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A Cowboy Comes A Courting
Christine Scott


He'sMyHeroCOWBOY GROOMWith his easy smile and laid-back manner, Tyler Bradshaw spelled "Danger" from his Stetson to his spurs. And if citified Skye Whitman had learned anything, it was that cowboys–no matter how charming or finely chiseled–could not be trusted.But as the hot Texas days and sultry nights passed, Skye saw some extra qualities to the childhood friend recuperating on her ranch. A secret side Tyler rarely showed anyone. And a tender, loving side he showed only her. But if Skye were to give in to this cowboy's gentle courtship, would she wind up his wedded wife…or with a broke heart?







“I sure could use a lucky charm.” (#ue79f70de-2ec1-55a5-9e49-8e87ebd56e01)Letter to Reader (#u399b785e-56ee-5d87-be6d-127065df8bd0)Title Page (#uf11ebdce-2395-5a48-b128-b240e1f9daea)Dedication (#u3d91f474-f473-589d-b8c6-f2f32a360875)CHRISTINE SCOTT (#u5b479a7f-f6e0-5354-882a-b18b54351ccf)Chapter One (#ua0511dbd-da08-5d6d-9ad2-94ce7eba9ab6)Chapter Two (#u3f56c4ac-05ed-53d6-8b39-7cf5585ab72f)Chapter Three (#u956ff7c9-8da4-5487-b518-b42ad2fa6f11)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I sure could use a lucky charm.”

She frowned. “Lucky charm?”

He nodded. “It was your kiss that brought me good luck.”

“Tyler, I hardly think—”

“Hey, don’t knock a cowboy for his superstitions,” he said, grinning. “So what do you say, care to join me for another night at the rodeo?”

Indecision flickered in her blue eyes.

Tyler’s breath caught. He’d be damned, but he almost believed she was tempted. As the male in him considered the possibilities time with Skye might offer, the sensible side of him panicked at the thought of her saying yes. He wasn’t looking for an emotional involvement. He had enough problems in his life to deal with already. Tangling with Skye Whitman was one mistake he didn’t need to make.

But he knew he would....


Dear Reader,

This April, Silhouette Romance showers you with six spectacular stories from six splendid authors! First, our exciting LOVING THE BOSS miniseries continues as rising star Robin Wells tells the tale of a demure accountant who turns daring to land her boss—and become mommy to The Executive’s Baby.

Prince Charming’s Return signals Myrna Mackenzie’s return to Silhouette Romance. In this modem-day fairy-tale romance, wealthy FABULOUS FATHER Gray Alexander discovers he has a son, but the proud mother of his child refuses marriage—unless love enters the equation.... Sandra Steffen’s BACHELOR GULCH miniseries is back with Wes Stryker’s Wrangled Wife! In this spirited story, a pretty stranger just passing through town can’t resist a sexy cowboy struggling to raise two orphaned tykes.

Cara Colter revisits the lineup with Truly Daddy, an emotional, heartwarming novel about a man who learns what it takes to be a father—and a husband—through the transforming love of a younger woman. When A Cowboy Comes a Courting in Christine Scott’s contribution to HE’S MY HEROI, the virginal heroine who’d sworn off sexy, stubborn, Stetson-wearing rodeo stars suddenly finds herself falling hopelessly in love. And FAMILY MATTERS showcases Patti Standard’s newest novel in which a man with a knack for fixing things sets out to make a struggling single mom and her teenage daughter

His Perfect Family.

As always, I hope you enjoy this month’s offerings, and the wonderful ones still to come!

Happy reading!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Boffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




A Cowboy Comes a Courting

Christine Scott







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Joan, Mary Ann and Dorthy,

three wonderful sisters.

Thanks for all your support.


CHRISTINE SCOTT

grew up in Illinois but currently lives in St. Louis, Missouri. A former teacher, she now writes full-time. When she isn’t writing romances, she spends her time caring for her husband and three children. In between car pools, baseball games and dance lessons, Christine always finds time to pick up a good book and read about...love. She loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 283, Grover, MO 63040-0283.








Chapter One

“I’m not marrying a cowboy,” Skye Whitman announced, raising her chin at a determined angle. “I’m marrying Ralph.”

“Now there you go again, jumping to the wrong conclusions.” Her father released a disgusted breath. “Did I say you had to marry a cowboy? All I said was, why would you want to go and do a fool, stupid thing like marrying that skinny little, pencil-pushin’, four-eyed excuse of a man. For God’s sake, girl, Ralph Breedlow can’t even hold a decent conversation ’cause he’s always got his nose stuck in a book!”

“Ralph’s an intellectual,” Skye insisted. “He doesn’t have time for social niceties.”

Lifting a cardboard box from the back of Skye’s car, Gus Whitman snorted rudely, giving his opinion on that explanation. “Ralph’s a horse’s behind. He uses his intelligence as an excuse to be boring.”

Skye sighed and grabbed the last box for herself. For the last thirty minutes, she’d been treated to a lecture on the folly of marrying a medieval history professor. She didn’t blame her father for being skeptical of Ralph. He wasn’t like most men her father knew. As an ex-rodeo star, her father just didn’t understand a man who’d never ridden a horse, let alone been near one.

It wasn’t Ralph’s fault that he didn’t fit the cowboy’s macho image.

As far as she was concerned, not fitting the cowboy image was what made Ralph so appealing. Though she loved her father dearly, he hadn’t always put his family above his true love, the rodeo. If she’d learned anything from her parents’ disastrous marriage, it was not to lose her heart to a cowboy.

A trickle of perspiration ran down the valley between her breasts, as she climbed the wooden steps of the family’s ranch house. After spending the last six years in the cool, cultured world of the northeast, coming home to the heat and humidity of a Dallas summer to finish her master’s thesis in Philosophy was probably not her smartest move. Not only was it as hot as Hades outside, but her father’s mood was causing her spirits to wilt fast.

“Gus, could we save this discussion for another day? We haven’t seen each other since Christmas. I don’t want to waste any of our time together by arguing.”

Gus paused at the door to the house, raising a silvering eyebrow in question. “If you don’t want to waste any of our time together, then why don’t you move into the apartment in Dallas with me?”

Skye’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Her father was in one of his cantankerous moods. They both knew he wasn’t serious, the offer made out of guilt, rather than the truth. Gus would no more want her to stay with him in the tiny apartment above his Western store in Dallas, than he would want to be forced to live with her at the ranch house that had once belonged to his mother. Either choice involved making a commitment, something her father had never been able to do.

She went along with the game, however, going through the motions of an obligatory refusal. “We’ve already been through this, Gus. I’ve been living on my own for a long time. I need my privacy.”

“You’re not going to get much privacy if you marry Ralph,” he pointed out, proving himself to be every bit as stubborn as she’d remembered.

Refusing to be baited into another argument, she let the comment slide without a response. She bumped the front door open with her hip. The house was old, wearing a dusty film of neglect, looking eerily much the same as it had before her grandmother’s death six years earlier. “My thesis is very demanding. I’m going to be spending most of my time working. You know as well as I do, you’d never be able to sit by and watch me work without interrupting.”

He followed her inside. “I’ll be at the store most of the day.”

“This is a tough project.” She strode into the living room and dropped the box onto the floor, next to an already teetering stack. “I’ll be putting in a lot of hours. Day and night.”

