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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

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BOOK: Crazy For the Cowboy
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The anger in her brown eyes nearly knocked him over. It certainly took his breath away, which meant his apology was going to sound weird, as if he'd been running. “I'm sorry, Georgie.” He braved the hot fury in her eyes and focused on them with all the sincerity in his heart. “I did a really dumb thing this morning.”

Her reaction was subtle, but the tightness around her eyes and mouth eased. “That's for sure.”

He imagined that her voice wasn't quite as hard as it had been before, but maybe that was wishful thinking. “I have good memories of this place . . . and of you. I hate to think I ruined them today.”

She swallowed.

“I can't take back what happened. I could try to explain, but I don't suppose you'd want to hear it.”

“Not really.”

“All right, then.” He remembered Ike had said to apologize and then wait to see what happened next. So he stood there without speaking. Maybe she'd turn around and walk out. And that would be the end of that.

“I'm curious about one thing.”

His pulse quickened. Instead of walking out, she'd asked a leading question. “What's that?”

“Why did you take your rope?”

Trust Georgie to ask that. He was afraid the truth would destroy whatever slight progress he'd made, but she deserved no less. “I wanted you to think I'd use it.”

“But you weren't going to?”

“No.”

“Damn you, Vince Durant! You tricked me!”

“Yes, and I have no excuse. Stupid pride. That's all it was.” But he noticed that instead of stomping out the door, she stayed where she was and kept on looking at him. That was something.

Finally she seemed to reach a conclusion. “So taking that rope was just male vanity.”

“Yes.”

She blew out a breath. “At least you admit it. I'll give you points for that.”

“You will?”

Her mouth relaxed a little more. The corners twitched as if she might be holding back a smile.

He hoped to hell that she wasn't secretly laughing at him, but maybe that was better than the glare she'd given him to start with. He seemed to be ahead of the game, so he chose to stay quiet and not take the chance he'd somehow stick his foot in his mouth.

Sure enough, as the silence lengthened between them, the hostility gradually disappeared from her expression. “I can't believe you're still standing here in this saloon. You're supposed to be on your way back to . . . wherever you came from.”

“Fort Worth.”

“Is that where you work?”

He'd gentled a few horses in his day, and although he would never dare compare Georgie to a skittish mare, and certainly not out loud, he recognized that question as a slight movement forward, as if a shy animal had stretched its neck out to see what was being offered.

“Not now. I quit that job. I'm between jobs.”

Her expression closed down again. “That's right. You like to stay on the move and keep your options open.”

So that was part of her objection to him. If so, that was a big obstacle. Years ago he'd had an inkling that she disapproved of his unstructured approach to life, but her comment just now proved it. How interesting that she admired the Ghost, a creature who lived by his own rules.

He decided to take another risk. “Look, Georgie, we've both had a rough day, but I'd like to think that we've come to a truce of sorts.”

“I suppose.”

“Could we have one drink together, to toast the end of our feud?”

She took a long time to answer, and it looked as if a million thoughts were racing through her head. “I take it you're not leaving tonight, then?”

“No point. I haven't decided where I want to look for work yet. I need to make some plans before I head out.”

“I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt.”

He longed to do a fist pump, but that would destroy the cool facade he had going on. “Great. Ike should be back any minute. Let's have a seat.”

He reached for a chair and pulled it out for her. When she sat down, he took the first easy breath he'd drawn in hours. Maybe some mistakes could be fixed, after all.

CHAPTER 10

C
uriosity had always been a source of joy and frustration for Georgie. She liked knowing what made things tick, and that included machinery, animals, and people. She'd considered a double major in psychology and mechanical engineering when she'd been in college, but that plan had gone down the drain when her father had died and she had been needed to run the store.

She'd had Vince pegged as a good-looking, carefree drifter who never planned ahead and seldom considered the consequences of his actions. She still thought that assessment was fairly accurate. But he'd surprised her several times today, and those surprises had aroused her curiosity.

Ike came out of the kitchen and did a classic double-take when he saw her sitting across the table from Vince. Then he covered it with his jovial bartender persona. “Georgie! I was hoping you'd come by tonight. Lasagna's on the menu.”

Much as she loved lasagna, she didn't plan on sticking around for dinner. She'd headed down here before happy hour on purpose, hoping to catch Vince alone in the saloon. She'd expected him to be drinking, but he'd surprised her there, too.

“I won't be staying for dinner,” she said.

“You'll be sorry if you don't.” Ike beamed at her. “I got a taste of the sauce a while ago, and it's more outstanding than ever.”

“I'm sure it is, but I need to get home soon.”

“In the meantime, Ike,” Vince said, “how about a couple of drinks? Beer for me, and . . . red wine for Georgie?” He glanced at her.

“That's fine.” She was drinking with the enemy. Her time perfecting her hairy-eyeball glare had been wasted. Or maybe not. He'd looked plenty scared in the beginning and he might not have been so honest with her if she hadn't blasted him right off the bat.

