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Cowboy Crush
Liz Talley
Cowboy for hirePro bull rider Cal Lincoln is back home in Coyote Creek, Texas, recovering from an injury and bored out of his mind. Then she walks in—a stunning brunette with sinfully kissable lips. She was definitely not a local. Suddenly things are lookin' up…Maggie Stanton can't let herself—or her starved libido—get distracted by a broad-shouldered cowboy with a sexy-as-all-hell smile. She needs to fix up the dilapidated ranch she’s inherited and sell it fast. If that means hiring Cal to help, she will—temptation be damned. But she and Cal can’t deny their attraction and agree to work hard on the ranch during the day and then play hard at night. Even knowing that every wild rodeo ride usually ends with someone getting hurt.


Cowboy for hire
Pro bull rider Cal Lincoln is back home in Coyote Creek, Texas, recovering from an injury and bored out of his mind. Then she walks in—a stunning brunette with sinfully kissable lips. She was definitely not a local. Suddenly things are lookin’ up...
Maggie Stanton can’t let herself—or her starved libido—get distracted by a broad-shouldered cowboy with a sexy-as-all-hell smile. She needs to fix up the dilapidated ranch she’s inherited and sell it fast. If that means hiring Cal to help, she will—temptation be damned. But she and Cal can’t deny their attraction and agree to work hard on the ranch during the day and then play hard at night. Even knowing that every wild rodeo ride usually ends with someone getting hurt.
“You know what’s sexy?”
Cal dragged one finger across Maggie’s lips. It was the single sexiest move she’d ever experienced. “These lips.”
Maggie swallowed hard. “Uh...”
“No, don’t say it,” he said, running his finger lightly back across her bottom lip. “I know you think it’s a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, Maggie. Thing is, I don’t really care.”
He slid his hand across her jaw and cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the hair pulled tight in her ponytail. Tilting her head back, he studied her face.
And she studied his. Long dark eyelashes totally wasted on a man framed eyes the color of a Caribbean surf. Lean jaw, firm chin and those damn lips she wanted to feel on her body...everywhere.
“I don’t need this job, Maggie.”
She inhaled deeply. “So why did you take it?”
“For this,” he said, and lowered his head, his lips covering hers...
Dear Reader (#ulink_225a6dee-10d9-5919-9630-d8ecf21182cc),
My first published book was set in Texas, and I’m happy to return to the Lone Star state in Cowboy Crush. There’s something about a cowboy, right? That lazy walk, wide smile and worn blue jeans make a girl’s heart gallop. Bull rider Cal Lincoln is definitely dangerous to the heart—he’s naughty and bored, which means he’s primed for the pretty city slicker who inherits a run-down ranch in the middle of nowhere.
Poor Maggie Stanton. The Triple J is supposed to be a piece of heaven on earth, but the gaping windows, leaking roof and feral cat problem say otherwise. She can sell the property, but first she’ll have to do some repairs...and luckily the sexy cowboy recovering from surgery is available to lend a hand. Working hard is only tolerable when a gal can play hard, and Cal’s also more than willing to be Maggie’s playground. But what happens when fun turns into something more lasting? And a ranch turns into a home?
Good things—I know because I wrote the ending!
So I would love to hear what you think about Maggie and Cal. You can find me at liztalleybooks.com (http://www.liztalleybooks.com) or come like my page on Facebook at liztalleybooks (https://www.facebook.com/liztalleybooks).
Happy reading,
Liz
Cowboy Crush
Liz Talley


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
After being a finalist for RWA’s prestigious Golden Heart Award in Regency romance, LIZ TALLEY found a home writing sassy contemporary romance. Her first book, Vegas Two Step, starred a spinster librarian and debuted in June 2010. Since that time, Liz has published fourteen more Mills & Boon Superromance novels. Her stories are set in the South, where the tea is sweet, the summers are hot and the men are hotter. Liz lives in north Louisiana with her childhood sweetheart, two handsome children, three dogs and a mean kitty. You can visit Liz at liztalleybooks.com (http://liztalleybooks.com) to learn more about her upcoming books.
For my Starbucks stars—Winnie, Connie, Christopher and sometimes Dustin. And my plotting (not plodding) walkers Phylis and Jennifer. Being a writer is not so lonely when I have all of you beside me.
Contents
Cover (#u57b719c2-aae6-5f00-a633-8edf380ff0b1)
Back Cover Text (#u92f004cd-c758-5355-9bf5-298fe26e529d)
Introduction (#u386ecf29-ad6b-5027-94b1-3a38491a0713)
Dear Reader (#u8f681aac-6c99-5e83-bf34-69ccd2ca78de)
Title Page (#uc0fe687d-aa5e-51ff-9260-551a6ab18559)
About the Author (#ua6a4b177-5105-5078-85d8-eb031c5ac7a5)
Dedication (#u5beed940-931a-5c5e-884c-a89ad1293324)
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1 (#ulink_9eab9c99-5104-5842-ba47-6aff78408b25)
CAL LINCOLN WAS damned tired of the four walls in the fancy travel trailer he’d lived out of all over the country for the past few years. What had always been his haven away from the grit, the chicks and the testosterone of rodeo felt more like itchy wool pajamas now. Which is why he’d carried his sad ass down to the Barbwire Grill for a stack of Freda Gonzales’s fluffy buttermilk hotcakes. He liked his cakes swimming in syrup and melted butter with a cup of coffee that could peel paint off the walls. The fact Willie Amos and his brother Jeb were raising hell at the cash register over a charge for extra bacon didn’t bother him at all. In fact, it was the most excitement he’d had in weeks.
Until she walked in.
The door opened, spilling in light, and there she stood, brown hair falling in waves around bared shoulders. Two-inch straps held up a halter top thing that hugged a pair of magnificent breasts...or a really good padded bra. But it was her lips that got him. They were coated in glossy lipstick that was a soft pink. Made a man think of dirty, dirty things.
“Uh, hello,” she said. Because everyone in the joint had stopped chewing, cussing and staring at their phones in order to feast their eyes on the cool drink of water framed in the doorway. Cal swore he could have heard a mouse fart.
“I’m looking for, uh, a Mr.—” she pulled a piece of paper out of a purse he happened to know cost the price of a lawn mower and squinted at the page “—Lowery. Anyone know Charlie Lowery?”
Freda glanced cautiously over to Cal. Then she lifted one shoulder. “Sure, I know him, but there ain’t one good reason anyone would want to find him.”
Cal took a sip of coffee, nodding at the truth. He no longer owed any loyalty to Charlie. If the man was in trouble, nothing Cal could do. That ship had sailed long ago.
The pretty lady allowed the swinging glass door with the words Barbwire Grill scrawled in—you guessed it—barbed wire to close behind her. The door bumped what looked to be a spectacular ass, pushing her forward. And that’s when Cal got a look at pretty legs nicely highlighted by a pair of shoes that had a wedge. She looked sexy as hell, though he guessed she’d been going for sophisticated casual with the shorts and top. She gave a confident smile. “I’m assuming by your tone Mr. Lowery’s a ne’er-do-well type?”
Freda glanced again at Cal. He didn’t move a muscle.
“I reckon that’s a good way to describe him,” Freda said.
Cal noted the Amos brothers’ eyes took on a particular gleam.
“Why you wantin’ ol’ Charlie for anyhow? Most people avoid him like they do cow shit. He ain’t exactly friendly,” Willie said, revealing his badly worn-down canines.
For the first time she looked wary. “I have an appointment with him.”
Her accent was definitely not Southern. And sure as hell wasn’t Texan. She sounded like some of those fillies who liked to frequent the rodeo arenas when they were vacationing in Vegas. Flashy jeans, too-white teeth and an upper-crust clipped tone. Of course, no matter the brand name on their jeans, they liked riding a cowboy just as well as the small-town Tammy Jos and Jolenes.
“An appointment?” Freda prodded, handing Willie his change with a no-nonsense glare. “For what?”
“Well, that’s really not the point,” the woman said, looking around the diner, which had thinned out once the sun had risen above the scraggly tree line. Coyote Creek wasn’t known for lushness. Her gaze glanced off him, but he saw the telltale flicker acknowledging his presence.
