scrap of paper from his pocket and used the tip of his index finger to flick it across the table at Deck. “Put this in the papers in Rapid City and Pierre.”

  Deck unfolded the sheet of paper and squinted at Marty’s poor excuse for handwriting. “‘S-W-M, 30s,”’ he read. He stopped and glanced at his brother. “What is this, some kind of code? A new brand of motor oil?”

  “No, you idiot.” Marty shook his head. “It’s an advertisement.” Reaching across the table, he plucked the ad out of Deck’s fingers.

  “Single white male, thirties,” he read. “Prosperous rancher seeks hardworking woman for marriage, household management, child care. Offers security, fidelity and comfortable life-style.”

  A rusty chuckle worked its way up and rumbled out before Deck could catch it back. “You’re advertising for a wife?” The chuckle threatened to become a full-fledged howl of mirth.

  A dark-bronze color was climbing from the neck of Marty’s work shirt. “Don’t see what’s so wrong with that,” he said with stiff defensiveness. “I don’t have time for courting, and we aren’t close enough to a decent-size town for me to meet many women.”

  Deck shook his head, still trying not to give in to the laughter that threatened. “I may not read the papers,” he said, “but even I know there isn’t a woman on earth who’s going to read that ad and leap to answer it. You might as well hire a housekeeper and a nanny.”

  “Don’t want a housekeeper,” Marty retorted. “I want a wife.” His cheeks flushed even more. “I’m tired of sleeping alone.”

  “There’s ways to fix that without marrying,” Deck advised his elder brother.

  “Easy for you to say.” Marty surveyed him sourly. “You didn’t let another man even get a chance at an introduction to Silver McCall.”

  “Jenssen. Her last name is Jenssen.”

  “Who cares what her last name is?”

  Deck propped his elbows on the table and plunged his fingers into the thick mess of curls that quirked over his forehead. Quietly he lifted his head and looked across the table at Marty. “I don’t,” he said. “She’s kin to Cal McCall. That’s good enough for me.”

  Something in his tone made Marty glance at him with narrow suspicion in his blue eyes. “You’re not thinking of doing something stupid, are you?”

  “No.” He was sure of that. McCall deserved this.

  “That doesn’t exactly ring with truth,” Marty commented. He raised a troubled gaze to meet Deck’s. “There’s no law that says McCall can’t come around here. He’s not guilty of anything.”

  “Legally.”

  “Or otherwise,” his brother said sharply.

  “To you.”

  “And the rest of the world.” Marty heaved a sigh, staring into his beer. “Yeah, I was mad enough to kill him for a while, too. But once the anger faded, I faced facts. It was an accident. Deck—” his voice grew quiet “—You’ve got to get past the anger someday.” A long silence hung behind his words. Memories heavy with sorrow wrapped the two men in a morose camaraderie.

  Marty was wrong. Deck knew it as surely as he knew his own name. McCall was responsible.

  But he’d be sorry, Deck reminded himself, and the moment would be sweet. After all these years he’d have a small taste of how it felt to have a sister ripped out of your heart.

  Four

  The rodeo. Silver skirted the horses and their young riders as she made her way around the ring to the far side, where covered bleachers were provided for spectators. It was a glorious June day, not too hot, certainly not too cold, and she was planning to enjoy herself.

  Cal had intended to bring her to this, but when he’d been called away she’d decided to go, anyway. Who knew how long she’d be in South Dakota and if she’d have another chance to see a rodeo? His directions to the rodeo in Wall had been easy to follow and here she was.

  It was kind of nice being anonymous. She didn’t exactly fit in with her white tennis sneakers; she supposed she’d have to get some boots. Maybe she’d stop over at the Wall Drugstore, which loudly proclaimed itself the largest in the world. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a drugstore. It was more like a conglomeration of specialty shops, everything from jewelry to Western wear to books to tourist junk. Cal had brought her into Wall on the way to Kadoka her first day here just to show her the street-long storefront.

  Silver sat alone in the stands for a short time. Then a woman a few feet away said hello. When she learned Silver was new to the area, she made it a personal mission to educate her in the ways of the rodeo.

  Calf roping for cowgirls meant lassoing the calf by the horns while the men had to catch a hind leg with their loop. Calf wrestling was as muddy as it sounded. She felt sorry for the frightened-looking calves that were sent into the ring for roping and wrestling but knew better than to say so.

  Bronc riding was interesting and exciting while bull riding made her heart leap into her throat and stay there while a defenseless cowboy tried to stay on the bull for eight long seconds. She didn’t breathe while those who got thrown scrambled to avoid being gored or trampled until they could get out of the ring and the rodeo clowns brazenly distracted the angry animal. It didn’t make her feel any better when the woman related stories of teenagers paralyzed by being slammed against a gate by a bull, and the professional rodeo cowboy who was gored in the ring and died on the spot.