She was sitting here, she told herself, to satisfy her curiosity. He'd mentioned that he had a reason for his obsession with the Ghost. Moments ago she'd been too furious to listen. But now she wanted to hear what he had to say, especially if he continued to be as honest as he had been about the rope.

She hadn't expected him to admit that he'd taken it to taunt her. Irritating as that was, it was flattering, in a way. He'd carried his rope down the street past her house in hopes she'd see him do it. And she had. She'd played right into that scenario by stationing herself at the parlor window in time to watch the three men pass by.

But sometime over the weekend Vince had figured out, or else had been convinced by his friends, that throwing a loop over the Ghost would be a very bad idea. To Georgie's astonishment, Vince had listened to the voice of reason. He just hadn't wanted her to know that.

How fascinating. Without brothers, and given the lack of virile young men in Bickford these days, she hadn't had much chance to study the workings of the male mind, especially a testosterone-fueled one. Apparently Vince had been showing off for her benefit. Definitely flattering. And a teensy bit arousing, although she didn't like admitting that.

“Where'd you learn to use a whip?”

Another surprise. She hadn't expected he'd want to talk about that humiliating incident. “My father taught me.” She smiled as she remembered the practice sessions out in the backyard. “He was a big Zorro fan and he had a collection of whips. When I was a kid I wanted to be into whatever he was into.”

Vince nudged his hat back with his thumb and he gazed at her. “Seeing you cracking that whip was . . . unexpected.”

“That was the idea.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing.”

“I do, although I'm a little rusty. I used to be able to do tricks with it.”

His blue eyes lit with interest. “Yeah? Like what?”

“My dad would hold out pieces of straw and I'd cut off the tips without hitting his hand. We actually put on demonstrations for the Double J guests once in a while. But I haven't practiced in a long time. I'm not sure if I could do it anymore.”

Vince leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “I'd like to learn that.”

His movement made her aware of his muscled forearms, tanned and sprinkled with dark hair. He'd rolled back the sleeves of his blue plaid Western shirt, a perfectly common thing for cowboys to do as the day warmed up. She'd never thought of it as a seductive move, and yet the sight of his arms resting easily on the table sent a message to parts of her that hadn't been awake in some time.

“You could—” She paused to clear her throat. “You could probably find a class somewhere. I can't remember how my dad learned, but he must have taken lessons before I was born because he was already very good at it when he started teaching me.”

“How old were you then?”

“Six. I'd been begging him for at least a year to teach me how. He gave me my own whip for my birthday, but it was shorter than his, which bugged the heck out of me. I practiced and practiced until he finally allowed me to use one the same length as his.”

Ike arrived with their drinks and a basket of fries. “The fryer works! I know you didn't order these, so they're on the house. We had to test out the fryer.”

Georgie glanced up. “You've had trouble with it again? You should've called me.”

Ike concentrated on setting down their drinks and depositing the basket of fries in the middle of the table. “I should have. I don't know why I didn't think of that.”

“I don't, either. I'm the one who replaced the cord the last time it acted up. I'll bet the element's about to go.” Then it occurred to her why Ike hadn't called. He'd known that Vince was hoping she'd show up so he could apologize. Summoning her down to repair a deep fryer would have been awkward under those circumstances.

“I'm driving up to Amarillo tomorrow to buy a new one so I have it when this one croaks,” Ike said. “Let me know if you need anything from the big city.” He winked at her. Calling Amarillo
the big city
was a joke in Bickford. It wasn't truly big, like Houston or Dallas, but compared to their town, it was huge.

“Let me get back to you on that. I may be driving up myself soon.”

“I'd be glad to save you a trip if it's something I can get for you.”

“Not really. I'm hoping I can talk Anastasia into going with me and taking her portfolio around to some of the galleries.”

“Good!” Ike nodded in approval.

“That's a great idea,” Vince said. “Has she shown you what she sketched last night after you two went home?”

“She did. I was worried she'd give them to y'all.”

“We wouldn't have taken them if she'd tried. We figured out her work should be hanging in a gallery somewhere. We hauled out our portraits and got her signature. I'll bet they'll be worth something someday, not that any of us would part with them.”

Ike glanced around the saloon. “If we had more traffic through here, I could display her work. I should probably do it, anyway, if she's willing. Some of the residents would buy it. The Double J guests would have snapped it up, though, and paid a pretty penny for it, too. Damned frustrating that we used to have the perfect setup for her, but she wasn't ready to go pro.”

“She may not think she's ready yet,” Georgie said. “But this weekend did wonders for her confidence. That's why I want to get her up to Amarillo before the effect wears off.”

“That's a good plan,” Ike said. “Well, give a holler when y'all need a refill.”

“We'll do that.” After Ike left, Vince raised his beer bottle. “To a truce.”

“A truce.” She touched her glass to his bottle, and their hands brushed in the process. She didn't like it. No, that wasn't true. She liked it too much.

In fact, sitting here with Vince was cozy and dangerous. It could lead to things that would be a huge mistake. “I'm only staying for one drink.” She felt the need to counter his tacit agreement with Ike that they'd require refills. “Then I need to get home.”

Vince sipped from his bottle and put it down, but he kept his hand wrapped around it. “You're going to turn down the lasagna after Ike's glowing recommendation?”

Now she was fixated on his hands as she wondered what a real touch would feel like instead of that casual brush of fingers during their toast. She really had gone without sex for way too long. She didn't want to do the math on that. It would be too depressing.

What had they been talking about? Oh, yes. Dinner. “The lasagna will be just as good the next time Henry makes it. I'm spoiled because I can eat here whenever I want. You can't, so you should definitely have some.”

“Still trying to get rid of me?”

She looked into those blue eyes. Janet had been right. They were electric. “I can't see any reason for you to hang around Bickford. There's no work for you here.”

“What if I just happen to like the place?”

“I can understand that. It's a nice area. But there's nothing for you to do. Your friends have left so you can't party with them anymore. There are no jobs available. Unless you can afford to go into permanent retirement here in Bickford, it's a dead end for you.”

“I didn't say I wanted to
live
here. But I've missed the place and I have a little financial cushion, so I hate to pack up and leave right away when I don't have to.”

She took a hefty swallow of her wine. She might need a refill, after all, if the conversation continued like this. Aware of Ike standing behind the bar, she lowered her voice. “I hope this doesn't have anything to do with me, because if it does, then . . .”

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled, and she completely lost her train of thought. She had no idea what she'd meant to say next. The louse waited, still smiling, while she struggled to finish her thought.

“Then that's a dead end, too.” She gulped some more wine.

His voice was like velvet against her taut nerve endings. “Are you absolutely sure about that?”

She found the courage to look straight at him. “Yes.” Damn, but his eyes were blue. His tan might make them seem bluer than they actually were, but the combination of those eyes and his easy smile worked on her, and he knew it.

He was better at this game than she was. He'd been better at it the last time he'd been here, and he'd been practicing ever since, while she'd effectively entered a convent. She was no match for him and she should get the hell out of there while she still could.

He continued to speak in a low, seductive tone. He hadn't used that tone on her before; if he had, their entire history might have been different. “Is that because you don't want me or because you don't approve of me?”

“Both.” She finished off her wine.

Vince kept his gaze locked with hers. “Ike?”

“Coming up.”

“No, I should go.” She started to get up.

“Don't go yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven't told you about the Ghost.”

He was good, very good. It was the only thing he could have said that would cause her to sink back down to her chair.

“One red wine for the lady.” Ike set the full glass in front of her.

“Thanks, Ike,” Vince said.

“Yeah, thanks, Ike.” She wasn't sure if thanks were in order or whose side the bartender was on right now. She looked at Vince. “Talk fast, because after I finish this glass of wine, I'm leaving.”

*   *   *

And Georgie had said there was nothing to do in Bickford. Vince could imagine spending hours matching wits with her, and when they got tired of that, they could spend even more hours having great sex. She hadn't been entirely truthful when she'd answered him earlier. She might not approve of him, but that didn't stop her from wanting him.

She was strong, though, and determined not to end up in his bed. He wasn't arrogant enough to think he could override her objections. If he gave himself time to think about it, he might not want to, either. Oh, hell, yes he did, but it might not be right, just like roping the Ghost wasn't right. But, oh, she tempted him.

She took a sip of her wine and looked at him. “Well?”

God, she was saucy. He liked that so much. “As you know, I like to stay loose and keep my options open.”

“I do know that, yes.”

“Freedom to come and go as I please is important to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You think that's bullshit, don't you?”

She nodded. “Pretty much. But it's your life. If it works for you, then that's how you should keep things.”

“I plan to.”

“And that makes you and me complete opposites.”

He couldn't resist. “They say opposites attract.”

“Or else they're like oil and water. I'd go with that cliché if you're hunting for one. Anyway, we're veering off track here, and my wine will be gone before you know it. Then so will I. I suggest you cut to the chase.”

“Okay.” He drained his beer bottle. “I identify with the Ghost. He comes and goes as he pleases. He's a symbol of personal freedom, and I probably knew that subconsciously when I was here before, but it really came home to me this weekend.”

“So you wanted to rope him? How messed up is that?”

“You're absolutely right. It's messed up.”

She drew a mark in the air indicating she'd scored a point.

He dipped his head to acknowledge it. “But it's human nature to seek a connection with something you consider a symbol, or a totem. That's why some native tribes use eagle feathers in their ceremonies. They want to connect with that power.”

“There's a huge difference between a feather and a two-thousand-pound wild stallion. You might want to choose the feather option next time you want a connection to something wild and free.”

“I'm not into feathers unless I'm getting kinky with a woman in bed.” He probably shouldn't have said that, but she provoked him until he had to be a little outrageous to balance the scales.

BOOK: Crazy For the Cowboy
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