He knew he was a good-looking son of a gun. He’d known it ever since he’d caught his mama’s friends sneaking a peek when he came in from baseball practice. It was like being born rich. He used what he had to get ahead. He’d never had much but a good smile and tight ass. A kid, raised in a used single-wide trailer his daddy bought right before he ditched him and his mama, had to use what the Good Lord gave him to get by. So the dimples, the body made for sin and the aw-shucks charm were bread and butter for him.
But this woman didn’t flutter over him. She had too much poise for that.
And despite her obvious frustration with Charlie not being where he was supposed to be, she gave off a cool air, like she couldn’t be bothered with anyone in the dumpy two-horse town.
“What’s the point, then?” Cal asked, finally piping up. Least he could do since Charlie was a no-good drunk who stuck to things like spit sliding off a greased pig.
The woman settled her gaze back on him. “I’m sorry. Perhaps, I wasn’t clear. I’m trying to find the gentleman who was supposed to meet me at the town hall. I’ve been waiting since seven thirty this morning. I thought one of you might be willing to help me. Always heard Texans are friendly.”
A challenge.
Cal dropped his feet from where they’d been propped on the opposite booth. His old boots made a decisive slap. He ignored the twinge of pain in his ribs. “You heard right. We’re friendly. But when strangers amble in asking about one of ours, we sorta get suspicious-like.”
He wanted to laugh at himself for the affected good-ol’-boy verbiage, but he couldn’t help himself. Not only did she make him want to find out how good those slick lips tasted, but her horrified expression over the not-so-fancy diner and its salt of the earth patrons got his dander up. So they were hicks? Big deal. She didn’t have to look like she’d stumbled on a den of cockroaches.
Okay, so maybe that was his presumption. She hadn’t sniffed disdainfully or reached for hand sanitizer...yet.
She narrowed her eyes at him but then offered a nice smile. “I forgot my manners. Sorry. My name is Maggie Stanton. I’m here about the Triple J ranch. Technically, I’m the new owner.”
Freda dropped a plate of sausage on the floor.
Willie elbowed Jeb, then doubled over, honking like a goose.
Punch, Freda’s husband, turned from the setting of eggs he’d been scrambling on the grill and said, “Do what now?”
Cal wanted to join in the incredulous laughter, but the look on Maggie’s face prevented him. She had no clue what she’d said.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking confused. “Why is he laughing?”
Her gaze landed on Jeb, who looked as if he might collapse to the floor in a fit, so Cal stood and popped him a good one on the back.
“Ow,” he squealed, straightening and rubbing his shoulder.
Cal pushed on by Big Willie and Jeb and walked to Maggie, who clutched her leather bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. First hint of being unnerved.
“I’m Cal,” he said, sticking out the hand he could use fairly well. The dull throb in his opposite shoulder reminded him he still needed to pop the halved pain pill he carried in his front pocket.
She eyed his hand before setting her own in his. “Nice to meet you.”
Of course he knew it wasn’t really nice to meet him because she stood in a diner full of strangers who were laughing at her...or rather the idea she was the new owner of the dilapidated house and barn sitting on close to four hundred acres of hardscrabble.
“Why don’t you let me buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked, shelving the hick routine. She didn’t need that on top of the others’ reactions.
Her brow furrowed. “But I really need to—”
“Just sit a spell. Punch makes the best coffee this side of the Brazos.”
Punch lifted his flipper in salute and turned back to his grill. Freda watched with hawk eyes as Cal took Maggie’s elbow and escorted her over to the booth he’d vacated seconds ago. Willie and Jeb recovered enough to waddle toward the exit. The two truck drivers both turned back to their steak-and-egg platters. Show over.
Maggie sat down, placing her bag on the bench beside her and her sunglasses on the table. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”
He motioned for Freda. “You want coffee?”
“I don’t drink coffee. Maybe some herbal tea?” she asked.
The face he made was answer enough.
“I’ll have a diet soda,” she said when Freda butted her rounded hips up to the table.
“Sure, we got that,” Freda said, eyeing Cal. She tapped on her order pad for a few seconds. “And you watch out for this one here. He’s got sweet words that’ll have you outta your drawers before you can blink.”
Maggie looked at Cal like he was a cottonmouth curled up on a rock.
Cal gave Freda his patented smile. “Don’t be scaring the little lady just because Punch won’t let you come play with me, querida.”
“If I did play with you, cowboy, you’d have no good reason for looking for any other fun. I have a big playground right here,” she said, smacking her large backside and laughing.
“Wait a sec, I’m here on business, not—” Maggie started.
“Relax, she’s just flirting with me. Did you see Willie and Jeb? Ain’t much to mess with around Coyote Creek.”
Maggie gave a lift of a delicious shoulder. “Okay, so can you give me some information about the Triple J, Mr....”
“Lincoln. Cal Lincoln.”
“As you can tell, I’m not from here.”
“No way,” he joked with a smile.
He saw her relax a little. “I’m from the Northeast actually. Uh, Philadelphia. This is my first time in Texas.”
“Welcome to the Lone Star State.”
“Thank you,” she said with pretty manners. Her eyes were the color of smoky brown topaz. His mama had had a ring with the stone when he was a boy. She dragged it out every time she went to church...which wasn’t much since she’d worked days at the Coyote Creek Motel. She’d loved that damn ring.
For a few seconds they didn’t speak. Freda plopped a huge glass of Diet Coke down in front of Maggie. After a few seconds of neither Maggie nor Cal talking, Freda sighed and went back to her usual spot wiping the counter down. Her ear remained tuned in their direction.
“Are you kin to Old Man Edelman? He croak or something?”
“He passed away last month,” Maggie said, her eyes shadowed with sadness. “He was a good man.”
“You related to him?”
“No. I was his administrative assistant.”
“How’d you end up with his place, then?”
Her expression grew guarded. “People down here sure are nosy.”
“Part of being a Texan. We’re friendly and nosy.” Cal picked up his half-finished coffee and took a sip. It had grown cold so he motioned for Freda to give him a warm-up. She ignored him. “Might as well spill right here and now.”
“Well, if you must know, he grew sick in his later years. I was his assistant, helping him run his day-to-day affairs. When he passed and the will was read, I found out he left the Triple J to me. I expected nothing, of course, since I was an employee. But Mr. Edelman was a good man. His children made a bit of a fuss, but what Bud Edelman wanted he got even in death.”
Everyone in Coyote Creek knew old Bud Edelman had more money than hell had sin. He owned a company that sold ice cream all over the country. The Triple J had been a self-indulgent lark for the old tycoon. He’d shown up every summer for a month and played at being a cowboy before he went back to Pennsylvania and his millions. But the place hadn’t been occupied in over ten years and had been left in the care of Charlie Lowery, an irresponsible drunk.
“That’s quite a story,” Cal said, eyeing this woman who’d flown out to look over the ranch. What in the world had possessed her to come to Coyote Creek? Nothing glamorous about the small Texas town, nothing particularly pretty about it, either. “But why did you come all the way out here?”
She looked at him like he was a moron. Which some would say was accurate but Cal wasn’t admitting to it. “Because I’m a responsible person who can’t ignore something she’s been gifted. I called the town hall to inquire about the property and someone named Millie gave me Mr. Lowery’s name and number. Took me a week to get in touch with him. He told me the place needed a good scrubbing, but there were cows and a horse. He wanted me to wire him money. But I’d rather meet him and view the property in person.”
“If you were Bud’s assistant, how come you didn’t know all that to begin with?”
She looked annoyed at the question. “Mr. Edelman liked to take care of matters with the Triple J himself. My job was to transfer money into the ranch account. He handled everything else.”
“Millie should have given you the number to a good realty company and saved you the trip out here.”
“You’re assuming I’m selling the place?” she asked, placing those plump lips around the straw. He noticed. Gosh damn, did he notice those lips.
“I ain’t assuming nothing. Tell you what. I’ll drive you out to the ranch,” he said. She needed to see what she was getting herself into. He hadn’t been out that way since he’d come home last time, but he knew all the local kids sneaked out there to drink and shoot Coke cans. Someone had mentioned a load of feral cats in the barn, too. Supposedly, Charlie had allowed it to slide into disrepair which was a damn shame because it had once been a nice place.
“I need the keys. Otherwise I could have gone myself, Mr. Lincoln. I do have a navigation system.”
Cal smiled. “Of course you do, but the thing is, some of these Texas roads aren’t on the map.”
“This one is. But I figured it would have a gate or something. Mr. Lowery said he’d bring all the keys and show me around. I’m not sure I could even get on the property without a key.”