He scowled. “What’s the point of coming home, if you’re going to be working all the time? You might as well have stayed up north with Ralph.”

“Ralph won’t be there,” she said without thinking. Giving a silent moan of regret, she averted her gaze. She feigned a sudden interest in a box marked odds and ends, knowing it wouldn’t take much for her father to read the disappointment she’d felt at Ralph’s decision not to spend the summer with her.

Gus clung to the news like a dog with a bone. “He won’t?”

“No, he won’t,” she said, straightening from the box to face her father. Skye winced at the sudden glint of curiosity in Gus’s blue eyes. “He’s in Europe for the summer, researching a paper he plans to publish.”

“And he didn’t take you along?”

“No, he did not.” She brushed a dark curl from her forehead, hoping to distract her father. “Whew, it’s hot. Would you like a cold drink?”

“Yeah, I’d like a drink,” he said, his frown deepening. He pushed the white cowboy hat back from his forehead and scratched at the shock of silver hair, a habit of his when he was trying hard to concentrate. “Since you were knee high to a grasshopper, you’ve been jabbering away about going to Europe and seeing all those castles that those princes and princesses live in. I can’t believe you’d turn down an opportunity to go now.”

She strode into the kitchen and pulled two icy bottles of cola from the refrigerator. Twisting the cap on one, she passed it to her father before answering. “Like I said before, I’ve got a lot of work to do. So does Ralph. I’d have been a distraction—”

“In other words...the idiot didn’t ask,” her father finished for her, accepting the cola with a grin. Tipping the bottle in salute, he chugged half the soda in one long swallow.

Skye fought the urge to sigh again. She’d done enough sighing for one day, thank you. It was just one of the hazards of being near her father for very long. Leaning against the tiled kitchen counter, sipping her soda, she struggled to find a decorous way to push Gus out the door. “Thanks for helping me move my stuff, Gus. I really appreciate it.”

“And now you’d like me to move along, right?”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said wryly. He moved into the living room, eyeing the stacks of boxes, the books scattered about, the computer and software weighing down the dining room table. “Before you put your nose to the grindstone, why don’t you play hooky for a night?” He waggled his eyebrows Groucho Marx style. “There’s a rodeo in town tonight. And I know some boys that are champing at the bit to see you again.”

The “boys” were her father’s friends, her adopted “uncles” since she was five years old. It was at this tender age that her mother had died unexpectedly, landing her on her father’s doorstep for the duration of her childhood. Divorced for nearly four years and having only seen his daughter a handful of times in between, Gus had been ill-prepared to handle a young girl. At first, he had relied heavily upon the help of his rodeo buddies.

But even with the sage advice of his cohorts, things did not go smoothly. Gus had tried taking her on the road with him. They both soon realized that riding the rodeo circuit wasn’t a life for a child, though it was the only life that Gus knew. So he’d placed her at the family ranch in the care of her grandmother. While Grandma Whitman loved her deeply and saw to her needs without complaint, it never quite made up for the abandonment by her only parent.

“Play hooky, eh?” She bit her lip against a smile, trying not to appear too anxious. The truth was, it was just too hot to work. The old house didn’t have air conditioning. Until the sun went down, it would remain stifling inside. She’d like nothing more than to escape from the heat and the call of duty for a few more hours. “You always have been a bad influence in my life, Gus.”

“I try my best,” he said, reaching out to tweak her nose. “You know, honey, you were born too serious. It’s my job to see that you have a little fun in your life.”

“If you put it that way, how can I say no?” She pushed herself away from the kitchen counter. “Give me a few minutes to find a pair of jeans in this mess. Then you, sir, can escort me to the ball.”

With a snort of discontent, the bull pawed the sawdust-strewn ground with his front hooves. Swinging his massive head, he bucked against the gate of the holding pen, ramming the iron fence with a shattering force. His restless movements sent up a cloud of dust and the rank smell of sweaty, raw energy into the air.

Tyler Bradshaw jumped back from the gate, not out of fear, but for safety’s sake. In less than an hour, he’d be expected to ride on the back of this restless creature. He didn’t need to lose any essential body parts while he was waiting his turn.

Joey Witherspoon chuckled. “Diablo’s in a fine mood tonight.”

“That he is,” Tyler said, his calm voice belying the trepidation churning in his gut. He was getting too old for this. Time to think of retirement. At least, that was what he’d been told by concerned friends.

Not that he felt old. Far from it.

Only, at the age of thirty-two, most bull riders had ended their careers and put themselves out to stud. They’d found themselves pretty little wives and were raising families, settling down to enjoy their retirement while they were still in one piece. But not him, no siree. No primrose path to old age for him.

As far as he was concerned, if he had to hang up his spurs, he might as well be dead.

“How’s the back?” Joey asked, studying him carefully.

One of his concerned friends, Tyler reminded himself with a sigh. “The back’s fine.”

“No twinges? No spasms?”

“Not a twitch, not an itch.”

Joey didn’t crack a smile at his attempt at humor.

Tyler squinted at the man next to him. At an even six feet, they stood eye to eye. But that was where the similarity ended. Joey was dark to Tyler’s fair-haired complexion. He was solid-packed muscle to Tyler’s lean lankiness. And Joey was a lot smarter than he was. A few years his senior, his friend had had the keen sense to retire years ago from the rodeo circuit. Joey owned a little piece of land not far from Dallas, and he’d found a wife to put up with his pesky ways. Together, they were raising a brood of little Witherspoons. Five, at last count.

“You don’t have to ride tonight,” Joey said, the words soft enough for Tyler’s ears only. “Nobody’s going to care if you pass.”

“I’m fine, Joey,” Tyler said, tight-lipped, reining in his growing irritation.

He didn’t need to be reminded of his numerous injuries. A rider worth his salt didn’t get to be a champion unless he’d taken a few tumbles. Granted, he did have a tendency to fall on his tailbone, throwing his spinal cord out of whack on more than one occasion. So what if he was becoming a chiropractic junkie, relying on the doctor’s magic fingers more and more to work out the kinks? No one ever said the path to glory would be easy.

“Tyler Bradshaw, tell me you’re not crazy enough to get on the back of this man-eating bull?” a familiar voice called out.

Tyler grinned, relieved at the interruption. The topic had become entirely too serious for his taste. He turned to welcome the newcomer, Gus Whitman. Tyler owed Gus a great deal. A veteran of the rodeo circuit, the man had taken a raw, seventeen-year-old boy under his wing and coached him to become a champion bull rider. Gus was his mentor, his friend and more of a father figure than Tyler’s own pa had ever been.

Pleasure turned to surprise when he spotted his old friend strutting toward him with his arm draped about the shoulders of a beautiful young woman—emphasis on the young. Tyler shook his head. Well, he’d be damned. Gus must be feeling his oats tonight—or going through one of those midlife crises—to pick a filly so young.

He raked a second glance over the modem-day Lolita. She had dark—almost black—shiny hair, cut short and framing her oval face. Her big blue eyes were the color of the Texas sky. She had a pert little upturned nose. Her body was petite, but with enough compact curves to make a man sweat. Tyler didn’t blame Gus for losing his head over a woman like her, even if she was young enough to be his—

“What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you recognize my daughter?” Gus said, slapping him on the back with a hearty laugh. “It’s Skye, you fool.”

“Skye?” Tyler repeated dumbly.

It couldn’t be. Or could it?