  But it all was fascinating. Some of the people around her seemed to share her reluctant mesmerized attention, while others screamed and cheered for their relatives. Children played, mothers chased them, men stood in small clumps and talked. Some things didn’t change no matter where a person went.

  Finally, as the bull riding drew its final few contestants of the day, she decided it was time to head home before she got caught in the parking lot with a hundred stock trailers. After offering her garrulous companion a warm thanks, she started toward the parking lot. A little concessions trailer stood on her right as she continued toward the parking lot and she decided to get a hot dog and a soda. After all, it was almost suppertime.

  As she threaded her way between groups of jean jackets and cowboy hats toward the food wagon, she kept her head down. She imagined that this place was like most other largely male enclaves around the world, and a single woman could attract more attention than she wanted without much effort.

  She was almost there when a hand curled around her elbow. “Good afternoon.”

  Her heart did one quick back-flip as she recognized the voice, and she jerked fiercely at her elbow, but the fingers were an inflexible prison. “Let me go,” she demanded in a low voice.

  “I want to talk to you.” Deck was freshly showered and shaved, and as always he wore the black hat. Beneath its brim, his eyes were a deep, stormy blue as he looked down at her from his superior height, and he quickly maneuvered her to the edge of the crowd where the rows of vehicles began to fill up an adjacent field.

  He planted himself in front of her with his back to the rodeo crowd, a dark angel with the devil in his eyes. Sh
e remembered the feel of his hands on her body and felt a treacherous thrill shoot through her. And then she remembered the way he’d backed off, as if she’d had the plague, and the thrill died away to a hurtful throb. Fresh pain poured out of the wound he’d made. Obviously, he wasn’t happy about the attraction that leaped between them, and she had no intention of pushing herself at a man who didn’t like the fact that he wanted her.

  “I don’t want to talk to you.” She concentrated on keeping her legs from shaking.

  Deck didn’t smile, although his eyes warmed and one side of his mouth quirked. “And she’s subtle, too, folks.”

  Silver didn’t answer him. She hadn’t expected to see him here. That was all it was. If she’d been prepared, he never would have shaken her composure like this.

  But as she ducked around him and headed for the crowd again, Deck snagged her wrist in one large hand. “Stay here for a minute.”

  His palm was hard and callused, warm and oddly gentle, though she doubted she could get free unless he chose to let her go. His thumb slipped slowly down to rub a light, circular pattern over the sensitive flesh on her inner wrist, and she had a sudden vivid memory of him holding her gaze with his as he kissed her there. She shivered, but when she tugged at her hand she found she was right. He had no intention of letting her go.

  She didn’t want to make a scene in front of all the strangers who were beginning to cast sideways glances at them, so instead of the response that sprang to her lips, she forced herself to say, “All right. But let’s go farther away. I don’t like being part of the entertainment.”

  He nodded and started to lead her through the parking lot. But to her chagrin he didn’t let her go. She glanced up at him, ready to make a light comment about getting her hand back, but the sensual set of his firm lips in profile made her forget whatever she’d been going to say. Those lips had moved on hers the other night, and the feelings they’d generated inside her were enough to make her spontaneously combust.

  “I’m not trying to run away.” As he rushed her through the parking lot, Silver lifted the wrist he had shackled with his fingers. “You can let me go now.”

  Deck looked down at her. “I don’t think so.” But as he pulled her arm back down, his fingers slipped away from her wrist and he laced them through hers in an intimate, if more conventional, handclasp.

  There was no use arguing. She already knew him well enough to know he had a bullheaded streak a mile wide. So she pretended that the flesh connection of their fingers wasn’t making her pulse skitter around and her breathing quicken as if she’d just run a sprint.

  Finally they stopped beside his black pickup. He walked her around to the passenger side and opened the door. “Get in.”

  “Get in? Where are we going?”

  “I’m driving you home.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not. I drove my brother’s truck here.”

  “You can get it tomorrow. Ride home with me tonight.”

  She was nearly speechless at the man’s gall. After the way he’d treated her— “After the way you treated me the other night you expect me to just hop in your truck and ride the whole way home with you? I don’t think so.”

  Deck pivoted to face her. “I’m sorry for that,” he said in a low voice. “I…don’t really know why I did it.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She deliberately left her hand limp and kept her eyes downcast.

  His hand tightened around hers. “It does to me.” His voice was deep and quiet. Sincere.

  Chet had seemed sincere, too, and look where that had gotten her. She refused to look up at him, to respond.

  But he had ways around that. In the late-day’s light, he stepped closer, reaching down to take her other hand in his, as well. “It’s never been like this for me. Can you say you don’t feel it, too?”

  No. She couldn’t say that. And what’s more, she suspected he knew it. Finally she looked up at him, barely able to see his features beneath the deeper shadow of his hat. “I feel it,” she whispered. “But that doesn’t mean I want to pursue it.”

  “One chance,” he said. “Just one more chance.”

  In one more chance, he could break your heart, said the voice of self-preservation inside her head.