Cal smiled. “I guarantee I’ll get you to the front door.”
“I suppose I can follow you in my rental,” she said, like any good city girl who knew better than to climb into a pickup truck with a stranger wearing Wranglers with holes in the knees. Of course his straw hat was new and expensive...not that a girl from Philly would know.
“Sure,” he said, motioning for the check. This time Freda hurried over.
“You paying for her Coke?” she asked, hooking an eyebrow.
“No, here, let me,” Maggie said, reaching for her bag.
Cal plopped a twenty down on the handwritten ticket Freda had ripped off and sat on the chipped Formica. “I always buy pretty ladies a drink.”
Maggie made a frowny face which made her look cute. Still sexy. But cute, too. “Thank you.”
“Keep the change, Freda. I’m going to take Mrs....Miss?”
“Miss,” Maggie conceded.
“Miss Stanton out to the Triple J. Send the sheriff if I ain’t back in two days,” he joked as he grabbed his hat and slid out of the booth.
He was damned glad to know she wasn’t married. Not that it really mattered. She’d take one look at that dump out on Highway 139 and all he’d see was a trail of dust out of Coyote Creek. In fact as soon as his body healed, he’d be hitting the road, too. The day-to-day boredom paired with his mother harping about him getting killed, about him finding something safer to do...about him being too much like his deadbeat father drove him crazy. His cracked ribs were better and the punctured lung had healed, but his shoulder still hurt like a bitch. His agent called every other day wanting to know his progress. PBR and PRCA reps called, too. His sponsors emailed him. Friends texted him. Everyone wanted him back on the tour come August, except for his mother. And maybe the bulls. They’d never liked him much ’cause he could stay on almost half the time.
“Wait,” Maggie said, rising beside him. “Why would someone have to come get us? What are you guys not telling me about this place?”
“No worries, Maggie,” he said, gesturing toward the door before sliding the pill out of his pocket and popping it in his mouth. Only half the dosage. He had to wean himself from the painkillers. “I’m banged up but perfectly capable of looking after you.”
“I don’t need looking after. I’m a grown woman,” she said, quite serious about it.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he said, refusing to slide his eyes suggestively down her body like he wanted to. Didn’t want her to think he was a pervert. She looked skittish enough at the thought of following him out to the Triple J.
Freda snapped her fingers. “See? Don’t say I didn’t warn you about this cowboy.”
Maggie shouldered her bag and perched her sunglasses atop her head. Then she gave Freda a wry smile. “I’ll be sure to keep my legs crossed.”
Cal barked a laugh. “I want to see you drive with your legs crossed.”
Maggie let a self-deprecating laugh escape. “Dear Lord, what am I doing?”
“I don’t know,” Cal said, pushing open the door to greet the sunny morning. “But I’m kinda glad you’re doing it with me this morning. I’ve been bored as hell around here.”
2 (#ulink_1b9e321f-0226-5f12-9434-31960387b3a4)
MAGGIE WIPED A sweaty palm against her linen shorts and focused on the hot cowboy’s tailgate, which bumped down the dusty highway at a fast clip. Nothing like a man in worn jeans who drove fast and talked slow. She wondered what other things he did slowly.
Then she swallowed hard and warned her libido that now was not the time to get interested in a man.
Of course, there had been too much of telling herself no over the past several years, which is probably why she’d noticed just how sexy one Mr. Cal Lincoln was. Being the personal and administrative assistant to Herbert “Bud” Edelman, owner of Edelman Enterprises, was a big job, but it was one she did surprisingly well. Growing up the fatherless child of the Edelman estate’s housekeeper had given Maggie a set of valuable skills—she was diplomatic, humble and hardworking. After college, she had planned on taking a position with a law firm, with the idea of applying for law school in the back of her mind, but life had a way of putting a person down where it wanted. Bud had needed her, so she’d taken advantage of the salary and security...and found out she was a damn good administrator. Her competency had allowed an ailing Bud to untie himself from his work and focus on recovering from his debilitating stroke.
But now her mentor was gone.
She glanced over at the box containing Bud’s ashes resting on her floorboard and tried not to tear up.
No time for tears, turkey.
The pickup in front of her slowed. To her left she saw a rusted sign arcing above the entrance to the ranch. From either side, fencing stretched across as far as she could see. Tall grass waved in the ditches and the land rose up so she couldn’t see where the graveled road led. Three rusty Js were woven into the sign. The Triple J had been named after Bud’s three children—James, Julien and Judith. All worthless idiots too busy to visit their father unless they needed money. Which meant they’d come by the estate fairly regularly.
Cal pulled in and put his truck into Park. She pulled in beside him, eyeing the locked gate, and rolled down the window of the rental car.
He climbed out, leaving his pickup running. “Let me look at the lock.”
He moseyed toward the padlock holding a length of chain threaded through the gates. He studied it and then let it drop, clanking against the metal. Then he moseyed back to his truck, opened the lid of a trunk thing in the back and brought out a large pair of bolt cutters. One hard squeeze—which caused a flash of pain across Cal’s face—and the chain fell uselessly to the side.
Turning, he gave her a dimpled grin that made heat shoot into her belly. “Don’t need keys in Texas.”
“So I see,” she said, glancing back at the lock before returning her gaze to the cowboy. Cal wasn’t a big man, but he covered a lot of ground with his broad shoulders and tight ass. He looked like a rodeo queen’s dream with his ambling walk, lazy grin and naughty blue eyes beneath the brim of the cowboy hat.
Cal kicked the two gates open and then gestured. “Ladies first.”
She pulled past the gate and waited for him to climb back into his truck. He shifted into Drive and followed her over the hill and down the path.
Her first impression was that Bud had been right. The Triple J was a piece of heaven on earth with wide, waving pastures, dotted with occasional scrubby brush. Shady trees she couldn’t identify framed a rippling pond, and a picturesque red barn sprawled not far away from several paddocks and a low building that looked like a hall of some sort. Situated to the right was a white farmhouse with a huge porch that sagged, broken windows that yawned and a roof covered by blue tarp signifying a leak. A skin-and-bones nag looked lonely in the far pasture, and when Maggie rolled up next to the house, about eight cats scattered from the yard, reminding her of a drug bust she’d once seen in a bad part of Philly.
Her heart sank.
“Shit,” she whispered as the tiny worm of an idea that she might have been gifted a new future shriveled up.
“Well, this is it,” Cal said, hopping down from his cab and slamming the truck door.
Maggie climbed out, shielding her eyes. “This is not what I expected.”
He surveyed the run-down ranch house. “Never is, is it?”
Truer words were never spoken.
“What’s with all the cats?” she asked.
“Dunno, feral cat problem?”
“Feral cat,” she repeated, walking over to the lonely horse.
“On the bright side, you probably don’t have much of a rat problem,” he said.
“Mmm,” she said, looking over the horse that looked as if it hadn’t been fed in weeks. She lifted a hand to its nose, though she’d only ever touched the nose of a pony at a friend’s birthday when she was eight years old. The horse blew out a gentle breath. “Is this horse malnourished?”
Cal walked to the beast. The horse turned toward him as if it knew he could be trusted. It blew again as he stroked the coat with his strong hands. “Hey, now, old gal, hey.”
His words soothed even her.
“Nah, she’s just old. Ain’t ya, girl?” Cal slapped a hand against the horse’s neck. “Let’s check the barn.”
She turned to the red barn and noted the graffiti scrawled across it. Some very naughty words along with the rendering of a giant penis graced the front. “Nice artwork.”
“Yeah, the kids in town come out here to drink and screw. This old place has probably seen more action than a Reno whorehouse.”
The barn doors had been busted open, so Cal didn’t have to fetch the bolt cutters again. Empty dusty stalls and an old tractor met them. Bags of feed spilled over. Several cats peeked out and she heard mewling kittens somewhere in the dank hay. “This is a mess. What in the hell has this Lowery guy been doing with the money I moved into the ranch accounts each month?”
Cal shrugged. “The animals are alive.”
“You sure? I didn’t see the thirty head of cattle that supposedly roam the ranch.”
“Probably in the back field. Shade trees there and it’ll be plenty hot today,” Cal said, wiping a hand over his brow. The back of his T-shirt already showed dampness.