The last time he’d seen Skye Whitman she’d been a flat-chested adolescent, who used to follow him around the rodeo like a lovesick puppy. He’d tolerated her youthful infatuation out of respect for Gus. But he’d kept his distance, never giving her reason to expect more than a brotherly friendship. Back then, she’d been cute enough in a fresh-scrubbed way, but she hadn’t looked anything like this grown-up version.

She’d gone away to college a child, and had returned home a woman.

No wonder he hadn’t recognized her.

“Hey, Tyler,” Skye said, her rosebud lips parting in an easy smile. “It’s been a long time.”

Even the voice was different, he realized. All rich and sultry, reminding him of the taste of milk chocolate melting in his mouth on a hot, summer day.

Somehow he found his own voice. “Skye, I can’t believe it’s you.”

An understatement for sure.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” The smooth lines of her forehead puckered into a frown. “Well, I guess it has been a few years. Six, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, aware that a half-dozen sets of eyes were upon him. They were drawing a small crowd. All of Gus’s cronies who still hung about the rodeo were beginning to zero in on their little group.

Unexplainably, Tyler felt a flash of resentment. He’d have liked to have had a moment alone with this new Skye. His gaze flitted over the lush curves of her breasts, the tiny nip of her waist and the gentle splay of her hips. Given a little time, he just might develop an infatuation of his own.

“Skye’s home for the summer to work on her thesis,” Gus said, his paternal pride showing through. “A regular college degree isn’t enough for my little girl, she has to get a master’s degree to boot.”

Like a slap in the face, the words brought Tyler reeling back to reality. He bridled his prurient thoughts concerning Skye, steering them in a safer direction. Skye Whitman was as off limits to him today as she had been six years ago. She was still Gus’s daughter, not a rodeo groupie. He didn’t care how grown-up the lady might appear.

Play around with her heart, and he’d be playing with fire.

Tyler Bradshaw hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, maybe a little. The squint lines around his eyes were deeper. The planes of his face were a little sharper, a little more rugged. And though he was still lean and lanky, he’d filled out some, appearing more solid. But he was still the heartbreaker she’d always remembered.

One of those cowboys she’d sworn to avoid.

What was different this time, she told herself, was that she’d been on the receiving end of one of those assessing gazes of his. That head-to-toe scrutiny of a discerning eye. Tyler Bradshaw was a man who loved women. The notches on his bedposts certainly attested to that fact. She couldn’t deny a certain titillating thrill that, after all these years, she’d finally caught his eye.

Six years ago, she’d have killed to have him notice her.

Now, it only made her wary.

“I’m getting married,” Skye blurted out.

A stunned silence met her announcement.

Tyler blinked, looking surprised.

Gus scowled, shaking his head in disgust.

“Congratulations, Skye,” Joey Witherspoon said, the first to react. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Man?” Gus snorted.

“Ralph Breedlow,” Skye said, jumping in before everyone was treated to her father’s jaded opinion of her intended. “He’s an associate professor at the college I’ve been attending.”

“A medieval history professor,” Gus added, not hiding his disdain.

“Gus, really,” she said. “Now isn’t the time to discuss—”

“When’s the wedding?” Tyler interrupted, his deep voice sending a chill down her spine.

Skye shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Well, we haven’t exactly set a date yet.”

“Ralph’s too busy,” Gus explained. “He’s in Europe for the summer, reading some dusty old books.”

Tyler raised a brow. “And he’s left you home all alone?”

“Ralph trusts me,” she said, raising her chin.

“You aren’t the one Ralph should be worried about.” Tyler’s easy smile revealed a set of perfect toothpaste-ad teeth. “It’s us disappointed men and all our broken hearts that you’ll be leaving behind.”

Skye felt a flush of discomfort creep up her face. She’d issued the announcement of her pending marriage as a warning to Tyler Bradshaw to keep his distance. Somehow, he’d taken her unavailability as a challenge. He seemed determined to make her admit that she wasn’t really serious about Ralph.

“Just as soon as we set a date, I’ll be sure to invite you to the wedding,” she said, smiling sweetly. “A free meal is the least I can offer you to patch up that broken heart.”

A hoot of laughter erupted from the crowd.

“I don’t know about a broken heart, but I’d sure like to have my turn at kissing the bride,” one of her father’s buddies interjected. A tall, thin man, wearing a tan western shirt and black bolero tie, enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. Bussing her cheek with a fleeting kiss, he murmured, “Congratulations, Skye.”

One by one, her “uncles” crowded in to take their turns.

Gus suffered through the mandatory pats on the back and the murmurs of congratulations with his usual good cheer. He shook his head and groused the entire time.

Her own head was reeling by the time the last cowboy stood waiting to collect his kiss.

Tyler Bradshaw watched her with a devilish glint in his eye.

An unexplainable panic gripped her, making it hard to breathe. Frantically, she searched her mind for a plausible excuse for bowing out of the ritual. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come up with a single, logical reason why Tyler—though much younger than most of her father’s Mends—should be denied the friendly kiss while she’d indulged the rest of the group.

As though he sensed her reluctance, a grin played on his tantalizing lips.

Skye’s stomach lurched with trepidation.

Over the PA system participants for the last event of the night were being called to the starting chutes. Skye breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she heard Tyler’s name among the bull eiders. With a wide smile, she pointed a finger to the invisible voice in the sky. “Someone’s calling your name.”

“You want me to leave without giving the bride a kiss?”

“Oh, I think I’ll survive without the attention.”

He stepped toward her.

“I-I don’t think there’s enough time....” she stammered, fighting the urge to back away. “Besides, it’s such a silly tradition, don’t you think? Just an excuse for men to take advantage.”

“Well now,” he drawled, caressing her with a rakish glance. “I’m not sure I can speak for everyone else, but this cowboy’s big on tradition. But if you’d rather skip the ritual, that’s fine with me.” He tapped his whiskery cheek with a long, tapered finger. “Though I’d sure appreciate a little kiss for good luck, before I start my ride.”

Skye swallowed hard, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

The whole crew of cowboys was waiting for her answer. Each of them wore a smile of amusement on his weathered face. Her father wore the biggest grin of all. She could see the laughter dancing in Gus’s eyes. Her daddy expected her to tell Tyler no.

“Well, hell,” she muttered, releasing an exasperated breath, as she was struck with an ill-advised surge of reckless defiance. “I don’t want to be accused of bringing a cowboy bad luck.”

She stood on tiptoe, propping both hands on Tyler’s shoulders for balance, feeling the heat of his skin and the strength of his muscles through the thin fabric of his western shirt. The touch warmed her hands, warmed her body. Up close, he was all male, hard planes and chiseled angles. Scents mingled—spicy aftershave, rugged leather and hardworking sweat—making her dizzy with the combination. Before second thoughts could stop her, she puckered up to give him an innocent peck on the cheek. Wether it was an accident, or a well-calculated dastardly act, she would never know. Instead of the chaste kiss she’d meant to give him, Tyler lowered his head and turned just in time to collect a full-mouthed smack on the lips.

For a pint-size woman, Skye packed a kiss with a major league wallop. Soft, warm and supple, her mouth seemed made to fit his. Tyler’s lips sizzled at the impact. He felt the shocked inhalation of breath against his mouth. She swayed slightly. Before she could escape, he grabbed a hold of her tiny waist and held on tight.