  But as she hesitated, he released one hand and brought his own up beneath her chin. With a large, gentle finger, he tilted her face up, inspecting her features in the evening’s weak light. His face looked drawn and desperate, and the wave of longing that swept through her urged her to set her fears aside, to give herself to this man who wanted her, to comfort him and erase the sadness in the depths of his eyes.

  “All right.” She closed her eyes as she said it, not sure she wanted to examine the decision too closely.

  And then she felt the hot lick of his breath over her cheek, the warm shock of his lips touching hers, trailing over her jaw to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Her body tightened but before she could respond, he drew away. “Thank you.”

  “I still don’t want to leave the truck here.” It was a small thing, but to her it was important. She was totally alone here until Cal returned. If she didn’t have transportation and Deck couldn’t or wouldn’t bring her back to get the truck, she’d be in a jam. Just as she was realizing that her reluctance indicated she still didn’t trust his change of heart, Deck nodded.

  “That’s okay. If you want to follow me, there’s a little restaurant in Wall where we can stop.”

  So she followed the black truck out of the rodeo field through Wall. The place he took her was a nice little family-style restaurant very different from the bar they’d gone into the other day.

  At Deck’s request, the hostess placed them at a quiet table in a corner. Once he’d seated her, he removed his hat and took a seat at her left hand with his back to the room. “So what did you think of the rodeo?”

  “It was…interesting. I’m still trying to figure out why anyone would want to ride a bull.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a real rush, pitting yourself against one of those big boys.”

  “Until you get trampled.”

  He shrugged. “The ones who stay with it are pretty good at watching out for themselves.”

  “Have you ever tried it?”

  He nodded. “A couple of times. Guess I’m just not crazy enough. Bronc riding, on the other hand, is a whole lot of fun.”

  His jaw was stubbled with golden bristles that framed his lips. She caught herself watching his mouth as he formed his words, drowning common sense in the movement of that full, reddened flesh that curved and quirked so enticingly. Her palms itched, and she closed her fingers into fists in her lap to keep from reaching out and tracing the shape of his upper lip with her finger.

  When his large hand descended on hers, she jumped a foot in her chair. She raised her gaze to his, stunned by the need rolling through her at the simple touch of his hard, rough hand enclosing her smaller, fisted one. He lifted it onto the table, toying with it as his eyes held hers. “What are you thinking?”

  She shook her head. “Stupid thoughts. Very stupid thoughts.”

  A chuckle worked its way up and out of his chest. “Sometimes those are the best kind.”

  She didn’t want to engage in this little game of sexual innuendo with him, not when her whole body quivered at his nearness and her heart raced at the mere touch of his hand. “Sometimes they’re not,” she said quietly.

  Turning her head, she looked out the plate-glass window that formed part of the corner behind them. The restaurant was on the edge of town, and she had an unobstructed view of the broad, rolling prairie. “That’s so beautiful,” she said.

  To her relief he accepted the change of subject. “I think so, too. Some people hate it, though. Your mother, from what I hear, found it too big and too desolate.”

  She nodded. “Mama’s a city girl at heart. And she missed having her family five minutes away.” She shook her head. “She says her libido ran away with her common sense when she married Tom McCa
ll and she must be right. I can’t imagine any other reason my mother would have come out here.”

  “Women who aren’t raised out here often find it too primitive and isolated.”

  Silver shrugged. “It hasn’t bothered me so far, although I’ve hardly been here long enough to know. But I don’t think I’d mind it. There’s a very different sort of beauty out here—the wide-open space is very appealing. I love the way the sky seems so blue, the mountains way off in the distance, being able to see for miles.”

  “That comes in handy in tornado weather,” he said wryly as the waitress approached and began to list the specials.

  While they were waiting for their meals to arrive, she said, “Tell me about your ranch.”

  He looked a little blank. “What do you want to know?”

  “What kind of outfit is it? That’s the correct word, right?”

  “Yeah.” One corner of his lips rose in the now-familiar half smile. “Cow-calf.”

  She nodded. “I think that’s what Cal plans to start, too.”

  “That’s what his daddy did.” Deck didn’t elaborate, but then, she didn’t expect him to. The fact that they were exchanging unlimited consecutive sentences was miracle enough for her.

  “What kind of cattle do you raise?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How many times have you driven past my fences?”

  She grinned. “That doesn’t mean I know what kind of cow is standing on the other side. Let’s see, Holstein, Brahma, Heifer—”

  He was struggling not to laugh, she could tell. “A Holstein is usually a dairy cow. Brahma are run down toward the south, around Texas and New Mexico, because they do well in real dry areas. And a heifer isn’t a breed of cow. It’s a name for a female cow.”

  “Oh.” She considered. “So what kind do you have?”

  “Angus. Black Angus, although every once in a while one’ll throw a red hide.”

  She blinked. “Meaning?”

  “Red is a recessive color for Angus. Occasionally we’ll get a red calf from a black cow and bull.”