Maggie didn’t want to show her disappointment in front of the cowboy...if he even was a cowboy. Just because a man wore boots, a hat and Wranglers didn’t mean he was a cowboy. In her limited experience thus far, lots of Texans wore cowboy stuff no matter what their profession. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Sell it. It needs work, but you can get something out of it. I don’t know much about the real estate market, but it’s good acreage.”
Of course, selling the ranch was the smartest option. Wasn’t like she was actually interested in owning a ranch, but the terms of the will made it complicated. If she kept the ranch for five years, the title would be hers. If she sold it, the profit would be split with the Edelman children, with her only getting a fourth of the sale. Maggie’s first thought was to hold on to the property for the required years, but she didn’t have the money needed to both maintain a ranch and support herself in Philadelphia. If it hadn’t been so dilapidated, the money netted from the sale would be plenty to help her start a new life, but as is...
She sucked in a deep breath. “How do I find Mr. Lowery?”
“Try the bars.”
“Which one?”
“All of ’em.”
Great. Bud had been paying a drunk to take care of the place. The old man’s pride and joy, the surprise bequest he’d left her, had been abandoned for a bottle of whiskey.
Piece of heaven her ass.
Maggie pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can sell, but I’ll have to fix it first. No one’s going to make an offer on something needing this much work.”
“Sure they will. Sell it ‘as is.’”
She leveled a look at Cal. “Would you buy this place?”
“Shit, no.”
“Exactly. That will be everyone’s response. And since I need the money this place will bring, I want top dollar. How much do you think this place would be worth with over three hundred and fifty acres and a decent—” she tossed a glance at the pathetic house “—house?”
Cal looked at the house, squinting his eyes. “Well, it’s a big house. If you repaired it, painted it, upgraded some things inside, you’d probably get a couple of million easy. Land’s prized around here, but a working ranch, spiffed up...”
“So you don’t know?”
“Not really. Like I said, real estate’s not my thing.”
Which made her wonder—what was his thing?
But what did Cal matter at that moment? She had bigger fish to fry. Her original plan when she’d left Philly had been to stay a day or two, scatter Bud’s ashes and make the decision on what to do with the Triple J. Of course, she knew the right decision would be to sell the place. But Bud had talked about the Triple J with such wistfulness, describing nights in front of the fireplace, rocking chairs on the porch and lovely vistas. In the back of her mind, Maggie had wondered if the ranch could be a place to belong even if she didn’t know a gelding from a stallion. She could finally have something that was all hers, silly as it sounded.
The Triple J would be sold. Maggie would take her part and head back to the East Coast. She could stay with her aunt until she found her own place. And though she’d sent her résumé to several companies and already netted interview requests, she’d been kicking around the idea of starting her own consulting firm. She was particularly skilled in creating and facilitating successful board meetings. If she could parlay that skill into a company that mediated contentious corporate situations, she could be her own boss. But to do that, she needed seed money.
“I need to think. Renovating this place will be a huge job,” she said, trying to regain some of the cool she’d lost in the past few minutes. The situation called for being rational, strategic and—
“I could help you out,” Cal said, interrupting her internal plea for calmness.
“What?”
“Right now I’m living in a trailer on my mom’s land...at least for the next month, but I could always move out here and oversee repairs.”
“Are you a...uh, carpenter? Or contractor?”
His smile was like sun after a storm. “Hell, no.”
“I’m not sure why I would hire someone who doesn’t have any skills to oversee something that... Well, I’m not even sure of the extent of what’s needed.” So he was unemployed, lived in a trailer on his mother’s land and looking for a job? Sounded like a man to stay away from.
“I have skills,” he said, an edge in his words implying he was talking about more than using a hammer.
Maggie clamped her mouth closed and studied him. In the midmorning light, he looked right as rain framed against the faded barn. He had the whole fantasy thing going—sexy cowboy with a side of trouble.
Or a side of fun.
Okay, yeah, she was attracted to him. Very attracted to him. He made little butterflies flit around her tummy and warmth curl up her spine. But that wasn’t a good enough reason to employ someone she’d not even vetted to help her out of a tight spot with the Triple J.
Just as she was about to open her mouth to turn down his offer, generous or not, a pickup truck bumped over the rise. The paint job was interesting—two doors covered in white primer and a hood painted bright blue. The rest of the vehicle was a rusty red. It looked like a worn-out American flag as it came to a halt beside Cal’s truck. The engine died and an older man climbed out.
Cal rubbed a hand over his face. “Ah, shit.”
“You the gal I’m supposed to meet?” the older man called in a gravelly voice, walking toward them. He wore a straw cowboy hat, brand-new indigo jeans and a T-shirt with Rattled Rooster Saloon stamped across the front. He spit in the dust and eyed Cal.
The tension between the men was thick. Like there could be a shoot-out at the not-so-OK Corral.
“The gal?” Maggie repeated, not bothering to extend her hand.
The older man lifted his hat. “Sorry about being late. Set my damn alarm clock for p.m. and not a.m. I’m usually up when the cock crows, but I must have been tuckered out.”
Cal snorted.
Charlie’s mouth tightened at the sound.
“I’m assuming you’re Mr. Lowery?”
The man nodded.
“I accept your apology. But what I do not accept is the condition of this ranch. You’ve been paid a considerable sum of money each month to take care of the Triple J and you’ve failed miserably.”
Charlie drew back. “Now see here, Ms....what’s your name again?”
“Stanton.”
“What you don’t understand is how much money it takes to run a ranch. It’s more than feed and vet bills. I asked Bud for extra money to fix the barn and repaint it last year. Those damn kids are always out here drinking and fu—uh, messing around. Only so much I can do. I told him about the roof leaking. He said he’d send somebody. So I tried.”
“Tried?” Maggie reined in the anger brewing inside her. “I’ll need to see your accounting, Mr. Lowery.”
“Like receipts and stuff? Might be a few on the floorboard, but Bud never told me I had to keep a book or nothing.”
“You realize you’re going to make restitution, don’t you? This place is in shambles.”
Charlie looked over at Cal who stood still as a puddle watching the confrontation. “What are you doing here?”
Before Cal could say anything, Maggie pointed a finger toward Charlie. “He’s the person who is going to oversee you and the cleanup of the Triple J. Consider Cal the foreman on this project. And you’re going to be intimately involved with rectifying the neglect or I’ll sue your pants off.”
She hadn’t meant to make Cal the foreman...which wasn’t actually a position for something like this. Or maybe it was. She’d never undertaken the salvaging of a ranch. Lawyering up was merely a threat. Though she was certain she could get the attorney Bud had used for forty years to draft a threatening letter. Regardless she had to get the place cleaned up and Charlie Lowery owed her. Lumping Cal in was sheer insanity. Maybe the horniness she had for the man had blocked out logic. Or perhaps it was the image of him lifting boards and painting fences, shirtless and glistening with sweat in the hot Texas sun.
Oh, God. She needed to have her head examined. Or get laid.
Or both.
Charlie’s face registered agitation. “You’re hiring Cal? He’s not a contractor. He’s a bu—”
“I’m perfectly capable of overseeing the repairs,” Cal interrupted. “If you remember, I spent many summers working ranches.”
Charlie didn’t say anything more in argument. He merely shifted his gaze from Cal to her and then back to Cal again. After a few tense seconds, he uttered, “This is bullshit.”
And then he stalked to his truck, lowered the tailgate and hefted a heavy bag to his shoulder. Without another word to either of them, he disappeared into the barn. Five or six cats followed him, their heads ducked cautiously.
Cal turned back to her. “You’re really going to hire me?”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But...”
She sucked in more hot Texas air. “Honestly, you’re the only person I know here. And you were true to your word—you got me inside the ranch. And I don’t have time to do a huge job search. Please tell me you have some actual experience with—” she threw her hands in the air and spun around surveying the Triple J “—working miracles?”
“They call me the miracle worker,” he said.
She arched her brow.
“Okay, they don’t, but I spent every summer in high school working ranches and construction. If I can’t do it, I’ll find someone who can.”
Maggie squeezed her eyes closed and tried to center herself. This was going to be a huge undertaking and would cost a pretty penny. She had forty thousand dollars in savings and maybe five thousand in her checking account. No way would she cash out any investments. But if she wanted to sell the Triple J for more than a marginal profit, she’d have to spend some cash. Starting with Cal. “How much?”
“For what?”