The kiss, by his standards, was innocent enough. No tongue and cheek action. No plundering of the virginal mouth. Just an innocent pressing of his lips to hers. But the way his blood was heating and his body was thrumming, he’d have thought he was on his way to a blissful night in heaven.

Heaven would have to wait.

He felt the insistent weight of her hands against his shoulders and realized Skye was trying to push him away. Reluctantly, he did as she’d requested. He released the grip he had on her waist, instantly missing the sweet heat of her body as she slipped away.

If they weren’t in the middle of a crowded rodeo, fast becoming the center of attention, he’d have pushed for a second helping of this unexpected treat. But he valued his life too much to risk the wrath of Gus Whitman. He’d rather face an ornery bull, than an irate father.

He took a good look at the woman who’d affected him so. Truth be told, Skye looked a little tipsy. There was a dazed, uncertain look clouding those big blue eyes. Her lips parted slightly as she sucked in a deep breath. The action stretched the material of her T-shirt against her generous curves, making his mouth go dry and his body ache with a new awareness.

He reconsidered that second kiss.

But before he gave in to temptation, he had the good sense to look up and catch Gus’s eye. His mentor, the man he respected more than anyone else in the world, was watching him with the guarded expression of a hawk about to swoop down and attack.

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant smile, Tyler tipped his hat in mock salute. “Thank you, ma’am. If that doesn’t bring me a little luck, I don’t know what will.”

Then, without a backward glance, he strode away, carrying with him the memory of Skye’s good-luck kiss.

Until Diablo demanded his full attention.

Moved from the holding pen into the bucking chute, the bull looked raring to trample any fool who dared to climb aboard. That fool being himself, Tyler mused. When his turn was announced, he settled himself onto the bull’s back. Tuning out the noise of the arena, he slipped his gloved hand through the handhold, palm upward. Then, once, twice, he wrapped the end of loose rope across his hand, strapping himself to eighteen hundred pounds of molten energy. As he prepared for his ride, the bull’s loose hide twitched restlessly beneath him.

Tyler knew that the fury called Diablo was about to be unleashed.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Tyler nodded to the gate tender. The gate burst open. Diablo took a fraction of a second to glance around. Then, with a roll of his eyes, the bull arched his back and threw himself sideways out of the chute.

Struggling for balance, Tyler dug in his spurs and tried to center himself on Diablo’s back, avoiding the worst of the seesaw bucking action. As the bull rounded for another jump, Tyler squeezed the rope in a death grip, trying his best not to get thrown off. The urge to grab ahold and hang on for dear life nearly overwhelmed him. Somehow, he had the presence of mind to keep his free hand up and out of the way as required.

Like the devil himself., Diablo tried a new method to pull him under. He made a sharp turn to the left and began to spin. The world swirled around him, faster and faster until Tyler felt as though he were about to be sucked into an invisible whirlpool of motion.

Then just as quickly as he began, Diablo stopped his spin. He kicked his heels and began to buck once again. With a snort and a bellow of indignation, the bull tried to toss him off his back. Tyler felt every hop, every bounce, every jolt in his clenched, aching muscles. His spine felt as though it were being raffled apart.

Then, just when he thought he could endure no more, the horn sounded. His eight seconds of hell were over.

Tyler released his grip on the bull rope. With his free hand, he loosened the tight wrap around his riding hand. A final buck sent him flying off the back of the bull. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. He lay stunned on his back, wondering if he’d ever be able to move again.

Nearby, Diablo snorted. He lowered his massive head and pawed the dirt, preparing for a final charge.

Tyler forced his aching body to move. Rolling over onto his side, he hopped up and scrambled for the fence.

Two clowns jumped into the line of fire. Running, hollering and whistling, they distracted Diablo long enough for Tyler to make it to safety.

A cheer rose from the arena.

Tyler knew he’d had the best ride of the night. If only his braised muscles would let him enjoy the moment

A small group of well-wishers gathered around him. His gaze darted around, seeking the face of the woman he knew he’d be better off forgetting. With a sigh of relief, he spotted her in the crowd. Slowly, he made his way to Skye’s side.

“Best ride of the night,” she said, sounding only slightly impressed.

He shrugged, resisting the urge to brag. “Yeah, well, tonight’s just the qualifying rounds. Tomorrow’s the finals.” Leaning his aching weight against the fence for support, he angled a glance at her, his gaze lingering on her full lips. “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”

She frowned. “Lucky charm?”

He nodded. “It was your kiss that brought me good tuck.”

“Tyler., I hardly think—”

“Hey, don’t knock a cowboy for his superstitions,” he said, grinning. “So what do you say, care to join me for another night at the rodeo?”

Indecision flickered in her blue eyes.

Tyler’s breath caught. He’d be damned, but he almost believed she was tempted. As the male in him considered the possibilities time with Skye might offer, the sensible side of him panicked at the thought of her saying yes. He wasn’t looking for an emotional involvement. He had enough problems in his life to deal with already. Tangling with Gus’s daughter was one mistake he didn’t need to make.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Tyler,” she said finally. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. What with the trip home, cleaning up the ranch house, my thesis—”

“And Ralph,” he reminded her.

A tinge of embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “Yes, of course...Ralph, too.”

“Just my luck. Find my lucky charm, only to learn it belongs to someone else,” he said, with the exaggerated sigh of a man who knew he’d been given a reprieve. He straightened from the fence, flexing his shoulders, trying not to cry out with each painful movement. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to tough it out without you.”

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of man who can land on his feet...no matter what the circumstances.”

Tyler looked at her in surprise and was struck with the uncanny feeling that, with her refusal, he’d been luckier than he’d first thought.

Despite the years they’d been apart, Skye knew him all too well.


Chapter Two

“His lucky charm,” Skye muttered, rattling a stack of research papers in her fisted hand. “What does he think I am? A Kewpie doll?”

Silence was her only answer in the empty house. After years of living in the city, she had to reacquaint herself with the quietude of the country. Her nearest neighbor was Jack, an old family friend who managed the ranch and looked after her father’s horses. He lived in a small house a few miles from the ranch house. Too far for a pop-in visit whenever she got lonely. It wasn’t any wonder that, with nothing else to distract her, her mind wandered to Tyler’s unforgettable image.

“Why am I wasting my time thinking about Tyler Bradshaw?” she growled. “I’ve got work to do.”

After a day of unpacking and settling in, she’d had an early dinner then taken a cold shower to cool off. She’d dressed in the most comfortable outfit she could find—a blue tank top and a pair of short white cutoffs—and seated herself at the dining room table to put in a few hours of work on her paper.

The problem was...she couldn’t concentrate.

A soft breeze stirred the air, lifting the lace curtains, doing little to relieve the stifling heat. Skye lifted a cube of ice from her iced tea and pressed it against the back of her neck. In all her years of living in Texas, she couldn’t remember a summer being quite so hot. She felt as though she were melting from the inside out, like a mushy ice cream bar.

Water from the ice cube dripped onto her research papers, splotching the printed ink with a big, fat drop.

Skye moaned and rose from the table, taking her glass of tea with her. Tossing the ice cube in the kitchen sink, she returned to the living room, plopped herself down onto the frayed chintz couch and picked up the TV’s remote control. Mindlessly, she flipped through the meager offering of channels on the tube. Baseball, reruns, news...and the rodeo.

“Switch the channel,” she told herself. There was nothing at the rodeo to interest her. Nothing, and no one. She lifted the remote control, her finger poised on the channel button, ready to turn off this spectacle of male machismo, but she couldn’t find the strength to do it.

Last night had been the first time in years that she’d been to a rodeo. She’d forgotten how they intrigued her, in a discomforting sort of way. Like a bypasser unable to stop gawking at the scene of an automobile accident, she just couldn’t turn away.

While in college, she’d divorced herself from the life her father loved. She’d logically, morally and intellectually convinced herself that cowboys and the rodeo in which they lived exemplified all that was wrong with the world. They were risk takers. They were reckless and vain, so caught up in winning a purse and proving they were the best, that they forgot the families who loved them and were waiting for them at home.

Skye sighed, knowing that the root of her own troubled childhood was showing. That the resentment toward her father and the life he’d chosen over her mother and herself was influencing her judgment. But she couldn’t help herself. In her heart, the rodeo and emotional pain would always be irrevocably interwoven.

Which didn’t make her sudden interest in the rodeo and, in particular, a certain cowboy any easier to understand.

“Skye, Skye, Skye,” she murmured to herself. “You’ve got enough trouble in your life. Don’t go looking for more.”

The bull riders were announced.

Skye cursed the grainy screen of her ancient television. After last night, seeing the action firsthand, the fuzzy picture seemed sadly lacking in comparison. Dropping the remote control on the coffee table, she leaned forward in her seat and squinted at the tube.

Tyler was fourth in the lineup. The first rider touched a gloved hand to the bronco’s back and was disqualified. The second rider had a decent ride, not perfect, but good enough to put him in the running. By the third rider, Skye shot a nervous glance at the telephone and toyed with the idea of calling Ralph. She dismissed the idea out of hand. Ralph had called late last night He’d been vague and distant, his mind obviously on the dusty tomes he was researching, not on her. She’d ended the conversation with a curt goodbye, telling him when he was really interested in what she had to say to call her back.

Only, he hadn’t.

The thought of calling him now grated on her conscience. It would be tantamount to surrendering her feminine pride. Once and for all, Ralph Breedlow had to learn to appreciate her.

She refused to play second fiddle in any man’s life.

“Our fourth rider of the night is veteran bull rider, three-time World Champion, Tyler Bradshaw.” A cheer arose from the arena at the announcement.

Riveted to the TV screen, Skye bit her lip as she waited for the bull to burst out of the chute.

“He’ll be riding Tornado this evening,” the announcer continued. “Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen. This bull likes to dance to the twist.”

The gate swung open and the bull carrying Tyler hopped out. It was a thick-bodied, short-legged, mottled Brangus, a bull that was half Brahma, half Angus. Its horns had been lopped off to protect the rider, but its long, square head looked menacing enough to cause damage.

She couldn’t see Tyler’s face beneath the wide brim of his black cowboy hat. But she recognized the confident set of his wide shoulders, the narrow breadth of his jean-clad hips, and his long, sinewy legs covered in leather chaps. He exuded confidence wrought of experience. He almost made her believe bull riding was as easy as a stroll down the street.

Silently, Skye counted off the seconds in unison with the clock at the bottom of the television screen. Tyler held on with perfect form for the first two seconds. By the third, she knew he was in trouble.

The bull rounded into a sharp circle, looking like a dog chasing his tail. Round and round he spun Tyler, flopping him against his back like a rag doll. Then, he reversed his direction, snapping Tyler off his back and sending him sailing into the air.

Only, Tyler’s hand was hooked in the rope’s handhold. Unable to react fast enough, he was dragged across the pen by a bull who looked determined to kill him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it looks as though Bradshaw’s in trouble now,” the announcer’s voice whined.

“No kidding,” Skye hollered at the television.

Rodeo clowns hopped into the ring, trying their best to corner the runaway bull.

Tornado lived up to his name by lurching in the opposite direction, spinning around on his back hooves, his front hooves landing directly on the center of Tyler’s stomach.

Her heart thumping, Skye shot to her feet, gasping at the scene being played out on the television.

Another set of rodeo clowns jumped into the arena, rushing headlong into the bull’s path. For the next few minutes, she watched in horror as the men worked to subdue the out-of-control bull.

In a blink of an eye, she’d relived her worst childhood nightmare, a cowboy trampled by a bull. Of course, as a child, it had been her father who’d suffered the damage. Knowing it was Tyler, her father’s protégé, didn’t make it any easier.

After what seemed like an eternity. Tyler was released from his deadly bond with the bull. He lay limp in the sawdust and dirt, before the emergency paramedics whisked him out of the arena.

Skye paced the floor of the living room, half listening to the announcer’s account of the incident, cringing when they insisted on replaying each and every gory moment, not once, but twice. No word on Tyler’s condition, however.

Releasing a growl of frustration, she strode into the kitchen and snatched up the wall phone. Thanking the advances of modern-day technology, she punched in the number for her father’s cell phone.

Gus picked up on the fourth ring. “Gus Whitman,” he barked into the phone, skipping the usual polite greeting. He sounded as tense as she felt.

“Gus,” she said, unable to stop the quaver in her voice. “I was just watching Tyler’s ride.”

“Aw, honey.” Gus sighed, his tone softening. “I wish you hadn’t.”

“Is he okay? Have you seen him?”

“Just for a second, before they hauled him away.” Gus paused. “He didn’t look too good..But what do you expect from somebody who’s just been tossed around by a bull?”

Skye twisted the cord of the phone around her fingers, trying to swallow the lump of emotion in her throat. “He got more than tossed, Gus. The bull landed on top of him. Got him dead to rights in the middle of his stomach.”

Gus didn’t reply right away.

“Talk to me, Gus. How is he?”

“He’s awake. But he ain’t cussin’ like he ought to be.” Gus sighed deeply. “I just don’t know what to tell ya, honey.”

For once, she believed he was telling her the truth. “Where are they taking him?”

“Dallas Memorial. I’m on my way there, as we speak. I’ll give you a holler just as soon as I hear anything new. I promise.”

He was trying to change his ways, Skye told herself. He really was trying.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she said, barely noticing the traditional address. She’d called her father Gus for so many years, she had no idea why she felt the sudden need to address him differently. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

Slowly, she unwrapped the cocoon of phone wire that she’d woven around her fingers, then returned the receiver to its cradle. Gus was looking after Tyler, she told herself. He wouldn’t be alone. That was all that mattered.

A picture of Tyler last night, leaning against the arena fence, looking healthy and flushed with the thrill of victory, flashed through her mind. She recalled the devilish grin on his lips when he’d said, “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”

She closed her eyes against the memory. Tyler’s accident wasn’t her responsibility, she told herself. Lucky charms, superstitions and cowboy traditions were all a bunch of bull, no pun intended. Her refusal to attend tonight’s performance did not cause Tyler’s accident. It was his own stupid fault for riding that crazy bull.

His own stupid fault...

Slowly, she opened her eyes. If the accident wasn’t her responsibility, then why did her gut feel as though it had been stomped on right along with Tyler’s?

She made her decision quickly, not giving herself a chance to change her mind. Turning off the television, she gathered up her purse and car keys and headed out the door for Dallas Memorial.

“He has a concussion, cracked ribs, a sprained wrist, multiple bruises and lacerations,” the doctor said, reading his notes from an open hospital chart. He addressed his comments to Gus, as though Tyler weren’t even in the hospital room. “But that isn’t the worst of his injuries. At the moment, I’m more concerned about his back.”

