Cowboy Up
Vicki Lewis Thompson
Never fall in love with a cowboy. These words were drilled into Emily’s head. But now she’s returned home and finds herself face-to-face with sexy rancher Clay. He isn’t keen on spoiled city slickers, so he’s showing Emily just what a ranch – and a cowboy – has to offer.And it’s a lot… Still she’s not falling for a cowboy – she’s just getting hot and naked with one!
DO YOU NEED A COWBOY FIX?
New York Times bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson is back with more …
Sons of Chance
Chance isn’t just the last name of these rugged
Wyoming cowboys—it’s their motto, too!
Saddle up with:
SHOULD’VE BEEN A COWBOY
August 2012
COWBOY UP
September 2012
COWBOYS LIKE US
October 2012
Take a chance…on a Chance!
Dear Reader,
When I was in college, my dad happened to be the Dean of Students, which created a massive problem for any guy who wanted to date me. Most boyfriends are a little nervous dealing with a girl’s father, but if that father has the power to destroy an entire college career, the stakes go way up.
I gave top cowhand Clay Whitaker a similar problem. He has a major attraction to the only daughter of Emmett Sterling, foreman of the Last Chance Ranch in the Jackson Hole area of Wyoming. As a former foster kid, Clay cherishes the ranch as his last chance for a real home. The family treats him as one of their own, and Emmett is the father he’s never had. Getting cozy with Emmett’s daughter Emily has the potential to ruin everything.
Yet Clay’s a hot-blooded cowboy with a taste for risk. Something tells me he will go for it, despite the high stakes. I fell in love with this guy, as I do all my heroes, but he has a special place in my heart because he started with so little and has so much to lose. Well, and he also looks amazing in a pair of jeans …
Welcome back to the SONS OF CHANCE series! It should be illegal to have this much fun!
Forever yours in cowboy country,
Vicki Lewis Thompson
About the Author
New York Times bestseller VICKI LEWIS THOMPSON’s love affair with cowboys started with The Lone Ranger, continued through Maverick, and took a turn south of the border with Zorro. She views cowboys as the Western version of knights in shining armor—rugged men who value honor, honesty and hard work. Fortunately for her, she lives in the Arizona desert, where broad-shouldered, lean-hipped cowboys abound. Blessed with such an abundance of inspiration, she only hopes that she can do them justice. Visit her website at www.vickilewisthompson.com.
Cowboy Up
Vicki Lewis Thompson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Rhonda Nelson, friend, top-notch painter of walls, and valued source of story ideas.
Thanks for my freshly painted walls and your excellent suggestion for Clay’s job description.
Prologue
Jackson Hole, Wyoming July 21, 1961
CARRYING HIS COFFEE MUG, Archie Chance joined his wife, Nelsie, for their evening ritual of rocking on the front porch, gazing at the mountains and discussing…whatever came up.
Archie settled in his chair and took a sip of his coffee before broaching the subject on his mind. “What do you think about frozen semen?”
Although some women might have been taken aback by such a question, Nelsie didn’t bat an eye. “Are you fixing to freeze yours?”
That made him laugh. How he loved this woman. “Nope. Don’t think there would be much call for my semen considering that I’ve only been able to produce one son in all these years.”
“That’s because you go for quality and not quantity.”
Archie gave her a smile. Their son, Jonathan, now fifteen, had turned out pretty damned well, if Archie did say so. The boy lived and breathed ranching just as Archie had hoped he would. There was no question that Jonathan would take over the Last Chance when the time came.
“So whose frozen semen are you interested in, then?” Nelsie asked.
“Goliath’s. I’ve been reading about folks shipping frozen bull semen all over God’s creation and making money doing it. Seeing as how the Last Chance is still a cattle operation and Goliath fetches a hefty stud fee, I wondered if I should look into it.”
Nelsie’s rocker creaked softly as she appeared to ponder that idea. “Goliath might not take to having his semen collected.”
“I know.”
“I would imagine he prefers to impregnate cows the old-fashioned way.”
“Too bad. It’s the sixties. Times are changing. Goliath needs to change with them.”
Nelsie turned to gaze at him. “And you need more money to get this horse venture off the ground.”
“Yeah.” He cradled his mug in both hands and watched the fading light play across the flanks of the Grand Tetons. “It’s a hell of a lot more expensive than I thought it would be, Nelsie, and it may take years, but someday the Last Chance is going to be known for raising the finest paints in Wyoming.”
1
July, present day
THE STALLION’S SCREAM of sexual frustration ricocheted off the walls of a shed that smelled like fresh lumber and honest sweat, both human and horse. The Last Chance Ranch baked under a sun that shone with uncharacteristic ferocity. Clay Whitaker, who’d recently been put in charge of the ranch’s stud program, wiped his face on his sleeve.
The new shed could use an air-conditioning unit—humans would appreciate it, at least. The horses probably wouldn’t care, judging from the ardor of Bandit, the black-and-white paint that claimed a higher stud fee than any other stallion in the Last Chance Ranch.
Despite the heat, Bandit seemed desperate to mount the mare contained in a small pen only a few feet away. He would never get the chance. The pretty little chocolate-and-white paint named Cookie Dough was a decoy.
Instead of mating the old-fashioned way, Bandit would have to make do with a padded dummy so that Clay could collect the semen, freeze it and ship it to a customer in Texas. Shipping frozen horse semen promised to add an increased revenue stream to the ranch operation, or so Clay projected it would.
Nick Chance, middle son of the family that operated the ranch, was on hand to help. A large-animal vet, Nick, co-owned the Last Chance along with his older brother, Jack, his younger brother, Gabe, and their mother, Sarah. Clay had known all of them for ten years.
Theoretically, sperm collection was a simple task. Nick would keep a firm grip on Bandit’s lead rope as the stallion mounted the dummy, and Clay would move in with a collection tube. Instead, Bandit seemed determined to get to the mare, and both men’s yoked Western shirts were stained dark with sweat.
Nick glanced around the small shed. “We need to get us some air-conditioning in here.”
“That’s exactly what I—” The rest of Clay’s response was drowned out by another scream from Bandit, right before he did exactly as he was supposed to and mounted the dummy. Grasping the tube, a twenty-five-pound piece of equipment designed to keep the semen at an even temperature, Clay moved in for the crucial part of the operation.
When Bandit was finished, both men stood back to let the stallion rest on the dummy for a moment.
Nick glanced over at Clay. “Shall I offer him a cigarette?”
“Very funny.”
“I invited Jack to watch, but he declined.”
“I’m not surprised.” In fact, Clay would have been amazed if Jack had shown up for Bandit’s session. Jack didn’t much like the idea of collecting and shipping frozen semen, but he recognized times had changed and had agreed to let Clay put his animal science degree to good use.
Still, Bandit was Jack’s horse, and Jack thought the collection process was completely undignified. Maybe so, but Jack couldn’t argue with the income it would generate. Being in charge of this new operation meant Clay had an important job at the ranch he loved so dearly, but it also allowed him to give something back to the only real family he’d ever had.
Orphaned at three, he’d been shuffled through a series of foster homes until turning eighteen. Then he’d come to work at the Last Chance, where Sarah and her husband, Jonathan, had treated him more like one of their sons than a hired hand. But he’d formed the strongest bond with Emmett Sterling, ranch foreman and the closest thing to a father Clay had ever had. Emmett had recognized that Clay had a brain, and encouraged him to save for college.
Working while he attended school had meant taking six years to complete a four-year program, but now he was back. Jonathan Chance’s death from a truck rollover almost two years ago had shocked Clay and made him even more determined to use his education to benefit the family.
Bandit slowly lifted his head as if he’d recovered enough to dismount from the dummy.
“Guess we’re about done here,” Nick said. “I’ll take him back to his stall and then get Cookie Dough.”
“Thanks.” Clay hoisted the canister to his shoulder and left the shed. On his way to the tractor barn and the incubator he’d set up there, he had to pass by the horse barn, and he glanced around uneasily.
Emmett’s daughter, Emily, had arrived late last night so she could help celebrate her dad’s sixtieth birthday tomorrow. Her white BMW convertible—sporting a California vanity plate that read SURFS UP—sat in the circular drive, top down and tan leather upholstery exposed to the sun. Well, that fit the impression Clay had of her—spoiled and irresponsible.
He’d met her at her father’s fiftieth birthday, soon after he’d come to work at the ranch; but Clay hadn’t seen her since. She might have visited while he was away at college, though she’d made it obvious ranch life didn’t suit her.
Emmett had sent her large chunks of his paycheck every month when she was a minor, so the guy was always broke. After she came of age, everyone expected Emmett to have more money. He didn’t, and eventually it had come out that he was still writing sizable checks to his daughter.
Although Clay would never say so to Emmett, he—along with most everyone at the ranch—resented the hell out of the ungrateful little leech. When he’d first met Emily, he’d done what any normal eighteen-year-old guy would do when confronted with a gorgeous blonde. He’d flirted with her.
She’d said in no uncertain terms that cowboys weren’t her style. The rejection had stung, but her disdain for cowboys in general had to be even more hurtful to her father. Clay had vowed to forget her hot little body and continue about his business.
Unfortunately the image of her Daisy Dukes and low-cut blouses had stuck with him, no matter how often he’d tried to erase the memory. He could still close his eyes and see her prancing around like she was in some beauty pageant. With any luck she’d packed on some pounds in the past ten years and wouldn’t look like that anymore. With any luck, he wouldn’t have direct contact with her at all.
So much for luck. Here she came, long blond hair swinging as she walked out of the horse barn with Emmett.
Clay swallowed. Sure enough, she’d put on a few pounds—in all the right places. Her black scoop-necked T-shirt had some designer name across the front and, to Clay’s way of thinking, the designer should’ve paid Emily for the display space.
Her Daisy Dukes had been replaced by cuffed white shorts that showed off a spectacular tan. She’d propped oversize sunglasses on her head and now she pulled them down over her eyes as she glanced in his direction.
Clay had no trouble picturing her wearing a bikini and sipping an umbrella drink while she lounged by the pool in her hometown of Santa Barbara. He imagined her smoothing coconut-scented suntan oil over every inch of that gorgeous …
Whoa. He’d better shut down that video right quick. No way was he lusting after Emily Sterling. That was a mistake on so many levels. For one thing, he didn’t even like her, and he prided himself on only getting involved with likable women.
Emmett looked at him and nodded in approval. “Looks like you got ’er done.”
“We did.” Clay dredged up a polite smile as he drew closer. “I’m glad your daughter arrived okay.” He made out the letters on the front of her shirt. BEBE, with an accent mark over the last E. Probably French for babe. Appropriate.
“She showed up about eleven last night,” Emmett said. “I never thought I’d be grateful for cell phones, but I sure am when she’s on the road. Emily, do you remember Clay Whitaker?”
“She probably doesn’t.” Clay adjusted the collection tube, that was getting heavier by the second. “That was a long time ago. Anyway, nice to see you again, Emily. If you’ll excuse me, I need to—”
“Do what?” She motioned to the metal tube balanced on his shoulder and grinned. “That thing looks like a rocket launcher.”
“Um, it’s not. Listen, I really have to—”
“At least tell me what it is, then.”
“Semen collector,” Emmett said helpfully.
“Really?” Emily took off her sunglasses and peered at the tube. “So did you collect some semen just now?”
“Yes, and I need to get it into the incubator.”
“And then what?”
“Oh, it’s a whole process,” Emmett said. “Clay studied how to do it when he was in college, and now the Last Chance can ship frozen semen all over the country. All over the world, if we want.”
“Flying semen.” A ripple in her voice and a glitter in her green eyes suggested she was trying not to laugh. “What a concept. That canister is pretty big. Is there that much of it?”
Dear God. Clay couldn’t have come up with a worse topic of conversation if he’d tried all day. “Not really. There’s insulation material, and…and …”
“The AV,” Emmett said.
“What’s an AV?”
Of course she’d ask.
“It’s an artificial va—” Emmett stopped and coughed, as if he’d finally realized this really wasn’t a fit subject to be discussing with his daughter, who hadn’t been raised on a ranch and wouldn’t be used to a matter-of-fact discussion of female anatomy.
Clay stepped into the breach. “Artificial vacuum,” he said. “It’s an artificial vacuum.”
“Huh.” Emily’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I understand. Something’s either a vacuum or it’s not.”
Emmett put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s complicated. And very technical. Anyway, we need to let Clay get on with his job.”
“Right.” Emily flashed her even, white teeth and winked at him before replacing her sunglasses. “I don’t want spoiled semen on my conscience. See you later, Clay.”
“You bet, Emily.” He headed off, cursing under his breath and trying to ignore his gut response to that smile. If he didn’t know better, he’d classify that wink as flirting; but that couldn’t be right. She’d told him once that she was a city girl who had no intention of getting mixed up with a shit-kicking cowboy, and he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. The perception that she’d flirted with him just now was only wishful thinking on his part.
Stupid thinking, too. How could he have sexual feelings for a woman who continued to bleed her hardworking father for money while sneering at that good man’s lifestyle? A woman like that shouldn’t interest Clay in the least and definitely shouldn’t stir his animal instincts. Ah, but she did. Damn it, she did.
Maybe she presented a challenge to his male ego and all he really wanted to do was take her down a peg. He was far more confident around women now than he had been ten years ago, and he realized that they found him attractive. Could be he’d like to prove to Miss Emily that a shit-kicking cowboy could ring her chimes better than any city boy.
He wouldn’t follow up on that urge, though. Emmett had been like family. The guy was his idol. That meant Clay wasn’t going to mess with Emily. End of story.
“CLAY WHITAKER SEEMS to have turned out okay.” Emily congratulated herself on sounding vaguely interested, when inside a wild woman shouted Take me, you bad boy! Take me, now!
She watched Clay walk across the open area between the horse barn and the tractor barn. A girl could get used to that view—tight buns in faded jeans and shoulders broad enough to easily support a large canister of horse semen. Horse semen, of all things!
She was dying to know how that process worked. Biology had been her favorite subject in high school, but her mother, a buyer for Chico’s, had steered her into fashion design. Unfortunately, she had no talent for it.
Collecting horse semen—now that would be interesting. Apparently it was a sweaty job. The back of Clay’s shirt clung to his sexy torso and the dark hair curling from under his hat made him look as if he’d stuck his head beneath a faucet. The guy was hot in more ways than one, and pheromones had been coming off him in waves.
He must have had those same deep brown eyes when he was eighteen; but, if so, they hadn’t registered with her. Today was a different story. Looking into his gorgeous eyes had produced an effect on her libido that was off the Richter scale. Either Clay had acquired a boatload of sexual chemistry over the years, or she’d been a stupid seventeen-year-old who hadn’t recognized his potential.
She wondered if she’d been rude to him back then. At the time she’d been full of herself and full of her mother’s prejudices against cowboys. If she had been rude, she hoped he’d forgotten it by now. He probably had, after not seeing her for so long.
“Clay’s developed into a top hand.” Emmett studied her as if trying to guess what was going on in her head.
“That’s good to hear.” She didn’t want him to figure out what she was thinking, either. “I know you’re fond of him.” In fact, she’d been a little jealous over the years when he’d bragged about Clay, although she’d never admit that to her dad. On the other hand, knowing Emmett had Clay had eased her conscience about not visiting more often.
“He’s a good guy,” Emmett said. “So, do you still want that coffee? ”
“What? Oh, right! Yes. Absolutely.” At home she’d developed a midmorning Starbucks habit, something she’d confessed to Emmett during their tour of the barn when she realized she was running low on energy. But the encounter with Clay had boosted her spirits without the benefit of caffeine. Still, coffee was always welcome. She fell into step beside her father as they continued on to the house.
“I don’t know if I told you that Clay got his degree in animal science this spring.”
“I don’t think you mentioned that.” She knew he wasn’t comparing Clay to her, but still, she’d dropped out of college because she couldn’t see wasting the money when she didn’t know what she wanted to study.
Her mother kept pushing retail, preferably involving fashion. Emily’s heart wasn’t in it, and finally she’d told her mother so. She’d briefly considered marine biology and had volunteered in the field, but that hadn’t felt quite right.
Her current receptionist job couldn’t be called a career decision, either. She sighed. “When I see somebody like Clay, who has his act together, I feel like a slacker.”
Emmett shook his head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Some people take longer than others to figure out what they want to do.”
“Maybe so, but Clay’s had so many obstacles to overcome …”
“We all have obstacles.”
“I suppose, but you told me he spent his childhood going from one foster home to the next. That’s major trauma.”
“You haven’t had a bed of roses, either, what with no father around.”
“That wasn’t your fault, Dad.” She hated that he still felt guilty about the divorce, nearly twenty-five years after the fact. Before she’d been old enough to think for herself, she’d accepted her mother’s assessment that Emmett was to blame for the divorce. Gradually she’d come to see that it had been a bad match that was doomed from the start.
“It was partly my fault,” Emmett said. “First off I let your mother take you to California, and then I only came over to visit two or three times.”
“Yes, but Santa Barbara isn’t your kind of place.” They’d reached the steps going up to the porch and her dad’s boots hit the wood with a solid sound she’d missed hearing. She’d missed other things, too, like the way his gray hair curled a little at the nape of his neck, and how his face creased in a smile and his blue eyes grew warm and crinkly with love when he looked at her.
She hadn’t always appreciated how handsome he was because she’d been so influenced by her mother’s assessment of cowboys as unsophisticated hicks who went around with a piece of straw clenched in their teeth. Her dad did that sometimes, but he also moved with fluid grace, and he was as lean and muscled as a man half his age.
He blew out a breath, which made his mustache flutter a bit. “Doesn’t matter if it’s my kind of place or not. I should’ve visited more often.” He paused with one hand on the brass doorknob. “I’m sorry for that, Emily. More sorry than I can say.”
“It’s okay.” Bracing her hands on his warm shoulder, she rose on tiptoe and leaned in under the brim of his hat to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve always known you love me.”
“More than anything.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Which is why we both need to get some coffee in us before we turn into blubbering fools and embarrass ourselves.”
“And a Sterling never turns into a blubbering fool.”
“That’s exactly right.” Clearing his throat, Emmett opened the door and ushered her inside.
Although the main house didn’t have air conditioning, the thick log walls kept the rooms cool even in the heat of summer. The second story helped, too. Emily adored the winding staircase that, according to her dad, had been expertly crafted more than thirty years ago by the Chance boys’ grandpa Archie.
Emmett had told her that Archie had been a master carpenter who’d designed every aspect of this massive home for both beauty and practicality. Even Emily’s mother, who pretty much despised anything to do with ranching, had once confessed that she found the house to be spectacular.
A huge rock fireplace dominated the living room, and although no fire burned there, the scent of cedar smoke had worked its way into the brown leather armchairs and sofa gathered in front of the hearth. No doubt the large Navajo rugs hanging on the walls had absorbed the smell of the fire, too. Its woodsy fragrance combined with that of lemon oil furniture polish would always be connected in Emily’s mind to the Last Chance.
She’d assumed salt air and ocean waves were her favorite backdrop; but walking into this living room late last night had felt a bit like coming home. Because her dad’s little cabin was small, Emily stayed upstairs in the main house when she visited. She hadn’t thought she was particularly attached to the place, but last night she’d realized that wasn’t true. She loved it here.
Her dad caught her looking around the living room. “Maybe if I’d provided your mother with a house like this,” he began, “then she—”
“She still wouldn’t have been happy. Face it, Dad. She isn’t content unless she’s living by the ocean near some really good shopping.”
“I discovered that too late.”
“So did she.” And Jeri had never remarried, which told Emily that her mother had loved her dad and probably still did. Although Emma might be the feminine version of the name Emmett, Emily was darned close. “She married you without stopping to think that she finds horses and dogs exceedingly smelly.”
Emmett laughed. “And she’s right, they are. But I happen to love that about them.”
“Believe it or not, I kind of do, too.”
He thumbed back his hat to look at her. “I had a feeling you did.”
“All along I’ve pretended that taking barn tours and riding was a drag, but the truth is, I’ve always looked forward to being around the animals.”
“You’d better not let your mother hear you say that.”
“I know. I suppose I thought it would be disloyal to her if I said I liked them.” She gazed at him for several seconds. All her life she’d been told that ranching was nothing but dust, horse poop and endless drudgery. Because of that she’d told herself her visits were only an obligation to maintain a connection with her father.
She’d let three years go by since the last time, and she might not have made the trip this summer except that her father was turning sixty. To her surprise, she was really glad to be here. And she’d finally admitted to her dad that barns and horses appealed to her.
In fact, she had the urge to spend more time hanging out at the barn and getting to know the horses. Of course, that could have something to do with Clay Whitaker. Clearly if she wanted to see more of Clay she’d need to become involved with the animals he tended.
She turned toward her father. “Do you think we could take a ride this afternoon? ”
“I might be able to work that out. I need to pick up some supplies today, and maybe we could stretch that into a little shopping trip in Jackson.” He brightened. “I could ask Pam to come along so you could meet her. You two could shop while I warm a bench outside.”
“That sounds great, Dad.” Actually, it didn’t. He’d told her last night about Pam Mulholland, who owned the Bunk & Grub, a bed-and-breakfast inn down the road. It seemed her father had a girlfriend, and Emily wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “But I meant a horseback ride.”
“Oh. I’m afraid that’s not in the cards for today, sweetheart. I really do have to run several errands and I’m not sure how long they’ll take. Sure you don’t want to come along?”
She couldn’t blame him for thinking she’d love to go shopping. Three years ago she’d been all about buying stuff, partly because she’d known it would please her mother if she came back with clothes. “It’s funny, but now that I’m here, I feel like staying put,” she said. “Maybe I’ll just take a walk around the ranch this afternoon.” And see what Clay’s up to.
“A walk?”
She smiled at his puzzled expression. “I know. Cowboys don’t walk, but I do.”
Emmett looked down at her feet. “Then you’ll need to put something on besides those sandals.”
“I packed the boots and jeans I bought when we went shopping in Jackson last time I visited.”
“You still have those?”
“They’re like new. I felt like a fake wearing them in Santa Barbara. I’ll probably feel like a fake wearing them here, but I want to give it a shot.”
“Okay.” He gave her a look that was pure protective dad. “Promise me you won’t try to go riding by yourself.”
“I promise.” Years ago she would have resented the implication that she couldn’t handle riding alone. But she hadn’t been on a horse in three years, and she was old enough now to appreciate his warning as a gesture of love. “I know my limits. I can ride a surfboard like nobody’s business, but I don’t have much practice on a horse.” She paused. “Maybe one of the hands could go with me.”
“That’s an idea. I could send Watkins.”
She remembered Watkins as a shortish, older guy with a handlebar mustache. Nice enough, but not the person she had in mind.
“No, not Watkins,” her dad said. “He has a toothache and would spend the whole ride talking about it.”
“Then how about—”
“I could send Jeb, but…I don’t know. That boy gets distracted by a pretty face. I’d ask one of the Chances, but Nick’s scheduled to worm our little herd of cattle, Gabe’s off at a cutting horse event, and Jack’s taking Josie to the obstetrician today.” He glanced at Emily. “I did tell you that Josie’s pregnant?”
“Yes. You gave me the rundown last night, and I think I have it all straight. Josie and Jack are expecting their first. Gabe and Morgan have little Sarah Bianca, who’s one month old. Nick and Dominique are waiting a bit before having kids.”
“Right. Okay, let me think. There must be somebody I would trust to take you.”
She did her level best to sound indifferent. “I don’t suppose Clay could go.”
“Hey, that’s a great idea! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. I’ll ask him.”
Bingo.
2
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE he’d come to live at the Last Chance, Clay dreaded lunch hour. Years ago, before Clay had come to the ranch, Archie had begun a tradition of gathering everyone in the main house at midday so that news could be exchanged and plans made. In fact, when the east wing had been added, Sarah had suggested creating a large lunchroom because the family dining room had become too crowded.
The new space held four round tables that each sat eight, and windows on the north and east provided light and spectacular mountain views. Hands ate in the bunkhouse for breakfast and dinner, rotating the cooking chores among themselves, but they considered lunch a treat, both for the setting and the food. Sarah insisted on tablecloths and cloth napkins because she believed in adding a little class. The guys tolerated that because Mary Lou Simms, the family’s cook, always put on a mouthwatering spread.
Mary Lou’s cooking was one of the many things Clay had missed while he was in Cheyenne going to school. Today’s menu featured fried chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob and biscuits, all served family style. The heaping platters and bowls coming out of the kitchen smelled as good as they looked, and normally Clay would have been licking his chops.
Instead, he was on Emily Alert. She’d be here, sure as the world, and he wanted to stay as far away from her as possible. He hesitated just inside the doorway and scanned the room, which was already filling up.
“Just the man I want to talk to.”
He recognized Emmett’s deep voice as the foreman gripped his shoulder from behind. Clay turned, knowing that Emmett wouldn’t be walking into the lunchroom alone. As expected, Emily stood beside him, and to Clay’s surprise, she seemed unsure of herself.
Even more surprising was her outfit. She still wore the scoop-necked T-shirt with BEBÉ splashed across the front, but she’d traded the shorts for a pair of jeans that looked as if they’d never seen the light of day, and tooled boots with nary a scuff mark on them. Clay found it hard to believe that she’d decided to dress like the locals so she could fit in better, but that’s exactly what her change of clothes appeared to suggest.
“Let’s find us a place to sit,” Emmett said.
Clay stifled a groan. Trapped. He’d considered skipping lunch completely, but he was starving and he hadn’t come up with a decent excuse for staying away. Traditions had taken on new significance since Jonathan’s death, and the hands made every effort to be there at noon each weekday.
Nick and his wife, Dominique, a tall woman with her glossy brown hair cut short, sat at a table with Sarah. Emmett ushered Emily in that direction, and Clay had no choice but to follow.
Nick stood as Emily approached. The Chance boys, thanks to a firm hand from Sarah, had the manners of diplomats. Sarah’s mother, Lucy, had been an NYC runway model, and Sarah had inherited her mother’s classic beauty and carriage. Although she was in her mid-sixties and her sleek bob was silver, she could pass for a woman fifteen years younger.
Sarah had taken over Clay’s education in the social graces, too, and he was grateful. She gave a slight nod of approval as Clay helped Emily into a chair and introduced her to Dominique, who hadn’t been part of the ranch the last time Emily visited.
Finally he sat down, and there was Emily, right beside him, giving off a fragrance that reminded him of sun and salty air. He’d only seen the ocean once, during a brief vacation taken by one of his foster families. On that trip he’d noticed lots of girls who looked like Emily, blond and wearing skimpy clothes to show off their tans. She was exotic, and he was unfortunately, drawn to that.
He’d hoped to escape sitting at the same table with her, and now here they were knee-to-knee and thigh-to-thigh. If Clay had thought he could get away with it, he would have scooted his chair closer to Sarah, on his other side. But that would look too obvious, so he worked on not making body contact.
No one else sat at their table for eight. Once the food had been passed and everyone had started to eat, Sarah glanced over at Emily with a friendly smile. “You look like you’re getting serious about this ranch visit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in jeans and boots.”
“Nope, you haven’t.” Emily put down her drumstick. “I bought these a while ago, but this is their first outing. I’m hoping I’ll be able to go riding this afternoon.”
“The problem is, I have errands to run,” Emmett said, “so I thought maybe Clay could take Emily out for an hour or so.” He bit into a fried chicken breast.
Yikes. This was getting worse by the minute. Fortunately, Clay had an excuse. He quickly chewed and swallowed a forkful of potato salad. “I’d be glad to, but I have plans for this afternoon.”
“Collecting more semen?” As Emily picked up her drumstick again and looked at him, she had a definite gleam in her eye. “I find that fascinating. I’d love to watch.”
Damn it, she was flirting. Well, it wouldn’t get her anywhere. “Sorry, but that’s not on the schedule. I have another job I need to do.” He buttered his ear of corn and sent a pointed glance in Sarah’s direction. She’d deliberately created some errands for Emmett to run today because they needed him gone for a few hours so they could start setting up for tomorrow night’s party.
Emmett expected a party, of course. But Sarah had decided to surprise him by switching the venue from the Spirits and Spurs—Josie’s bar in the nearby small town of Shoshone—to an old-fashioned cowboy cookout where they’d all ride in on horseback. Clay thought Emmett would love that, so he’d volunteered to truck the tables, benches and firewood out there and build a fire pit.
“That’s true, you do have chores this afternoon,” Sarah said. “But you might be able to work in a ride after they’re done.”
“Maybe I could help with the chores,” Emily said.
No. That’s all he needed, to be stuck alone with her on party detail.
“That’s a great idea,” Sarah said. “Then he’ll be done that much faster. I would take you out riding myself, Emily, but I’ve got a list a mile long.”
Emmett split open a steaming biscuit and piled butter on it. “And it’s all to do with my sixtieth, I’ll bet. I keep telling you folks not to make a fuss over this.”
“We’re not making a fuss,” Nick said. “We’ll all head to the Spirits and Spurs tomorrow night like we usually do for special occasions. We’ll have some drinks and a meal. Somebody’s liable to drag out a birthday cake, but that’s about the extent of the fuss.”
“It better be. And no presents. Is that understood?”
“Too late, Dad,” Emily said. “I hauled presents all the way from Santa Barbara, and you’re gonna open them or else.”
His expression softened. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll make an exception for you, but nobody else had better be showing up with packages.”
“I can’t guarantee that won’t happen.” Nick put down a corn cob and reached for another. “But I can guarantee that some of them will be gag gifts, so you might as well resign yourself to the process, Emmett. The hands deserve to have their fun at your expense.”
The foreman sighed and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Good thing these decade birthdays don’t come more often.” Then he turned his attention to Dominique. “And I suppose you’ll be taking pictures.”
She paused, her fork in midair, to give him a sweet smile. “Don’t I always?”
“Yes, and they’re fine pictures, mostly because I’m not in them. So take pictures of everybody else if you want, but the world doesn’t need a record of me opening up a box with a whoopee cushion inside or blowing out a bunch of candles. And I sure as heck don’t want to see my mug hanging with your other work in that gallery in Jackson.”
Emily laid a hand on his arm. “The world might not need a record of you holding a whoopee cushion and blowing out candles, but I do.” She glanced over at Dominique. “Please take a gazillion pictures of my dad during his party, okay?”
Dominique gave Emily a thumbs-up. “You’ve got it.”
Clay listened with interest. Emily didn’t sound like a spoiled brat who was only interested in the money she could squeeze out of her dad. Instead she sounded like a daughter who dearly loved her father and looked forward to celebrating his birthday.
She might be putting on an act for the benefit of those sitting at the table, though. As far as he knew, she was still accepting monthly checks from this man even though she was certainly old enough to earn her own living. Still, Emmett obviously basked in Emily’s affection. Clay hadn’t realized until now how much the guy adored his only child.
That kind of parental devotion used to set off a wave of longing in Clay, but these days he was more philosophical about being an orphan. After all, he’d been taken in by the Chance family. He might have started off life at a disadvantage, but he’d wound up pretty good.
And although Emmett wasn’t technically his father, the guy filled that role in everything that mattered. He’d latched on to Clay from the get-go and always had his back. Emmett seemed to recognize that Clay needed an advocate. But maybe Emmett had needed Clay, too, as a stand-in for his absent daughter.
So now Emmett was asking Clay to take Emily riding. That was a gesture of trust, no doubt about it. Sarah’s suggestion that Emily help him with party chores was a decent idea, too.
He could be gracious and take her with him out to the meadow. She could carry the benches and find rocks for the fire pit. It wasn’t so much to ask that he include her after all the support Emmett had given him over the years.
He turned to Emily. “I’d appreciate it if you’d help me with the chores I have, and then we should be able to take a short ride later this afternoon.”
Her answering smile dazzled him more than it should. “I would love that. Thank you, Clay.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked away before she could see the effect she had on him. Heat shot through his body and settled in his groin. The rush of sexual awareness left him so shaky that he dared not pick up his fork or his water glass in case somebody noticed how he was trembling.
Good God, he wasn’t some inexperienced teenager anymore. In the time since he and Emily had first met he’d had two serious girlfriends and several who would’ve liked to become serious. These days he knew his way around a bedroom and understood a thing or two about pleasing a woman once he got her in there.
And yet, one brilliant smile from this California girl had reduced him to the hormonal kid he’d been ten years ago. She hadn’t wanted him then, but he had a strong suspicion she wanted him now. He wasn’t sure why, because she sure as hell wasn’t interested in sticking around Jackson Hole, and he was here for the duration.
Curiosity, maybe. She’d never indulged herself with somebody like him and had decided now was as good a time as any.
But none of that mattered, because no matter what she had in mind, nothing would happen between them. Emmett’s trust guaranteed that. Clay would sooner cut off his right arm than betray the man who’d encouraged him to be the person he was today.
EMILY WASN’T SURE HOW she managed to eat anything at all as the meal progressed, and several times she almost dumped food on herself. Sitting next to Clay was like surfing in a storm—exhilarating but dangerous. He’d showered and changed before coming to lunch, and she almost wished he hadn’t. His pine-scented cologne was nice, but she preferred the raw energy of his sweat-soaked body.
She wasn’t sure who was generating the most sexual heat as they sat side by side eating lunch, but she sensed that he was as turned on by her as she was by him. He was nervous about that, though, and she didn’t blame him. He clearly idolized her father, and anyone with half a brain would be able to tell that Clay was a principled guy. He wouldn’t want to do anything that would upset Emmett.
She didn’t want to upset Emmett, either, so her fascination with Clay was a tricky business. As much as her dad wouldn’t want Clay seducing her, conversely he wouldn’t want her seducing Clay, especially if she didn’t have any intention of sticking around. And she didn’t.
Maybe on this visit she liked the ranch better than she had before, but that only meant she considered it a good vacation spot. There was really nothing for her to do here. She didn’t possess the particular skill set that would make her a…what had her dad called Clay? A top hand.
No, she was a far cry from being a top hand. She still hadn’t figured out what she was good at. She loved to surf, but not enough to make a pro career out of it. Fashion design was out, and retail sales bored her to tears.
But she wouldn’t solve her career dilemma hanging around the Last Chance. Once her visit was over, she’d return to her receptionist position at a medical complex in Santa Barbara. Maybe she’d go out with the cute doctor who kept asking her for a date. She hadn’t been seriously involved with anyone since last year, when a surfing buddy had proposed.
She’d realized he was far more emotionally invested than she was and had gently turned him down. Besides, she had no business marrying someone when she didn’t know where her life was headed. She wished she could be more focused, like Clay. Spending time with him this afternoon might give her some insights. At the very least, she’d be able to enjoy the sexual buzz they had going on.
As the meal ended and everybody stood to leave, Clay helped her from her chair—a gallant gesture she wasn’t used to from the men she knew. “Thanks.” She turned to him. “Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I thought you could call me when you’re ready for me to help you.”
He grinned. “How about if I just come up to the house and get you?”
Oooh. Great smile. She curled her toes into the leather soles of her boots. “That works.”
Emmett put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. “If you go riding later on, see if somebody will loan you a hat.”
She glanced up at him. “Why do I need one?”
“For the most part, to keep you from being sunburned.”
“Dad, I surf every weekend, and nobody wears a hat while they’re on a surfboard. I have a good base tan and I have sunglasses. That’s enough.”
Her father looked over at Clay. “Would you see that she puts on a hat before she goes out? I know we have extras lying around somewhere.”
“Excuse me.” Emily inserted herself between the two men. “I will not be treated like an obstinate female who needs to be managed by the men who know more than she does.”
Clay laughed. “Then don’t be obstinate. Wear a hat.”
“Why should I?” She was intrigued by the fact that he was joking with her instead of getting irritated. She liked that kind of easygoing attitude.
“Because you’re at a higher altitude here than you’re used to, so the ozone layer’s thinner and you could still burn. Besides that, if you’re going to help me this afternoon, you’re going to sweat, and the hat will keep the sweat from running in your eyes. I suppose you could wear a do-rag, instead, but personally I think the hat would look better on you.”
Well, then. She hadn’t thought about the value of a hat as an accessory. She should have, after being conditioned in that direction for most of her twenty-seven years by her fashion-conscious mother. If Clay thought she’d look better in a hat, no further argument was needed.
She turned to Sarah, who had been standing to one side watching the action with obvious amusement. “Got a hat I might be able to borrow?”
Sarah nodded. “Come with me.”
3
EMMETT GLANCED AT Clay. “Look, I hope she won’t be in your way this afternoon. I didn’t ask what you had on your agenda.”
And Clay wasn’t at liberty to discuss that. “It’ll be fine.” He would make it so, regardless of his strong attraction to the golden California girl.
“I invited her to come with me so she could do some shopping—my treat, of course. To my surprise, she wanted to stay here, instead.”
“Huh.” That surprised Clay, too.
“I know. I thought she loved to shop. Three years ago when she came to the ranch, we made a couple of trips into Shoshone, but the stores there aren’t what she’s used to. So when I took her back to the airport, we built in extra time for her to browse through those fancy places in Jackson.”
“She was here three years ago, then. I wondered how often she’d made it over.”
Emmett looked sad. “Not often enough, but I can’t blame her for that. It works both ways. Like I told her this morning, I could have made more trips to Santa Barbara.”
“Yeah, but …” Clay thought of the freeways and the traffic snarls and grimaced.
“I don’t relish that area, either. But until this time, I didn’t think she relished staying on the ranch—yet she comes to see me, even so.”
“What do you mean until this time?”
Emmett rubbed the back of his neck. “I took her on a tour of the barn, like always. In the past, she acted like that was no big deal. I could tell she liked the horses, but she wouldn’t let herself really get into it. I figured her mother had brainwashed her pretty damned well. But this morning was different. Apparently she’s starting to think for herself.”
“That’s great.” Clay hoped the foreman wasn’t making too much of a passing fancy on Emily’s part. He didn’t want the guy to get his hopes up that Emily would suddenly turn into a cowgirl.
“I know what you’re thinking, son.”
Clay’s chest tightened with emotion. He loved having Emmett call him son, even though he knew that cowboys used that word loosely and Emmett probably didn’t mean it in a literal sense. “I’m not thinking anything, Emmett,” he said.
“Sure you are. You’re thinking that I’m an old fool who imagines his daughter is going to magically fall in love with ranching.”
Clay sighed. “You’re not an old fool, but it would be only natural if you—”
“Don’t worry. I made that mistake with her mother. I knew California was where Jeri wanted to be, but I thought I could convince her otherwise.”
Something in Emmett’s expression told Clay that those wounds had never healed. That might be another reason Emmett hadn’t taken many trips to see Emily. He would have had to see his ex, too, which would have been painful if he was still in love with her.
Clay thought he might be and wondered if Pam Mulholland had any inkling of that. The two had been dating for more than a year without making a commitment. Emmett said that was because Pam had way more money than he did, but that might not be the whole story.
By now the dining room was empty except for Clay, Emmett and Watson, who had recently started helping Mary Lou clear the dishes in exchange for extra dessert.
Mary Lou bustled over, her gray hair in disarray as usual and her cheeks pink from working in a warm kitchen. “Did you two get enough to eat? I’m about to serve Watson an extra piece of cherry pie, and you’re welcome to have a second serving if you want one.”
Emmett patted his flat stomach. “Thanks, Mary Lou, but I couldn’t fit in another bite. You outdid yourself again.”
“Thanks, Emmett.” She beamed at the praise. “I do love my job. How about you, Clay? More pie?”
“It’s tempting, but no thanks.”
“All right, then.” She began stacking the dessert plates from each place setting at their table.
Watkins came out of the kitchen and headed toward them. “Hey, quit doing my job, Lou-Lou.”
Her cheeks turned a shade pinker. “Then speed it up there, Watkins. We need to get this place clean.”
“We will, we will. Leave those for me and go cut me a nice big piece of your delicious pie. And put some ice cream on top.” The stocky cowboy winked at her as he reached for the dishes in her hand.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. If you insist.” She handed over the dishes and walked back toward the kitchen.
Instead of stacking plates, Watkins gazed after her. “What a woman.”
Clay watched in fascination. He’d thought something might be going on between Watkins and Mary Lou, but he hadn’t been sure until now. “Are you sweet on her, Watkins?”
Watkins nodded, which made his handlebar mustache twitch. “Have been for years. Once I tried to get her to marry me, but she claims she’s never marrying anybody. So I backed off, but lately…let’s just say I might be making progress.”
Emmett clapped him on the shoulder. “Clearing dishes and complimenting her on her cooking just might get the job done. Not that I’m an expert on women. What’s your opinion, Clay?”
Clay held up both hands. “Don’t ask me about women. They’re a mystery.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Watkins glanced toward the kitchen. “Well, my pie should be about ready. Catch you later, boys.”
After he left, Clay looked at Emmett and raised his eyebrows.
Emmett shrugged. “He’s been carrying a torch for a long time,” he said in a low voice. “You may not believe it, but she used to be a real babe.”
“You know, I can believe it. And I’ve always loved her spunky attitude. I—” He stopped talking when Emily walked into the room. Talk about a babe. The snug T-shirt and form-fitting jeans would make any guy take a second look, but Clay had a thing about women in cowboy hats.
This one was tan straw, a warm-weather alternative to felt. The brim curved downward in both the front and back so it partly shielded her eyes in a sexy, flirty way. The more Emily adopted a Western style, the more Clay liked what he saw.
“How’s this?” she asked as she came toward them.
Clay dialed back his response several notches. “It’ll do.”
“Good choice.” Emmett’s weathered face glowed with pride. “Fits nice.”
Sarah appeared and crossed to where they were standing. “Looks good, huh? Fortunately we wear the same size.”
“Sarah said I could keep this,” Emily said. “But that seems silly if I’m only going to wear it while I’m here.”
Some of the glow faded from Emmett’s expression, and Clay ached for him.
No matter what Emmett had said about not expecting too much, it was obvious he’d allowed himself to hope that Emily wouldn’t abandon her newfound interest in the ranch once she left. He nodded. “Guess so. Wouldn’t want to let a good hat end up in the back of a closet. Well, I’d better get going if I intend to finish up those errands in town.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” Sarah pulled a slip of paper from the pocket of her jeans. “Here are a few more things I need while you’re there. Also, Pam called and asked if you’d stop by the Bunk & Grub, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d look in on my mother and make sure she remembers about the party tomorrow night.”
Emmett looked over the list. Then he trained that piercing blue gaze on Sarah in a manner Clay knew well. It meant that Emmett suspected something was going on and he intended to find out what. “You wouldn’t be stacking up the errands to keep me away from the ranch all afternoon because of some scheme or other, would you now, Sarah?”
“Goodness, no! Why would I do a thing like that?”
“Because I’ve known you for thirty-some years, and you look like you’re up to something. I’m warning you, if I come back from town and a passel of folks jump out of the bushes yelling ‘surprise,’ I will be one unhappy cowhand.”
Sarah patted his arm. “I promise that won’t be happening. Besides, your birthday’s tomorrow.”
“Which means the only way you could surprise me is to stage the party tonight. I wouldn’t put it past you, either.”
“You are so suspicious.” Sarah gave him a big smile. “You will love your birthday party, Emmett, and it will take place on your birthday, not the night before.”
“Time will tell if you’re putting me on or not. Anyway, I’ll see you folks later, and there had better not be any shenanigans taking place while I’m gone.” Settling his hat on his head, he left the dining room.
Sarah studied the beamed ceiling of the dining room and twiddled her thumbs as his footsteps receded down the hall leading to the living room. Only after the front door had opened and closed did she drop her gaze to Clay’s and burst out laughing. “He’s such a baby when it comes to birthdays.”
“He knows something’s going on,” Clay said.
“What is it?” Emily looked eagerly from one to the other. “Are you going to surprise him tonight?”
“No.” Sarah glanced over at the door to the dining room as if worried that Emmett might have crept back down the hall. “Emily, go make sure he’s left.”
“Be right back.” Emily hurried out of the dining room.
Sarah moved closer to Clay. “He really will love this cookout. But if he knew about it in advance, he’d pitch a fit because we’re going to extra trouble on his behalf.”
“You’re right, he would.”
“But it’s going to be so perfect. I realized this morning that you’ll need to dig two fire pits, one for the bonfire and one we can let burn down to coals for grilling the steaks.”
“I can do that.”
Emily came back in, her face pink with excitement. “He’s really gone. So what are you planning?”
“Clay can explain it all. I need to go check with Watkins, if he’s still in the kitchen. His guitar was missing a string and I need to make sure he’s fixed it.”
“He’s still there,” Clay said, “but you might want to knock before you go in.”
“I see.” Sarah grinned. “Thanks for the warning. Catch you two later. Call if you run into any glitches.” Then she walked toward the kitchen. “Sarah Chance is on the move!” she called out. “If there’s anything going on you don’t want me to see, you’d better cease and desist immediately!”
Emily looked at Clay. “What the heck is that all about?”
“Just a little romance between Watkins and Mary Lou. Come on. We have tables and benches to load into the back of a pickup.”
“Okay.” She fell into step beside him as they headed down the hall lined with windows on the right and family pictures on the left. “This visit is turning out to be way more interesting than I expected.”
That patronizing remark set his teeth on edge. Added to her comment about not needing the hat once she went home to California, he decided to broach the subject of her attitude. “You know, this ranch may not be your favorite place in the world, but could you pretend it is, for your dad’s sake?”
She stopped in her tracks. “Wow. You are definitely hostile.”
He spun to face her. “I suppose I am. I love that man like a father, and you—”
“I love him like a father, too. My father, in fact.”
He wondered for the first time if she resented all the attention Emmett had devoted to him. “Point taken.”
She gave him a brief nod, as if at least that much was settled. “Anyway, I don’t want to give any impression that I might like to live in Wyoming. To me, that would be crueler than being honest about my feelings. My mother gave him that kind of false hope, and I think he’s still hurting because of it.”
Clay hated to admit it, but she made sense. He wished she loved ranching the way Emmett did, but if she didn’t, pretending could possibly do more damage. He took a deep breath. “You’re probably right. I apologize. I have no business sticking my nose in, anyway.”
“Sure you do. You love him. And from the way he raves about you and your accomplishments, I think he loves you, too.”
“He raves?”
“Oh, yes. He brags about the way you carefully saved your money for tuition and then worked odd jobs while you took classes in Cheyenne. He was so proud of your grade point average. And when you got that scholarship, he mentioned it to me several times.”
Clay gazed at her as his understanding grew. “It’s a wonder you don’t hate my guts.”
“At times I did, although I don’t like admitting that. Besides, he was born to be a dad, and I haven’t given him much chance at that. Knowing you were here relieved my feelings of guilt.”
“Still, I’ll bet you got tired of hearing about my accomplishments.”
She shrugged. “It’s hardly your fault that I’m not focused like you and can’t for the life of me figure out a career. My dad’s not likely to brag about my surfing ability, so that leaves him with nothing to boast about when it comes to his only child.”
“Do you have a job?”
“Of course I have a job. How do you think I support myself?”
He decided not to mention that he’d been convinced she didn’t support herself, that she was living off the money Emmett sent her every month. She might not appreciate knowing that most everyone at the Last Chance knew he sent checks and wondered why when he was no longer financially obligated. They all assumed Emily was living on that money, or at the very least, only working part-time to supplement his generosity.
But her finances and her job situation were absolutely none of his business. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was out of line starting this conversation in the first place, and we have a lot of work to do before your dad comes home. We should get going.” He started back down the hall.
“Going where?” She lengthened her strides to keep up with him. “You still haven’t told me the plan.”
Briefly he outlined the details. He wondered if she’d find it hokey, but she responded with enthusiasm.
“That sounds like so much fun! Sometimes we have bonfires on the beach and cookouts, too. Usually somebody brings a docking station for their iPod instead of having live music, but a guitar player sounds terrific. Will there be dancing?”
“That’s an excellent question. Knowing the Chance family, there should be dancing.”
“Yay! I love to dance. I…just realized that I have no idea if my dad dances or not. I should know that, shouldn’t I?”
“Not if you’ve never been around when dancing was part of the program.” He reached the front door and opened it for her.
“Thanks.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and smiled at him. “I’m enjoying all the gallantry around here.”
“Sarah insists on it, and besides, it’s the cowboy way to show respect toward a woman.” He stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him. That’s when he looked out at the circular drive and noticed her convertible, top still down, leather upholstery exposed to the sun.
He couldn’t stand it. “Do you have your car keys with you?”
“No, but I can get them. Is my car in the way?”
“You can leave it there, but you need to put the top up. You’ll ruin the leather seats.”
“It’s stuck.”
He glanced over at her. “Permanently?”
“I don’t know. I pulled over at a rest stop around eight last night and decided to put the top down for the rest of the way, so I’d be sure and stay awake. When I got here, it wouldn’t go back up. I meant to say something to my dad this morning, but he was so excited about the barn tour and then I got interested, too. My convertible wasn’t a top priority.”
Once again, Clay had been guilty of assumptions. He needed to stop making them when it came to Emily. “We don’t have time to fix it now, but if you’ll get your keys, you can put it in the tractor barn so at least it’s out of the sun. The tables and benches are stored down there, so drive on down and I’ll meet you.”
“Good idea.” She glanced at the BMW. “It’s eight years old, and things go wrong with it. My mom found it in the paper and thought I should have a classy car, but sometimes I think I’d be better off with something more practical.”
Clay couldn’t agree more, but he could tell the purchase had been more about pleasing her mother than pleasing herself. Emily Sterling didn’t fit into the box he’d created for her, and that might put him on dangerous ground.
Ignoring her sexy body was one thing. Resisting a cry for help from someone who wasn’t sure of her place in the world would be much more difficult. He’d been there, and no one should have to face that kind of insecurity alone.
4
EMILY FETCHED HER KEYS from her room and roasted her fanny driving the convertible down to the tractor barn. Maybe that was just as well. Searing her backside might serve as a reminder that little girls who moved too close to the fire could get burned.
No matter which way she looked at it, giving in to her instincts with Clay wouldn’t be a good thing. Oh, except for the obvious, which involved glorious sex with a guy who had hero written all over him. The catch was just as obvious.
If her dad found out, no doubt he’d be disappointed in her. She couldn’t imagine that he’d condone a superficial fling with Clay, and that’s all it would amount to. She didn’t want to disappoint her father any more than she already had.
Even worse, he might be disappointed with the apple of his eye, Clay Whitaker. The two men had a special relationship, and she had the power to ruin it. No doubt her dad had told Clay that a Wyoming man should steer clear of a California girl. Emmett certainly wouldn’t want to see history repeating itself with his own daughter.
So she was faced with an afternoon in the company of a man she found wildly sexy, yet she couldn’t do anything about it. To make matters even more complicated, he showed definite signs of a mutual attraction. She could tell by his heated looks, the tone of his voice and the occasional bulge in his jeans.
Knowing he didn’t quite approve of her wasn’t the turnoff for her that it should have been, either. No doubt about it, Clay would have preferred a cowgirl who fulfilled all of Emmett’s unspoken dreams. Instead she was a city girl who spent her free time riding a surfboard instead of a horse.
Despite that, Clay wanted her, and Emily had the uncharitable urge to show him how a California surfer girl could destroy his control. Let him disapprove of her all he wanted—she’d bet that, given the opportunity, she could make him crazy with lust. It would be satisfying, indeed, if she could reduce him to begging for the chance to sink into her hot body.
She approached the large metal tractor barn. Clay had driven a dark blue pickup to the entrance and was letting down the tailgate as she drove past him. It was a simple task, so how come he looked so sexy doing it? She’d never made out in the bed of a pickup, but she wouldn’t mind giving it a try with Clay.
By the time she pulled into the shadowed interior of the tractor barn, her hormones were dancing to a hip-hop beat and her noble intentions had taken a hike up the trail into the Grand Tetons. To hell with an uncomfortable truck bed. Her BMW was a four-passenger with a backseat, and she was ready to invite Clay to join her there. But that was such a bad idea.
Gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel, she closed her eyes and willed herself back to sanity. She’d driven here to celebrate her dad’s sixtieth birthday, a major milestone. She would not muck it up by having sex with his protégé, no matter how yummy the guy was.
“Are you okay?”
She opened her eyes to find Mr. Yummy himself standing next to the driver’s side of the car, his hat pushed back and his dark eyes filed with concern. For a split second she pictured telling him exactly what was on her mind, which involved getting naked and then squirming around on the warm leather upholstery of her car.
The tractor barn seemed empty of people other than the two of them, and if she’d judged their chemistry correctly, the event would be over in minutes with very little chance they’d be discovered in flagrante delicto. Of course, she wasn’t figuring in birth control as part of this fantasy, and she didn’t think Clay was the sort to be packing.
With a deep sigh, she gave up the whole concept. “I’m fine. The transition from the heat to the shade made me a little dizzy, is all.”
He opened the car door for her and stood back. “You don’t have to help me load the tables and benches. In fact, you don’t have to help do any of this. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we can go riding then, if you still feel up to it.”
“I want to help.” She climbed out of the car and moved a safe distance away from him. As she’d suspected, they were very much alone in the cool and cavernous tractor barn.
“After all, this party is for my dad.” She decided not to look directly at him and risk more eye contact. She was already on edge, and sexual tension wound tighter with every second they stood together inside the deserted barn. “Let’s get started.”
“Okay.” His voice was suspiciously gruff. “You’ll need these.”
She had to look at him to find out what he meant by these. He was frowning as he held out a pair of leather work gloves.
That’s when it occurred to her that he might not want to take her with him. She’d invited herself along, and with Sarah and Emmett jumping in to second the idea, he hadn’t had much choice.
She didn’t take the gloves. “Maybe I shouldn’t go with you, after all. I don’t know the routine and I might get in your way.”
“But you said you wanted to.”
“I know, but this isn’t all about me. If my going will complicate things, then—”
“Take the gloves.” His tone gentled. “I could use the help.”
She hesitated a moment longer, and then decided that she really did want to be a part of setting up the party for her father. “All right. Thanks.” She took the gloves and pulled them on. They were huge on her. Laughing, she held up both hands. “Look, Minnie Mouse.”
He smiled. “Sorry. That’s all I could find.”
Instantly she was contrite. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s sweet that you thought to give me gloves in the first place. They’ll work fine.” That’s when she made the mistake of looking into his eyes, and the air went out of her lungs.
Oh…dear…God. She hadn’t seen heat like that in…maybe she’d never seen heat like that. It was a wonder she didn’t go up in flames. Parts of her felt as if they might combust at any moment.
Muttering a swear word under his breath, he dropped his gaze. “This is no good,” he said, his voice husky.
“You’re right. I won’t go.” She took off the gloves and held them out.
He lifted his head and looked at her. “That’s not right, either.”
“Sure it is.” She shook the gloves. “Take these back, and I’ll just go on up to the house.”
He stared at the gloves. Then, with another muttered oath, he took them and tossed them into the front seat of her car.
“What on earth are you doing?”
“Making a mistake.” He grasped both her wrists and drew her toward him.
She should have resisted. She didn’t. Her heart beating furiously, she gulped as the distance between them grew smaller. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” Releasing his hold on her wrist, he took off his hat. That went into the front seat, too, followed by her hat.
“But you said it’s no good.” She began to tremble.
“It isn’t.” Sliding his hand around her waist, he pulled her into his arms. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”
She couldn’t believe any woman on the planet had that kind of willpower, especially when said woman had fantasized about the body she was now plastered against. Gazing into dark eyes that promised a thousand delights, she wanted every single one. She spread her hands over his muscled chest and felt his quick intake of breath and the staccato beat of his heart.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/vicki-thompson-lewis/cowboy-up/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.