“To get this place ready to list? I’m assuming you’re unemployed otherwise you wouldn’t have offered your services.” Her tongue nearly tripped on those last words. They’d sounded suggestive, though she’d not intended them to be.
A strange expression crossed his face, but he caught himself. “Four thousand. Should take about five or six weeks if the rain stays away. It’s mid-July so I don’t see an issue there. Probably have to hire some pros for some stuff, but I know a few guys who are good and won’t charge an arm and a leg.”
“That seems fair. I’ll draw up a contract.”
“But I need to inspect the place first. Let’s meet at the Barbwire tomorrow morning,” Cal said before jerking his head toward the barn. “A word of warning—Charlie has a drinking problem and a habit of interfering where he’s not wanted.”
“He owes Bud recompense. The shape this place is in rests on his shoulders. Find something for him to do, or I’ll sue him for breach of contract.” Maggie wasn’t sure if the contract would hold up since most of the terms were unwritten. But she’d bluff her way through. Charlie was a free laborer and free sounded good at the moment.
Cal shrugged. “Your rodeo.”
Yeah. A big, fat, disastrous one where she stood in the center of the arena wearing a barrel as her underwear like those funny rodeo clowns she’d seen in cartoons. “I’m heading back to town. I have a lot to do in order to relocate to Coyote Creek.”
“Relocate? You’re not going back to Pennsylvania?” Cal asked.
“After ten years of paying someone to do a job that didn’t get done, you think I’m going to leave this place unattended? If I’m plopping down money, I’m part of the process.”
“Define ‘part of the process.’”
“I’m a hard worker. I’ll pitch in.”
Cal lowered his gaze, taking in the new wedge sandals she’d scored on a half-price rack last week and the secondhand Louis Vuitton bag her cousin had bought at a yard sale. She could see his thoughts in those pretty blue eyes. He thought she was useless. “You’re going to help clean and repair the Triple J?”
“I know how to hold a paintbrush,” she said, sliding her sunglasses back in place. “As soon as I contact animal control about these cats, I’ll get the house habitable.”
Cal might have smirked, but she didn’t wait around to see. Cowboy Cal and Grumpy Charlie may have preconceived notions about her, but they didn’t know her veneer of sophistication had been shellacked on to survive the snooty world of the Edelmans. Her mother had been the housekeeper and Maggie had scrubbed many a toilet and polished many a silver serving tray. Hard Work was her middle name.
“You’re going to stay in the house?” Cal called to her.
Maggie glanced over at the sad dwelling. Poor place looked as if it had cashed in on existing. But at one time, the Triple J ranch house had been a home. “Have you seen the Coyote Creek motel?”
Cal twisted lips that made her think of morning sex. “Good point.”
Maggie climbed into the car, watching the cowboy through her windshield. He surveyed the house and then walked around back, perhaps looking for a place to park his trailer.
So many questions about him rambled around her mind, but she supposed there would be time for answers. After all, they’d be working together for the next month or so. The faster she sold the Triple J, the faster she could get on with her life.
Maggie slid an apologetic glance to the box holding the ashes of her late boss.
“Sorry, Bud. I know you hoped I’d fall in love with the Triple J, but I don’t even own cowboy boots.”
Though she might want to grab a pair if she was going to be here for a while.
3 (#ulink_113802f6-56a6-562f-be08-eebe63ee98c5)
THREE DAYS LATER Cal watched Maggie dip the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and scrub down the front door of the Triple J ranch house. Ten years of lightning bug and moth waste dotted the wooden door with the broken glass insets. Would have been easier to buy a whole new damn door, but Miss Maggie Stanton was tighter than Dick’s hatband when it came to letting go of cash.
She looked damned fine in a pair of cutoff shorts that cupped her ass, a loose tank top and sandals that allowed toenails of bright red to peek out. Her brown ponytail bobbed as she uttered indiscriminant curse words under her breath. Stepping back she tossed the sponge into the bucket, splashing soapy water onto the sagging porch boards.
“Damn it.”
He climbed the steps, avoiding the one with the loose board. “Looks better.”
“No, it doesn’t, but at least it’s clean.” She brushed her hands on her shorts. The waistband dipped giving him a glimpse of apple-green panties. She turned to him. “Did you call the guy about the leak?”
“Yeah. The roofing company’s sending a guy for an estimate.”
“The roof has to be fixed before we can do any other work inside. And there’s a lot of work to be done.”
Cal looked at the door and then pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. He added “paint front door” to the list. “I’m heading to physical therapy, but I’ll be back by five o’clock. The painters will be out in the barn. If you have a problem, call me.”
“So I’m supervising now?” Her eyes dipped down to his chest. He knew he’d sweated buckets and his T-shirt clung to him. He’d been helping Ray and his team tear out rotten boards and replace them on the west side of the barn. Her noticing the clinging material made something naughty rear up inside him. One thing he knew was when a woman was interested. He’d caught Maggie’s gaze on him more than once. Firm indicator.
Two mornings ago, he and Maggie had come to an agreement regarding the renovation of the Triple J over pancakes at the Barbwire Grill. He had no clue why he’d agreed to help Maggie. Okay, he did. Some of it was wanting to get away from living with his mom and her husband. After the wreck on Rasputin, his mother had resurrected her petition that he give up bull riding. And some of it was feeling bad his old mentor had allowed the ranch to fall into disrepair. But most of it had to do with the insane attraction he held for Maggie. It had been months since he’d felt any interest in a woman. Maybe longer than that. Occasionally when he won big and drank enough, he took advantage of the willing women who frequented the bars. Yet he never felt anything more than a passing attraction.
Until Maggie had walked in.
Of course, he was bored and depressed by the lack of healing in his shoulder. He’d spent the past two weeks in bed watching Divorce Court and champing at the bit to get back to competing for the million-dollar prize. So doing a little work would make the hours go faster and being able to eye the sexy Maggie Stanton while doing it would be an added bonus.
So he made the list and hired the crews to repair the outer buildings for a ranch he cared nothing about. After inspecting the buildings, he’d decided the barn was too big of a job to attempt alone. He’d asked around and found a crew of painters who’d had a job fall through. They’d started work that morning, prepping for repainting right after the county animal control had picked up ten full traps of angry, snarling cats. Cal had started working on repairing stalls, carefully using his bad shoulder, hoping the natural movement might do some good since the prescribed therapy hadn’t done what he’d hoped. Still hurt like hell, but the therapist said moving it was good for him.
Charlie had shown up midmorning and with a grunt started helping. Cal didn’t have much left for the old man...or at least that’s what he told himself.
Charlie had taken him under his wing when Cal had been a restless green buck set on causing trouble rather than being useful. The former rodeo star had taught Cal how to be a cowboy, watching Cal ride his first bull, teaching him how to position his hands and when to use the spurs. Once upon a time, Cal had worshiped Charlie. Until the curmudgeonly cowboy had started drinking too much...and hitting on Cal’s mother.
When Cal was in high school, his lonely mom had shared a few meals with Charlie. She’d seen it as casual companionship, two people who cared about Cal spending time together. But when she met Gary Whitehorse, Charlie got jealous. It spilled over onto Cal’s rodeo life. The dam broke when Charlie tried to play daddy, demanding Cal quit bull riding after a particularly dangerous ride. Cal and Charlie had clashed like only two hardheaded fools could and the result was a sixteen-year silence. But Cal supposed they could hand each other nails and measure two-by-fours without talking much.
“I told you I’d have to go to physical therapy twice a week,” he reminded her.
Maggie silently regarded Cal. He knew her thoughts, namely the unstated question of why he went to a physical therapist. He hadn’t revealed he was a bull rider yet and he didn’t know why he withheld the information. All he’d accomplished was something to be proud of, but after years of buckle bunnies hopping after him and reporters haggling him, he was tired of the fascination. Being a regular dude felt good. Like pulling on an old pair of blue jeans.
“Right,” she said when she realized he wasn’t going to explain. “Oh, so you know, I checked out of the motel. I’m staying here tonight.”
“But the windows are still busted.”
“I found the screens in the attic. Cats are gone and I’m tired of motel life.”
“But it’s hotter than hell without AC.” His thoughts flickered to an image of her in a short nightie, sweat glistening between her breasts. Maybe no air-conditioning would be a good thing, especially since he’d pulled his trailer out this morning and had a nice view of the house. Of course, he wasn’t a pervert who’d sit around, peering out his blinds, trying to catch a peek. But if she did venture out to the saggy porch in her barely there nightie, he damned sure wasn’t looking away.
“I’ll manage. Just get those guys from the hardware place out here tomorrow to replace the panes. Oh, and call the roofing company again. No rain in the forecast, but if a storm blows up, I don’t want to have to get pans out.”
“I’ll put in another call, boss.”
“Are you staying here tonight?” she asked, looking down at the bucket and eyeing the door again.
“Are you asking me to keep you company tonight, darlin’? ’Cause I’m more than willing.”
Maggie’s head jerked up. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was thinking about safety.”
“You can’t blame a guy for wanting to keep a pretty filly company.”
“Are you comparing me to a horse?” she asked, her brown eyes flashing. He loved her feisty spirit...which explained the teasing. Ruffling her feathers could become an addiction.
“You say it like being a horse is a bad thing. I like horses.”
She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Lincoln, our relationship is strictly a working one. I’m not in the market for being your...filly.”
“But you’ll settle for being my nag?” he cracked.
That made her lips twitch. “On second thought, I prefer filly. And hasn’t anyone ever suggested to you and to half of Texas that calling women baby, honey and filly is offensive?”
“If I kiss you and whisper ‘baby, you’re driving me wild,’ you’d be offended?”
Maggie swallowed. “Yes.”
“I’ll file that away for—”
“Not for future reference. We can’t... I mean, you are...” Maggie clamped her mouth closed, a faint pink creeping into her cheeks. He’d only known her for three days, but already he knew flustering Miss Priss was more fun than staring at Charlie’s sad ass all day long. Maggie pulled on her business face, but he sensed the flirting pleased her. Like she was a woman who needed a little teasing in her life.
“Relax, Mags,” he said, giving her a wink. “I never graze in a pasture if the gate ain’t open.”
Then he walked away at a slow ramble, knowing it would aggravate her. He’d bet his boots she loved cocky in a man and that’s something he held by the bucket load. He was short on a lot of things—manners, stature and patience at times—but knowing who he was and what cards he held had always been his best quality. Which was why this injury had thrown him for a loop. He’d done everything required of him to no avail. Everyone kept saying “give it time,” but that was something he didn’t have. He had to be back on a bull soon with an eye on the standings if he wanted a shot at the money and title.
When Rasputin had stepped on his shoulder, he’d shattered the bones along with cracking two ribs. Then he’d tossed Cal, puncturing a lung in the process. All ornery eighteen hundred pounds of snot, muscle and fury, Rasputin was up for Bull of the Year for good reason. And Cal knew he’d probably draw the bastard again in one of the last few events before Nationals. He finished the first half ranked number four, but the points were close this year. Come mid-August he had to be ready. But because the injury had been on his left side and his shoulder didn’t have good mobility, his balance was still shit.
He’d see about putting a bucking barrel in one of the stalls in the barn. He needed to practice and wasn’t ready to ride anything that breathed yet. Or maybe he was...just not a bull.
But until he could get back in the proverbial saddle, he’d head to therapy where he’d sweat buckets, cuss like a sailor and pray his shoulder’s flexibility improved. August wasn’t far away.
* * *
MAGGIE WIPED THE sweat from her forehead and surveyed her efforts. The screens were in place and she’d managed to give the kitchen, living area and one bedroom a decent scrubbing. She’d ordered a new mattress but until it arrived, she’d make do on one in a bedroom that had been closed off. She found sheets in a linen closet and ran them through the washing machine that, praise Jesus, still worked. Currently they flapped in the hot Texas breeze, pinned to the old-fashioned wash line she’d found and strung up on the two old poles behind the house.
She glanced out at the barn, relieved to see the painters had accomplished a good bit in one day. Thankfully, they’d primed over the rude graffiti so she didn’t have to stare at the rendering of the giant penis.
Waving at the men who loaded into a van, she went back into the oven, aka the house, to fix something for dinner. A knock on the door stopped her.
Charlie stood on the porch, wiping his face with a faded bandana. “I’m leaving now.”
“Okay,” she said.
“How many days I gotta put in to satisfy you?” He looked grumpy as an old bullfrog.
“As many as it takes to get this place back to where it was when Bud entrusted it to you.”
Charlie wiped a hand over his face. “Goddamn it. That could be next year. I ain’t got time for this. I got my own shit to do.”
“Like supporting the local bars? Don’t you feel remorse for letting this place fall apart?” She crossed her arms and gave him her best boardroom stare. Yeah, there were times she had to be Bud’s junkyard dog...in heels, of course.
“I did what I was hired to do. You can’t blame me.”
“Then whom shall I blame?”
“I don’t give a damn. Blame Bud. I told him I needed more money.”
“There was plenty of money in the ranch accounts.”
Charlie frowned. “You don’t understand the cost of running a ranch, but you’ll see. Everything’s expensive. Wait till you get the first vet bill. Bud only gave me so much and I took care of the animals first. Then I maintained the fence lines. I left the house for last. Wasn’t nobody here no how. Every time I replaced the glass in the windows, those damn kids broke them again. I painted over the graffiti twice. Started seeming like a waste if you asked me.”
The older man had a point. “Why not get to the root of the problem? Call the sheriff and put up cameras.”
Charlie’s mouth tipped into a smirk and she could see he’d once been a handsome man. “Think I didn’t? Sheriff can only do so much. This is Texas and there’s a lot of land to cover for his deputies. They came by and ran off some kids every now and again. And so you know, I set out game cameras. The one video feed I got was so grainy I couldn’t tell if it was kids smoking pot or aliens.”
“So you gave up?” Maggie asked.
Charlie shrugged. “Them kids beat me. But I’ll help you out even if I have to put up with Cal bustin’ my balls. Guess I owe Bud that much.” Charlie shuffled back off the porch.
At that moment, Cal’s truck bumped down to the barn. Charlie didn’t say anything else. Just hustled toward his American flag truck, passing Cal without a word. Made her wonder why the older man didn’t like Cal. Cal didn’t bother acknowledging Charlie, either.
As he climbed the porch steps, Cal doffed his hat. She pushed outside onto the porch and sat down on the steps she’d swept off earlier to mostly get rid of spiders. Cal eased himself down so he sat on the same step. He smelled like the heat that surrounded them and faintly like menthol. “Painters gone?”
“A few minutes ago,” she said, easing away from him, telling herself it was because he needed more shoulder room but knowing it was because she didn’t want to be any more tempted than she already was. She had a hang-up for a cowboy. Never in a million years would she have guessed boots and a cowboy hat were such crack.
“Looks like they got a good bit done. On the way to McKinney I called about the septic system, AC and the wells. We need to get those checked and repaired,” he said, setting his hat back on his head. Guess he took it off when greeting a lady. They sure were strange in Texas. But she was glad for it because she liked his hair. The locks were thick and shaggy. Perfect for running a woman’s hands through.
What was he talking about? Oh, yeah, wells and septic systems.
Everything was so overwhelming, and she had much to learn about a ranch and Texas and...snakes. She’d seen one of the native reptiles coiled in the middle of the road today. She needed a book to help her out. Like How to Run a Ranch for Dummies. Or maybe there was a YouTube video. Seemed to be one for everything. She’d learned how to fold sheets and fix a vacuum cleaner on there.
Her face must have portrayed her frustration because Cal patted her thigh. “Just one forkful at a time.”
His hand on her bared skin made heat slither into her belly. Correction. It made more heat slither into her belly. She was already hot as hell from her day of cleaning. And none too attractive she had to add. Maggie hadn’t sweated this much since she’d tried hot yoga. “What?”
“That’s how they say you eat an elephant, right? One forkful at a time.”
“Who eats an elephant, anyway?”
“Dunno.”
“Why are you going to therapy?” she asked.
He rubbed his hands against the worn denim of his jeans and stared out at the sun hovering over the horizon. “Shattered some bones in my left shoulder. Had surgery mid-May to fix it.”
“That sounds painful,” she said, wanting to peer around him to look at his shoulder as if she could see through the cotton fabric. “Was it a wreck?”
“Actually it was.” He smiled. “But it wasn’t in a car.”
“Motorcycle?” He’d look fine straddling a hog. She could see him riding with mirrored sunglasses and a badass smile. No clue how he’d manage to keep the cowboy hat on, though.
“Nah. Bull.”
“Bull? You ran into a bull?”
