The Cowboy Claims His Lady (5 page)

She rubbed her still-pounding head. “Let me think on it. I'll try and be back tomorrow.”

“It's a good deal, Lyndie. But do what you have to do.”

They hung up.

She sat on her bed for a long time.

She couldn't let Hazel be her guardian angel. The hole she was in, she had dug herself. The expansion had already been in the works when Lyndie found out she didn't have enough capital. Both she and Rick knew she would have to sell off Milady to pay her new debts if they couldn't raise new capital.

She would have to see Hazel tonight and refuse the money. Tomorrow she would fly out and begin the process again. