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Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson

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BOOK: Crazy For the Cowboy
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About the time everyone had finished dinner, the senior citizen brigade arrived for the nightly poker game. Among them was one of Georgie's favorites. Frank Bryson, a retired lawyer, was about the same age as Clyde, the eightysomething mayor of Bickford.

Frank and his wife, Sue, had bought a house in Bickford twenty-five years ago after staying at the Double J and falling in love with the area. They'd been one of several retired couples who'd babysat for Georgie after her mother died. Like many of his friends in Bickford, Frank had accepted that property values had plummeted, but he and Sue couldn't face the idea of moving.

The poker players gathered around the table while Travis and Mac showed off their portraits.

Frank glanced at Vince. “Where's yours?”

“I haven't done his yet,” Anastasia said. “It's his turn right now.”

“Great!” Frank clapped his hands together. “We get to see an artist at work. Don't mind us. Go ahead and immortalize this joker. Then we'll all play cards.”

Georgie peeked over at Vince. He hadn't wanted to do this in the first place and now he'd have an audience.

Anastasia, high on her success, was oblivious to Vince's discomfort. “Vince, why don't you change places with Travis? The lighting's good where he's sitting. And take off your hat. You have wonderful hair. I love drawing good hair.”

Vince cleared his throat, and Georgie braced for his refusal. She couldn't blame him. She wouldn't relish this kind of attention, either.

To her surprise, he pushed back his chair and stood. Then he took off his hat and handed it to her. “Would you please keep an eye on this?”

“Sure.” She was too startled to do anything but take it. As she clutched the black Stetson, she felt somehow connected to him. A cowboy's hat was precious, and he'd entrusted his to her. She told herself not to overthink it.

Vince ran his fingers through his hair as he walked toward the seat Travis had just vacated. The anxiety in his expression reminded Georgie of someone taking the witness stand in a trial. Her estimation of him went up a notch. She wouldn't have thought that he'd do anything he didn't really want to do, and yet here he was, posing for a portrait because it would make Anastasia happy.

Anastasia busied herself opening her sketchpad and picking up her charcoal while she answered questions about her technique from the older men gathered around her. At last she glanced up at Vince and her movements stilled. “You look nervous.”

“I am.”

Georgie's heart squeezed. She hadn't wanted to feel attracted to this guy, and she definitely didn't want to feel compassion for him.

“You don't have to do it,” Anastasia said. “Really, you don't.”

Vince took a deep breath. “I want to.” Grabbing the chair, he spun it around and straddled the seat. “Go for it.”

Georgie gulped. Damn, he was sexy.

Anastasia sat with her charcoal poised over the pad. “Are you sure?”

“I'm sure.” His gaze briefly touched Georgie's. “Better to do something you regret than not do it and regret it later.”

She got the message. He was going after the Ghost. But if he intended to rope that horse, he'd have to get past her first.

CHAPTER 7

V
ince didn't need an alarm to get him up the next morning. He was pumped. He'd seen the look in Georgie's eyes when he'd made that comment about regret over things not done. She'd known what he was talking about, and the fire in her eyes had said it all.

After she and Anastasia had left Sadie's, he'd found out from Ike that the general store was usually closed on Sunday. That left Georgie free to do whatever it was she had in mind. Sure as the world she intended to interfere with his Ghost hunt.

He was damned curious to find out what she'd do, too. Tracking the Ghost would be exciting all by itself, but add in Georgie trying to sabotage the effort and it promised to be an interesting day. He relished the challenge. He needed to blow off some steam. If he couldn't have good loving from Georgie, he'd settle for a good fight, instead.

The aroma of coffee drifted up the stairs as he finished dressing. Myra Jenson must be on the job making breakfast for her three guests, and this time they'd actually eat it. They'd all gone light on the beer last night and they'd turned down Ike's offer of tequila shots. Vince had been mighty suspicious of that offer, especially when Ike had said the first one would be on the house. Georgie might have asked him to push the booze in hopes they'd all get plastered again and be unfit to ride.

Come to think of it, that might have been the plan Friday night, too, and all three of them had cooperated beautifully. Seeing one another again after so long had been reason enough to keep drinking and talking long into the night. Vince didn't really regret it, but today would be a different story. Today he was primed and ready to go.

He was the first one at the breakfast table. He'd chosen a seat and poured himself a cup of coffee by the time Travis and Mac showed up.

Mac surveyed Vince's outfit. “Chaps and a vest, huh? You got spurs on, too, cowboy?”

Vince extended his boot out from under the table. The spurs were blunt-tipped, but they had a satisfying jingle when he walked.

“Damn.” Travis glanced down at his plaid Western shirt and jeans. “I'm underdressed. I didn't get the memo that we were pulling out all the stops for this ride.”

“It's all practical,” Vince said. “We'll undoubtedly run into some mesquite, and I don't relish getting thorns in my leg. The spurs are in case my horse needs a little extra encouragement to turn on the afterburners.”

“I'll buy all that.” Mac sat across from him, and Travis plopped down on the seat between them. “But the leather vest is purely for show, my friend.”

“And warmth!” Vince wasn't about to admit that he was wearing the vest for Georgie's benefit, assuming she showed up out there today.

Mac tugged on his down-filled polyester vest. “No,
this
is for warmth. It zips up, unlike that fancy-dancy number you're wearing with its fringe and shiny silver buttons. Did you polish those up before you drove over here on Friday?”

“No.”

“Sure does look like it. Those shiny buttons will reflect the sun real good. Travis and I will have to watch out that we don't get blinded.”

“Maybe those are his quest clothes.” Travis poured himself a mug of coffee. He also wore a down-filled vest similar to Mac's.

Vince sighed. “Bite me. You're both just jealous because I'm wearing this extremely authentic and classic Western wear and you two look like you've been shopping at L.L.Bean.”

“We'll see who's comfortable out there and who's freezing his ass off in his classic Western wear.” Mac smiled at Myra Jenson as she arrived carrying two steaming plates full of scrambled eggs and ham. “I promise we'll do your breakfast justice this morning, ma'am.”

“I'm glad.” She set a plate in front of Mac and Vince. “I'll be right back with yours, young man.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” After she left, Travis muttered under his breath, “
Young man.
I'm twenty-eight, for God's sake.”

“That makes you about fifty years younger than the majority of guys in town,” Vince said. “If you stick around here, you'll always be considered a young man.”

“Yeah, but she didn't call you two that, and you're only a couple years older than me. I can't help it if I just look young.”

Mac grinned. “And I can't help it if Anastasia prefers a more mature man like yours truly.”

“Ah, who cares if she does? I'm not saying that's true, mind you, but like Vince said, we're leaving today, so it doesn't matter.”

Vince dug into his eggs. “What if we weren't leaving today? Would you two duke it out over that girl?”

“No, we would not.” Travis paused to thank Myra for bringing his plate. “We'd settle it like gentlemen.”

“We would?” Mac cut off a piece of ham. “You mean like pistols at dawn?”

Travis rolled his eyes. “We'd cut cards for her.”

“Nope.” Mac shook his head. “Why would I agree to that when I'm so clearly her first choice?”

“Says you. I'm the one with the classic nose. I don't remember her specifically mentioning any feature of your face.”

“That's because the entire thing is awesome.”

“Amazing.” Vince speared another bite of ham. “I've never seen you two go after the same woman. Has this ever happened before, or are we in virgin territory?”

They both stared at him.

“Hold on. Let me rephrase that. I was referring to the situation, not the lady.”

“Good to know.” Mac returned to his breakfast. “For a minute there I thought you knew something I didn't, and I was ready to abandon the field to Travis. I don't mess around with virgins.”

“Me, either,” Travis said. “Way too much pressure.”

“So to answer your question,” Mac said, “Travis and I have never found ourselves in this position before. But let me state the blindingly obvious. Bickford contains two single women in our age bracket. You have dibs on one of them. That leaves Travis and me to squabble over the other one.”

“I don't have dibs.”

“Oh?” Mac's eyebrows lifted. “That's not what you said yesterday. I believe the phrase you used was—correct me if I'm wrong, Travis—
off-limits.

Travis nodded. “Yup. That's what he said, all right.”

“Then I take it back. A guy can't declare a woman off-limits if she wouldn't have anything to do with him.”

“I don't know.” Mac shoved away his empty plate. “That getup might change her mind.”

Travis chuckled. “So that's why you're all tricked out in fancy leather and spurs. Makes perfect sense to me, now. Think we'll be seeing her out there this morning?”

“Maybe.” Vince was counting on it. “I don't know how she'd mess with our plans unless she shows up.”

“I don't know how she'd mess with our plans even if she does show up,” Mac said. “What's she going to do, erect a giant net around the area to keep us out?”

“I've wondered that myself,” Vince said. “That's why I can't resist running a little test to see what happens.” He drained his coffee cup. “You boys ready to ride?”

Mac pushed back his chair. “Let's do it.” He stood and pulled money out of his wallet for a tip.

Vince took out his wallet, and Travis followed suit.

“It's a nice hotel,” Travis said. “I hate that they don't get much business. I'd recommend it to people, but there's nothing to do besides drink and play poker.”

“Yeah.” Mac started toward the front door. “Didn't there used to be a little movie theater?”

“There was.” Vince had asked Georgie to go see a movie with him and she'd refused. “And a bookstore with a coffee shop in it, and at least two places selling crafts and knickknacks.”

“And a place that sold Native American jewelry,” Travis said. “I bought a turquoise necklace for my mom. She still has it.”

“All gone now,” Mac said as they walked out on the hotel porch and down the steps. “I'm glad we're bringing some money into town, but I'm sure it's only a drop in the bucket.” He started down the sidewalk toward the stables.

“Hang on a minute,” Vince said. “I want to get something from my truck.”