“More like it knocked me out cold and then stepped on me,” he said.
“Were you working with it? Like on a ranch?” Maybe he’d been a ranch hand. Or a real cowboy who drove cattle. But where did they drive cattle these days? From field to field? She hadn’t a clue. Another thing she needed to learn.
“Actually I was riding it,” Cal said, clasping his hands together between his spread knees.
“As in a rodeo?” Maggie asked, turning toward him. “That’s, like, superdangerous.” And it explained why he lived in a trailer on his mother’s land. She didn’t know much about rodeo, but she knew the cowboys who went town to town in search of rides didn’t have much money. She’d listened to Garth Brooks’s songs when she was a kid. Rodeo was a hard life.
“Yeah, it’s dangerous. I’ve been gored, tossed, stepped on, and I’ve had stitches. Look—” he pulled off his cowboy hat and showed her a white puckered scar near his hairline “—that came from Nitro II. Threw that big head back and nailed me good.”
“So you ride the bulls?”
“I ride the bulls. Well, some of the time.”
“Huh,” she said, lifting herself from the step. “I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re any good after looking at those injuries. You want to join me for supper?”
He looked up, blue eyes amused. She hadn’t a clue why. He was the one who admitted to doing a completely asinine thing like climbing onto the back of a huge beast with horns. “What you having?”
“Well, you can have a ham sandwich, a turkey sandwich or Kraft mac and cheese. The Stop-N-Go had very little to offer in way of variety, though I did consider the wieners on the wiener-go-round.”
Cal stood. “Wiener-go-round?”
“You know, that little thingy that rotates the wieners,” she said, holding open the door.
“Is this sexy talk?” he asked, his eyes moving down her body.
“You sure you didn’t get kicked in the head? ’Cause I’m pretty sure overcooked hot dogs are not sexy. Never have been, never will be.”
Cal moved toward her. His previously damp T-shirt had been replaced by a short-sleeved polo that hung up on his biceps, and she’d be willing to bet he’d showered somewhere because his dark hair curled beneath the cowboy hat, glinting clean in the sun like a new penny. He moved like a man who was accustomed to taking what he wanted. A flare of something ignited in her stomach and suddenly she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. He had a thin upper lip, but that bottom one was so sensual. Gave her an urge to lick it, maybe bite it.
“I know, but you know what is sexy?” he asked, stopping right in front of her.
Could he hear her heart beating? Or maybe smell how turned on she was? Because she was. Like a light switch flicked. “You’re defining sexy now?”
“I think we should,” he said, shifting even closer. She could see the buttons on his polo had four holes. He smelled vaguely of lemon and, yeah, some kind of liniment. Even that turned her on.
He dragged one finger across her lips. And just like that, the smiles were gone. Because that was the single sexiest move she’d ever experienced. “These lips.”
Maggie swallowed hard. “Uh...”
“No, don’t say it,” he said, running his finger lightly back across her bottom lip. “I know you think it’s a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, Maggie. Thing is, I don’t really care.”
He slid his hand across her jaw and cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the hair pulled tight in the ponytail. Tilting her head back, he studied her face.
And she studied his. Long dark eyelashes totally wasted on a man framed eyes the color of a Caribbean surf. His broad cheeks angled down and she bet his nose had been broken more than once. Lean jaw, firm chin and those damn lips she wanted to feel on her body...everywhere.
“I don’t need this job, Maggie.”
She inhaled deeply. “So why did you take it?”
“For this,” he said, lowering his head, his lips covering hers.
4 (#ulink_884397c0-c10d-5f2e-9624-af9c484956dd)
HE HADN’T MEANT to kiss her.
But after .008 seconds he was happy as hell he did. Because kissing Maggie was like raindrops falling on the parched earth. Exactly what he needed.
She tasted like spearmint gum and sweat—an oddly potent combination.
He held her firmly, but there was no need because she didn’t pull away. A soft sigh escaped against his lips as if she’d been waiting for him to do exactly what he’d done—take control of the situation. And that thought stoked his ego.
So he reached for her with his bad arm and hauled her against him, ignoring the pain because her soft body against his overshadowed the twinge in his shoulder. His hand cupped her ass, pulling her hard against him and she opened her mouth, letting him inside.
Make no mistake, Maggie could hold her own, but after a few seconds of heaven, he pulled back.
Her topaz eyes widened. “You kissed me.”
He grinned. “Couldn’t help myself. Those sexy lips begged me to.”
“You’re blaming my lips?” She swiped her hand over her mouth and stepped back. “We can’t do this...uh, that. I’m your boss. You can’t go around kissing your boss.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have to work together. That’s the first thing you learn in the corporate world.”
“Do you see a corporation out here?”
“Look, I need this ranch completed so I can list it and move on with my life. I can’t have you running out on me because we screw up by getting...physical.”
“I wasn’t planning on screwing anything up except maybe y—”
“No,” she interrupted holding up a finger. “We’re not going there.”
But they already had. Her breathing was labored, her eyes slightly dilated and the nipples beneath the tank were hard. Her body said yes no matter what her mouth said. Her body’s reaction told him all he needed to know. This would take patience. “Okay.”
“Okay?” She sounded surprised.
“Yeah, okay. Now, how about that sandwich? I’m going for the turkey. No, the ham.”
Maggie stared at him for a few seconds. “You can have both.”
He slapped his hands together, hung his cowboy hat on the hooks inside the door and headed toward the kitchen. The living area of the Triple J had been cleared of the junk the teenagers or cats or whatever had busted windows had brought in. The furniture looked worn and stained and the whole place needed scrubbing. But it could be really nice. The fireplace was a native stone with a rustic mantel and the flooring was wood, and according to HGTV—which his mother watched with religious fervor—was desirable. All the dark molding looked intact and the horrid red paint could be changed to something tamer.
He walked into the kitchen and winced.
This would need to be gutted. Or not. Cabinets looked in good shape. Good coat of white paint would lighten them up and he could drive into the McKinney Home Depot and pick out some new stainless-steel appliances that seemed to be popular. He looked at the ugly black and white tile. That would need to go.
“The floor is ugly,” Maggie said behind him.
“Just what I was thinking,” he said, turning when she came inside the kitchen, looking calm and not so turned on. He was good with that because he’d tucked her earlier response to him in his back pocket. Now wasn’t the time for seduction. But it would come. Maggie needed to know him better, trust him a little, before she let herself go. Cal was a patient man in many ways. It was an attribute on the tour. Be hungry but be patient. Bull riders knew timing was everything.
“I hate the idea of ripping up floors, but it will have to go. And there’re some broken tiles in the master bathroom along with a cracked shower door. Whoever came here to party threw beer bottles. Not to mention the carpets in one bedroom are soiled,” Maggie said.
“Soiled?”
“Someone couldn’t handle his liquor.”
Cal made a face. “I don’t get kids these days.”
Maggie snapped her finger. “You just did it.”
“What?”
“Officially became old.” She smiled and moved toward the refrigerator. “When you start complaining about ‘kids these days,’ that’s when it happens. Wrinkles appear and gray hairs start pushing toward the surface.”
Cal smiled. “I already have some gray.” He pointed to his temples and smoothed his hair down. Definitely had hat hair.
“But that’s sexy on a guy. On women?” She shook her head and started pulling out packages of lunch meat.
“I knew you thought it was sexy,” he said, reaching for the paper sack sitting on the counter by the sink and pulling out the loaf of bread.
Maggie pulled out a butter knife. “You’re not supposed to mention that word.”
“What word?”
“Sexy.”
“I never agreed to avoid it,” he said, unwinding the bread tie. “I like that word ’cause it has one of my favorite things in it.”
She grabbed a jar of mayonnaise from the depths of the bag along with cheese puffs and a package of Oreo cookies. “I don’t see much gray.”
“I’m thirty-five years old. It’s there.”
“You’re thirty-five?”
“I’ll be thirty-six in August.”
“You don’t look that old,” she said, narrowing her eyes as if she could figure out his secret. There was no secret. He had good genes. His mother still looked like she was in her thirties and she’d turned fifty-four a few months ago. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“And I thought you were older,” he joked.
She narrowed her eyes at him again. This time it was in mock aggravation. “Just what a woman wants to hear—‘you look old.’”
“Don’t go putting words in my mouth,” he teased, opening the Cheesy-Os. “And I’ll chalk it up to your sophistication and need to play by the rules.”