Tyler closed his eyes, the only movement that didn’t hurt, wishing he could make the two hovering men disappear from his mind as easily as from sight.

“As you know, he’s been through this before. I’ve warned him the spinal cord is delicate. It isn’t designed to take this type of repeated abuse. But obviously Mr. Bradshaw didn’t hear my advice.”

“I heard you. I simply ignored you,” Tyler said, opening his eyes. “And would you two mind not talking about me like I’m not here. I’m not dead, am I?”

“No, not yet.” the doctor said, shooting him a stern look. “But another stunt like this one and that might be the csse.”

Tyler drew in a slow breath, wincing as the movement jarred his injured ribs. He didn’t need to be told the ride had been a bust from the start; he already knew it. Unable to get a firm seat on the bull from the moment they’d shot out of the chute, he’d spent most of the ride sliding around on Tornado’s back. By the time the bull had started his spinning routine, Tyler knew he was a goner.

“I’ll be keeping him overnight for observation,” the doctor said, glancing at Gus, before turning his attention to Tyler. “We’ll discuss your back in the morning. For now, get some rest, Mr. Bradshaw. You’re going to need it.”

Snapping the chart closed with a click, the doctor spun around on his heel and strode from the room.

“Got a nice bedside manner, doesn’t he?” Tyler drawled, watching the man’s dramatic exit with a wry glance.

Gus didn’t say a word.

Warily, Tyler turned his attention to his friend.

Gus stood at the foot of his bed, his hands on his hips, a forbidding look on his face.

“Now what?” Tyler sighed.

“Sometimes you make me so damned mad—” Gus stopped, blew out a whistling breath. Then, glaring at him, he added, “If you weren’t so banged up already, I’d try knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours.”

“Well, thank you, Gus. I appreciate your concern.”

Pointing a finger at Tyler’s nose, Gus hollered, “This is one situation you can’t joke your way out of. I was there the last time you hurt your back. Even if you don’t remember the doctor’s warning, I do. Your spine’s going to snap like a twig one of these days if you don’t stop riding those damned bulls.”

Tyler stared at him, remaining stubbornly mute.

“What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you understand? The next time a bull decides to use you as a punchin’ bag, you won’t be walking away from it—if he doesn’t kill you first.”

The words chilled him. Tyler looked away, not allowing his friend to see his unease. It wasn’t that he had a death wish, he told himself. Or that he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. It was just that who he was, what he was, was so tied up with the rodeo, he couldn’t separate the two. Not even at the high price he’d be forced to pay.

“You’ve won every title there is,” Gus said. “What more is there to prove?”

That he was Tyler Bradshaw, bull rider, rodeo champion. That he was somebody more than the hick kid who took off from home at the age of seventeen—

“Tyler, listen to me,” Gus said, lowering his voice from a roar to a whisper, his tone deadly somber. “You’ve got to face the facts. It’s time to retire.”

Unexplainably. his friend’s gentle concern irritated Tyler more than his irate preaching. He felt the anger swirl in his stomach, the nonsensical words burn in his mind, knew they were uncalled-for, his animosity ill-advised. But for the life of him, he couldn’t stop the angry words from tumbling out. “If and when I retire, it’ll be my decision. Not yours, old man.”

Gus flinched as though he’d been dealt a blow.

All of Tyler’s aching body parts combined didn’t feel half as bad as the pain in his heart at having hurt his mentor. Tyler owed him his career, his life. He wanted to reach out and apologize, to tell Gus he didn’t mean it Only he didn’t know how.

The door to his hospital room opened, saving him from the effort

Skye stood in the doorway, looking small, pale and frightened. The heavy door whisked shut behind her, causing her to jump in surprise. Her concern on top of Gus’s was the last straw.

Tyler scowled. “What is this, a funeral? Sorry, Skye. I’m not dead yet. You’re going to have to wait a few months for a visitation.”

Unlike her father, who’d taken his abuse with stoic silence. Skye gave him tit for tat The expression on her face changed dramatically, from scared to stormy. “Tyler Bradshaw, you are the most ungrateful man to walk this planet Why anybody bothers to care about you is beyond ”

He narrowed a glance at the fireball, unable to curb a grudging admiration for her spunky attitude. She was certainly her father’s daughter. Not one to back away from a fight

Her eyes sparkled as she continued, “But for some crazy reason, they do. Now there’s a hall full of cowboys waiting outside. And they’re not leaving until they’ve seen for themselves that you’re okay. So just shut up and endure the attention.”

With that she opened the hospital room door and peered out into the. hall. Motioning with one slender hand, she stepped back and allowed the well-wishers to enter.

Slim, Joey, Bucky, Mark...and more crowded into the room. Tyler hadn’t seen this many of the boys since they’d celebrated a rookie’s initial ride at the Watering Hole bar. Tyler lay back in his bed and moaned. He almost wished the bull had finished the job he’d started. Even in the best of conditions, Tyler wasn’t good at being social, Preferring to be an observer, rather than a participant. Tonight, feeling as though he’d been run over by a truck, he just wanted to curl up and feel sorry for himself.

Tyler opened his mouth to bite out a quick dismissal of the group, but thought better of it, when he caught Skye’s glowering gaze. He’d be better off taking on Tornado again, than butting heads with her.

Skye Whitman was one woman he didn’t want to cross.

From a spot in the corner of the room, away from the center of action, Skye watched the interchange between Tyler and his friends. She’d never met a man who so carefully guarded even the simplest show of emotion. Every time one of the boys brought up his injuries, he changed the subject. If they asked how he felt after his harrowing ride, he brushed it off with a joke. He hid his feelings behind a good ol’ boy mask of indifference. Not letting anyone see the real Tyler Bradshaw.

Whoever that might be.

The nurse on duty, a harried young woman with long blond hair and a worried frown, entered the room, pushing her way through the crowd. “Gentlemen, it’s after visiting hours. Our patient’s tired. He needs his rest. I’m sorry, but ya’ll have to leave now.”

Murmurs of regret sounded in the room.

The nurse hadn’t been the only one to notice Tyler’s eyes drifting shut more than once. Or his ashen pallor. Or the grimace of pain that he tried to hide behind a strained smile. Without an argument, the cowboys mumbled their goodbyes and began drifting toward the door.

It was time to go home.

Skye watched the men’s slow exodus and wondered if, with the setting sun, the ranch house had cooled down any. Or if it was still sweltering with heat.

She noticed her father deep in conversation with Joey Witherspoon at the foot of Tyler’s bed. Their voices were low, hushed in deference to the now sleeping Tyler. Her curiosity piqued, she sidled up to the pair.

“He’s going to need help,” Gus was telling his friend. “He’s got some cracked ribs and he’s done a number on his back again. Doctor says he’s going to need to rest and recuperate. But, hell, he lives out of that damn truck of his, driving from one rodeo to the next. Where’s he supposed to go?”

“Juanita and I would like to help.” Joey flexed his massive shoulders into a shrug. “But with the new baby, Juanita already has her hands full.”

“My apartment’s too small to turn around in, let alone have a houseguest,” Gus muttered, glancing at Tyler’s still figure. “Dammit, what are we going to do with him?”

“Surely, somebody could take him in.”

“Who?” Gus asked sharply. “Don’t get me wrong. Tyler’s a good ol’ boy and all, but—” He sighed. “Well, I don’t know too many cowboys fool enough to stay within kickin’ distance of him when he’s been hurt. He can be a bit on the cantankerous side.”