Mac turned around. “I hope you're not going after some big-ass belt buckle to complete your ensemble.”

“No. I need to get my rope.”

Travis groaned. “Don't bring your rope, Vince. If you bring your rope, you'll feel obliged to use your rope, and we've already decided that's a bad idea, right, Mac?”

“Yes. Travis and I took a vote and so it's two to one against your rope going along on this quest.”

“What if we get in some situation where we need a rope?”

Mac spread his arms wide. “Like what, for God's sake?”

“Like . . . one of us gets thrown and rolls over the side of a cliff, and is hanging there holding on to a tree branch, and we need a rope to haul him back up.”

“Right,” Mac said. “Because that happens to me every damned time I go out riding. I can
never
stay on my horse, and wouldn't you know I often get thrown off right next to a cliff, and if somebody doesn't have a rope, I'm done for.”

Travis grinned at him. “What a coincidence! I'm the same way! I've lost track of the number of times somebody's had to haul my butt out of a canyon using the rope they were considerate enough to bring along.”

“All right, all right.” Vince heaved a sigh. “I want to bring it because if I don't, Georgie will know I was just bluffing.”

“Which you are, right?” Travis peered at him.

“Pretty much.”

Mac shook his head. “Okay, bring the damned rope, but I swear, if you get a hankering to throw a loop over that stallion, you're on your own, buddy. Travis and me, we'll just ride off and leave you attached to him and let you figure out what to do about it.”

“That's fair.” Vince walked around to the passenger side of his truck and took out the rope he'd stashed there. Looping it over his shoulder, he rejoined his friends.

“We have to walk past Georgie and Anastasia's house to get to the stable,” Mac said. “I suppose you're hoping Georgie's looking out the window so she can see how cool you look.”

“Hell, no, I'm not. What are we, in junior high?”

“It feels like it,” Travis said. “With Mac and me trying to get the same girl and you parading past your girlfriend's house looking all studly.”

“She's not my girlfriend.”

“See?” Travis laughed. “Then it's exactly like junior high. You're walking past the house of the girl you like, but she doesn't like you back, but you're hoping to impress her with your outfit so she'll start liking you.”

“You are both totally whacked.” But as they all passed the Bickford House, Vince stared straight ahead. No way would he want Georgie to see him looking over there. Yeah, it was kind of like junior high, after all.

*   *   *

Georgie waited by the parlor window until the three cowboys had gone on to the stable. She did her best to ignore the way Vince's chaps and leather vest added to his hotness factor. She'd never seen him dressed that way because he'd always come into town with his dancing clothes on. Today he was every inch the rugged cowboy and it stirred her blood.

The rope looped over his shoulder stirred her blood in an entirely different way. It made her mad as hell. That rope was a red flag signaling his intentions, and no matter how good he looked to her, he was still the enemy.

And she had her battle plan. Picking up the coiled stock whip from the delicate table next to the Victorian love seat, she walked out of the parlor and down the hallway to the kitchen. Fortunately no one was awake yet besides her and she could slip out the kitchen door without anyone knowing.

She'd left a short note for Anastasia explaining that she'd gone out to see the wild horses. Anastasia would know there was more to it than that, but she wouldn't say anything to Evelyn. Even if she did, Evelyn wouldn't care. Georgie's comings and goings had never been of interest to her. Years ago that had mattered, but now Georgie just shrugged it off.

A crisp morning breeze swirled around her as she walked across the backyard to the small barn and paddock where she kept Prince, the gelding she'd had for eighteen years. He'd been five when her father had bought him. Now he was a mature twenty-three, and she intended to keep him for at least another eighteen years. She'd known several horses who'd lived past forty.

He was the only horse in the small barn. The other three stalls were empty. After her father's death, Georgie had reluctantly agreed to sell his horse, especially when the buyer turned out to be someone looking for therapeutic riding horses. It had been for the best. Georgie had struggled to keep both horses exercised, and Evelyn had complained about the expense because neither she nor her daughters rode.

Prince stood saddled and waiting for her in the paddock where she'd left him twenty minutes ago. He was used to her early-morning rides. Wild horses, like most wild animals, were more active first thing in the morning.

After tying the stock whip to the saddle, she mounted up. “Okay, Prince. Let's go raise some hell.”

Prince snorted as if he understood perfectly. Sometimes she thought he did. After eighteen years, he was tuned to her moods. His solid presence had comforted her more than anything or anyone in the months following her father's death.

These days, whenever she was frustrated by Evelyn or the sad state of the town, she'd take Prince out for a short ride and return feeling a hundred percent better. She'd named him Prince when she was ten and going through her Cinderella phase. It was still a fitting name.

A dense grove of mesquite grew along a dry wash about twenty yards from the trail that led into the hills and canyons outside Bickford. The terrain was similar to neighboring Palo Duro Canyon State Park, but not as spectacular and therefore not as well-traveled. When the Double J had been in operation, guests used to brag about the undiscovered beauty of the area.

BOOK: Crazy For the Cowboy
11.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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