Maggie unpeeled the slice of cheese. “Play by the rules? How’s that? I canceled my return flight to stay here and clean up roach turds. I’d say that was a risky decision.”
Cal had to admit it took gumption to do what Maggie was doing. Most city slickers would have put the ranch up for sale sight unseen. Washed their hands of the whole thing and taken what they could get. But Margaret Stanton had been cut from a different cloth. She saw an opportunity that with a little elbow grease and a bit of cash could become a solid basis to build a future on. Perhaps that’s why he’d volunteered to help her. He admired the way she latched on to spit and polishing up the place. Or it could have been the way she filled out those shorts and halter top thing. Probably the second one but he’d still acknowledge the first.
“Sweeping up roach turds is definitely an out-of-the-box action. No cheese for me.” He popped a cheese doodle into his mouth.
“You’re weird. Everyone likes cheese singles.”
“Not me,” he said, crunching the chip. “Tastes like plastic.”
“And why are you standing there watching? Open the paper plates and make yourself useful.”
“That’s woman’s work,” he joked, not moving. Instead he ate another cheese doodle and watched her dander rise.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those backward idiots who still thinks it’s the 1800s? I can’t believe—” She snapped her mouth closed when she saw his grin. “You’re intentionally ruffling my feathers.”
“I like to watch your face get red. And you start breathing hard which draws my eyes to your chest.” He looked pointedly at her breasts.
“You’re a pervert,” she said, slapping cheese onto both the sandwiches like that would teach him to mess with her.
“It will only get worse,” he said, pulling the package of paper plates out of the bag from the Stop-N-Go, Coyote Creek’s finest in gas-station grocers.
Maggie snorted and slathered the bread with mayonnaise, not even bothering to ask him if he liked it on his sandwich. He did, but she didn’t know that. This sandwich was a lesson to a man who stroked a cat the wrong way. She smushed the two pieces of bread together and grabbed a plate from his hands. The action struck him as domestic, and for a brief second he wondered what it would be like to have a woman smarting off to him in the kitchen every night. What it would be like to have the elusive family he’d once dreamed about as a child when his mother was working late and he lay in the twin bed made with threadbare sheets his mother had brought home from the motel. What would it be like to live somewhere other than his trailer or hotel rooms with another cowboy snoring in the adjacent bed? What would it be like to have a place to belong?
But as soon as the thought flitted through his mind, he chased it away.
Real cowboys didn’t have families or worry about crown molding and rain showerheads. Oh, sure, some of the guys he knew had wives and kids, but even they found comfort in Jim Beam and a soft body when they were on the road. It was the cowboy way. Charlie had been wrong about a lot of things, but when he told Cal cowboys didn’t do well strapped down, he wasn’t lying. Cal knew that firsthand. His own father had been a cowboy, hadn’t he? And where was he?
Cal knew who and what he was. Standing in the dated, dusty kitchen of the Triple J was a lark, something he did only because he was bored and wanted to be with Maggie. By mid-August he’d be in Mobile at the first event on the second leg. And Maggie would be back on the East Coast, hopefully a fine memory for him. If she played nice.
“Here,” she said, jabbing the paper plate with the lonely sandwich on it toward him.
“Thanks. You got a beer or something?” he asked, loading the plate with half the Cheesy-Os.
“No.”
“You want one? I can run out to my trailer.”
She shrugged. “When in Texas.”
“Right,” he said, toasting her with a cheese doodle.
* * *
AFTER THE SANDWICH SUPPER, Maggie pulled out what was left of the dinnerware and filled the sink with soapy water. Some of the pieces had been broken by the kids who’d busted in the back door so they could party. She’d put in a call to the sheriff’s office regarding the vandalism, but they’d told her Charlie had already filed a complaint and they’d investigated to no avail. But they would send deputies by for the next week or so until word got out that the Triple J was now occupied. Deputy Riser felt sure that the occupancy would eliminate the ranch as a go-to party zone.
Cal sat at the table, frowning at his phone. “Signal’s crap.”
“Well, since you can’t play on your phone, you can dry,” she said, tossing him a drying cloth.
“Hey, I’m an eight-to-five guy. I’m off.”
“Pay for your dinner,” she said, setting a stack of plates into the dishwater.
“That means I have to dry only one plate. Maybe a cup.” But she heard the chair scrape against the floor. He moved behind her, prickling her nerve ends, making her want to lean back and feel him pressed to her.
That kiss.
That kiss had been so good. Like the first lick of mint chocolate chip ice cream. But going there was walking a tightrope and if there was one thing she didn’t need at the moment, it was a combustible relationship turning sour in the ninth inning. She needed this place fixed up and ready to sell. That meant she needed Cal to stay focused on the job she’d hired him to do. No hanky-panky, no matter how incredible he kissed or how much she loved his aw-shucks sexiness. “So tell me about bull riding. How’d you get started?”
“When I was ten years old, my mom won tickets off the radio to a PRCA event in Fort Worth. All of it was exciting—roping, bronc bustin’ and even the barrel events. But when the end rolled around and those bulls hit the chute, I felt something electric. I’ll never forget the way my stomach dropped when that gate opened and that cowboy rode that big sucker. I decided right then and there, I wanted to do that.”
“But it’s so dangerous.”
“That’s part of it. It ain’t just holding on. It’s riding. There’s a difference. And when you can hit that zone, when you know what the bull is going to do because it’s there in your bones, there’s nothing like it. Maybe it’s like getting high or something. I don’t know. But it’s indescribable.”
His words carried a reverence. She could tell he loved climbing onto a snorting, huge monster. “So don’t you win a buckle or something? How many have you won?”
Cal smiled and took the soapy plate from her. “I’ve won a few.”
“You don’t want to talk about it, huh? Is it the injury?”
“No,” he said, his lower lip curving.
He had nice lips that knew their way around. Probably all those women who showed up at the corrals—what did they call them again? She couldn’t remember. “Then what?”
“I don’t know. I’m taking a break from all that right now. Trying to heal and get my mind right. Guess I don’t feel like talking about the bulls and the buckles and the—”
“Bunnies?” she said, finally remembering the name that escaped her. “I’ve heard that term before.”
Cal looked over at her. “Them, too.”
Something ugly moved inside her. She didn’t like the idea of faceless women in shiny halter tops and boots kissing his boo-boos better. Which was strange because she had no stake in Cal. He was a guy who’d done her a solid a few days ago, a guy she’d hired for a job, and pretty much the one person in Texas she could count on. Who he screwed or didn’t screw shouldn’t bother her.
But it did.
She peered out into the Texas night through a window that needed serious cleaning as she scrubbed the dishes. The dishwasher was already full of the cookware and silverware. Thankfully it had worked, as had the dried-up chunk of dish-washing detergent she’d pried out of the Cascade box under the sink. Cal remained silent, taking the plates she handed to him, drying and stacking them in a pile on the counter.
The whole scene felt strange and yet oddly comforting.
So much inside her twisted like a tornado. Everything had proved easier said than done. Her secret hope of finding a perfect place to land had been washed down the drain. Not that she had actually truly entertained the idea of moving to the middle of Nowhere, Texas. Probably had internalized all those stories Bud had told her about life in Texas and created a fairy-tale ideal or something. Like the faraway castle every little girl dreamed of. Or maybe it was she hated the thought of giving any of Bud’s selfish, whiny children part of the proceeds. Or maybe she had merely hoped things would be easier than they were. That she would have driven up to the Triple J, fallen in love with her new home and found a million dollars buried in the backyard. She had wanted to feel something for this place.
But she hadn’t. Not really.
Instead it felt like a big pain in the ass and now her life was on pause.
But perhaps being stuck on pause wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe she needed to take time to think about what her future held. For many years she’d been on autopilot, taking care of Bud’s affairs, balancing work and merely existing. Not much passion in her life and not much time to study the stars, wash a dish and listen to the absolute quiet of the night.
She’d just pulled the drain plug when a pair of headlights swept over the barn.
“Cal,” she whispered. “Look.”
He leaned over, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Shit.”
“What do we do?”
“We run their asses out of here is what we do,” he said, tossing the towel and heading toward the screened door.
“Wait, what if they have a gun or something?”
“They’re local punks. I used to be one. I know how to deal with them,” he said, pushing out the door. She saw the headlights cut off. The truck had parked right by the pens.

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