Skye clapped a hand to her mouth, smothering a laugh. Gus Whitman calling Tyler Bradshaw cantankerous was a little like the pot calling the kettle black.

The noise caught both men’s attention.

Joey turned, startled. “Hey there, Skye. I didn’t notice you standing there.”

Gus frowned. “Honey, I thought you’d left along with the others.”

“I just thought I’d stay and see how Tyler’s doing,” she said, instantly regretting the words. Admitting to her father that she was worried about Tyler didn’t seem like a wise thing to do. She shrugged, covering her concern. “You know, to see if he needed anything, like a toothbrush, or a magazine, or something.”

The two men exchanged a glance.

Gus cleared his throat and gave his most engaging smile. “Say, honey...how’s that ranch house? Gettin’ kind of lonely?”

Skye frowned. “Lonely? No, not yet anyway. I mean, it’s a lot different from living in the city—” She stopped herself, stared at the two men, seeing the wheels turning behind their guarded expressions. She gave her head a slow, disbelieving shake. “Oh, no, you don’t—”

“Don’t what, honey?” Gus asked, a picture of innocence.

“Tyler...” she sputtered, waving a hand at the injured man’s prone form. “You’re not going to foist him off on me to nurse.”

The mere thought sent the heat of anger racing through her veins—along with another emotion she didn’t want to dwell on at the moment. Her father was certainly running true to form. Once again, he was pushing his obligations off onto another person—namely, herself.

“He’s not in that bad a shape,” Gus protested weakly.

As though on cue, Tyler moaned in his sleep. In sync, they turned their heads to look at him. He looked even paler than before. Deep lines of pain furrowed his brow. The bump on his head was taking on an ugly red hue.

Not that bad a shape, ha!

Skye fastened a hard look on her father, trying a new tack. “Think about this, Gus. We’re talking about Tyler Bradshaw, the man who dated three women on the same night in Little Rock. He barely got out of town one step ahead of an irate boyfriend and two bloodthirsty fathers. Do you really want to leave your own daughter alone with this man?”

“Tyler?” Gus thumbed a gesture at his friend. “He’s too banged up to do anybody any harm.”

Skye growled. “I thought you just said he wasn’t in that bad a shape.”

Joey watched the exchange in wide-eyed silence, with all the wariness of a man who had two young daughters of his own at home.

“Look, Skye,” Gus pleaded. “You’d be doing me a big favor. There isn’t anybody else who can help. I wouldn’t ask except Tyler’s an old friend. He’s like a—” Gus stopped himself, then glanced away, his cheeks flushing with color.

Like a son, Skye silently finished for him, experiencing an emotion that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Gus had never kept his feelings for Tyler a secret. Skye had been a mere child when he’d taken Tyler under his wing. She’d watched with an envious eye all the attention her father had showered on the youth, showing him the ropes of bullriding, helping him earn his stripes as a top-seeded rodeo star. Tyler. had been his protege. The light Skye could never hope to compete with in her father’s eye.

Appalled by these feelings, unable to admit to anyone—not even herself—that she was resentful of Tyler in any way, Skye gave a defeated sigh. “All right, Gus. If you really want me to help, then I guess it’ll be okay if Tyler stays at the ranch with me for a few days.”

“The hell I will,” a deep voice interrupted them.

Skye jumped, casting a startled glance at the bed. And caught Tyler’s stormy gaze.

The patient was awake.

“No way,” Tyler said, making his point clear. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

Especially not a nursemaid like Skye, he added silently.

“Just how far do you think you’re going to get without help, Tyler?” Gus asked, his expression thunderous. “You’re as weak as a newborn colt. And just as wobbly, too.”

Gus was right, of course. His head was throbbing. He felt each of his cracked ribs every time he drew a breath. The wrist was so sore and swollen, he could barely move his fingers. And his back...each movement brought a new spasm of pain zigzagging up and down his spine. Tyler had no idea how he was going to walk out of this hospital room, let alone cope on his own.

“I’ll get by,” Tyler said, trying to sound stoic.

“The hell you will,” Gus said, shaking his head in frustration. “If it isn’t at the ranch with Skye, then we’ll have to find you somewhere else to go. What’s the harm in spending a few days with Skye?”

Tyler stared at him, wondering if his friend was really that naive. Skye was a beautiful, desirable woman. Wounded or not, any man’s willpower would be tested. The problem was, he didn’t know how to explain to his mentor the real reason why he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her.

“Tyler, listen,” Skye said, her tone resigned. “I don’t want a houseguest any more than you want to stay at the ranch with me. But I don’t see that we have much of a choice. Granted, it’s not going to be easy sharing living quarters. But I’ll be working most of the time on my thesis. You’ll hardly even know I’m there.”

Tyler cast a surreptitious glance over the tight-fitting tank top and the white cutoffs that hugged her generous curves. He frowned as he studied the smooth length of bare legs. Not noticing Skye would be like trying to ignore a ten-pound powder keg that was about to explode.

Oblivious to his troublesome thoughts, she continued, “I promise, I’ll stay out of your way...unless you need me.”

Need her? Tyler bit back a moan, wondering if a man could be condemned just for the prurient thoughts running through his mind.

“You’ll be doing me a favor, really,” she insisted, forcing a smile. Her rosebud lips parted, revealing a set of even white teeth, and Tyler was instantly reminded of the kiss they’d shared. He licked his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling dry, parched. “The ranch is kind of lonely. It’ll be nice to have someone to keep me company.”

A lie if he’d ever heard one. The problem was, as far as he could see, Skye was forcing him to make the decision. If he turned her down, he’d be the bad guy. If he said yes, there would be hell to pay, for sure.

“So what do you say, Tyler?” she asked. “Want to let an old friend help you out?”

Since she’d put it like that, he’d sound like an ungrateful cad if he said no. Lifting his good hand, he rubbed the grit out of his weary eyes and sighed. “All right, Skye. I’ll stay for a couple of days.”

“Great,” she said, her smile tightening. “It’ll be fun.”

“Fun?” Gus asked, a vein pulsing at his temple. He looked as though he were having second thoughts. “Now look, young lady—”

“What’s the matter with you, Gus?” Skye asked, laughing off her father’s latent streak of paternal protectiveness. “You’re the one who suggested he stay with me in the first place. Like you’ve said a hundred times before, Tyler’s like a son to you. Then that must make him like a brother to me. We haven’t seen each other for years. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

A brother? She thought of him as a brother? Tyler scowled. The night was going from bad to worse.

Joey lifted a hand to his mouth, hiding an amused grin, looking as though he were about to bust a gut to keep from laughing. He cleared his throat. “I think I’d better be going.”

“Me, too,” Skye said. “I’ve got a lot of things to do before tomorrow.” She waggled her fingers in a goodbye salute, then shot Tyler an innocent smile as she followed Joey to the door. “See ya in the morning, Tyler.”

“Right,” Tyler muttered. “Good night, sis.”

Her step faltered. She gave him an uncertain look, then disappeared through the hospital door.

Gus hesitated before following the pair. He narrowed his gaze, looking as unconvinced as Tyler felt at this newfound sibling relationship. “Don’t worry about a thing, Tyler. I’ll be checking in on you two as often as possible. Just to make sure Skye hasn’t taken on anything more than she can handle.”

The warning was clearly noted. Touch Gus’s daughter and he’d die a slow and painful death.

Gus strode from the room, leaving Tyler alone to stew in silence.

He might have his faults, but stupidity wasn’t one of them. Not only was he going to have to suffer through his injuries from the bull, but he was going to have to endure an ungodly amount of torture. He was going to be cared for by a beautiful woman who swore she thought of him only as a brother.

A brother, eh? It would be a hell of a challenge to prove her wrong.


Chapter Three

“Are you aiming for the potholes?” Tyler asked, clenching his teeth against the fresh pain each bump in the ride from the hospital brought him.

Since Skye’s arrival at the hospital this morning, he’d been in a foul mood, not his usual cheerful self. He’d been thrown off a bull before, but he’d never felt quite this bad. And that was why he was feeling so ornery and out of sorts.

Or so he told himself.

He refused to admit his tetchy mood might have something to do with the prospect of spending time alone, in close—and all too tempting—confines, with the woman sitting next to him in this pint-size car of hers.

“No, I’m not aiming for the holes,” Skye said, frowning. “The road’s a nightmare. I have no idea when it was last paved.”

“Paved?” He chuckled, glancing outside at the cloud of dust the little car was kicking up. “You have been living in the city too long.”

Her scowl deepened. “Tyler, for someone who’s being granted a huge favor, you aren’t acting very grateful.”

“Oh, I’m grateful, Skye.” He shifted his bruised tailbone against the vinyl seat, wishing the aging vehicle had more legroom. Wishing he wasn’t forced to sit so close to Skye, so that every time he breathed he inhaled the sweet scent of her perfume. “It isn’t every day I’m squeezed into a tin can-size car with a set of broken ribs, a bum wrist and an aching back. Don’t worry, though, I get thrown by bulls on a regular basis. I’m used to pain.”

“You wanted more room? Too bad I left the Mercedes up north,” she said, snapping her fingers, taking his complaints in stride. “Next time I come home to Texas, I’ll be sure to bring it along.”

He glanced at her sharply, ignoring her sarcasm. “Plan on leaving again soon?”

She took her eyes off the dirt road long enough to look at him in surprise. “This visit’s only for the summer. I haven’t moved back to Texas for good. Ralph’s job is in Boston—”

“Ralph,” Tyler interrupted, uncertain why he felt a sudden flash of irritation. “That’s the fiancé, right?”

“Right,” she said, her brow crinkling into a frown. “He’s a professor. Jobs aren’t easy to get in the academic field. He has to go where he’s wanted”

“I suppose there’s not much call for medieval history in Texas,” he drawled.

If she noticed the mockery in his tone, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she reached a hand to the dashboard and flipped on the windshield wipers, doing her best to clear off the worst of the film of dust that had settled across the window. He noticed the slender fingers on her left hand were ringless.

“So, Ralph’s not big on tradition, eh?”

She looked at him again, this time in confusion.

He pointed to her ringless hand. “No diamond.”

A tinge of color settled across her cheeks. “Well, the engagement’s not exactly official. It’s still in the planning stage.”

“Planning stage?”

“We’re working on the details, ironing out a few of the kinks.”

“Kind of like a business deal, hmm?”

She squirmed in her seat and Tyler realized he was enjoying her discomfort way too much.

“There’s nothing wrong with approaching marriage in a logical, sensible manner,” she said. “The divorce rate in this country is way too high. If more people took the time to think things through, rather than act on emotion and impulse, the courts wouldn’t be half as busy dealing with failed marriages.”

“Then again,” Tyler said, watching her closely, “if more people didn’t bother with a wedding in the first place, there wouldn’t be a need for divorce court.”

A strained silence filled the car. All that he heard was the thumping of the wipers against the windshield and the pounding of his own heart.

“So you don’t believe in marriage,” she said finally, her tone flat.

“Not for this cowboy,” he said, grabbing for a handhold as the car bumped unheedingly across a gaping pothole. Unfortunately, he reached with his sore hand, causing his wrist to pulsate with pain. He bit back a curse. “For Pete’s sake, Skye. Slow down. Are you trying to kill me, or what? I don’t remember the ranch being this far out of town. It feels like we’ve been driving forever.”

“Be patient, Tyler. We’re almost there.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t seen a house in ages,” he groused.

She shrugged, frowning. “So it’s a little isolated.”

“A little isolated? This place is practically deserted. Don’t you get lonely out here?”

“What is this? An inquisition?” Her frown deepened. “I like being by myself, don’t you?”

“Well, sure. But I don’t mind giving a few friends the chance to drop by once in a while, either,” he said, knowing he didn’t give a dang about the isolation. It was the thought of him and Skye alone, with no one else in sight, that had him on edge.

“I saw plenty of people when I was at school up north. It’s nice to get away from the stress when I’m home.” With a relieved expression, she said, “Speaking of which...here we are, home sweet home.”

“Home sweet home” was a faded white clapboard, one-and-a-half-story house. A dismal little building with blue shutters that were weathered and peeling in places. The grounds had a minimal amount of shrubbery and landscaping, giving it a barren appearance. What little grass and bushes there were lay wilting, gasping for water in the hot Texas sun.

“It’s...um...nice,” he said politely.

“It could be,” she said, making him wonder if she’d become a mind reader while attending college. Ignoring his curious gaze, she continued, “Gus doesn’t have the heart to sell the family homeplace. But he doesn’t have the desire to give it the attention it really needs, either.” She raised a brow, glancing at him. “How about you, Tyler. Interested in becoming a rancher?”

“Who, me?” Tyler looked at her, uncertain how much Gus had told her about his injuries. He lifted his wrapped and sore wrist, wincing at the needles of pain. “This is only a temporary setback. I’ll be on my feet and back on the rodeo circuit in no time.”

“Of course you will,” she said, revealing nothing but sincerity in her tone. Her eyes focused straight ahead, however, her gaze trained on the narrow lane leading to the house, making him wonder why she didn’t want to face him.

Tyler blew out a pent-up breath. The pain was affecting his judgment. He was becoming paranoid, looking for trouble where there wasn’t any to be found. Skye was being supportive, helping him out when he was in need. He had no right to question her motives.

Skye jerked the little car to a stop, parking as close to the front door as possible. Once the dust settled, she opened the car door and stepped outside. With a catlike grace, she stretched her arms above her head, causing her T-shirt to ride up an inch or two, revealing her smooth, flat tummy.

“Goodness.” She sighed “It feels great to stretch my legs.”

Pushing aside the erotic thoughts her svelte figure conjured up, Tyler took his time joining her. His raging hormones would have to wait, he told himself. He had a more pressing problem to handle. Earlier at the hospital, with the help of an orderly and a wheelchair, Skye had gotten him into this tiny car of hers. He wasn’t sure how she expected to get him out.

Opening the car door seemed to use up all of his energy. Breathing deeply, bracing himself, he swung one leg, then the other onto the ground outside. Then he waited, closing his eyes and clenching his muscles against the rippling tide of pain that washed over his body.

“Let me help,” Skye said, her voice close.

He opened his eyes and found her standing before him, her cheeks flushed from the heat, her skin moist with perspiration, her dark hair curling about her face from the humidity. She couldn’t be more than five foot three, probably weighed a hundred pounds, soaking wet. How she thought she could lift a hundred and eighty pounds of solid male was beyond him.




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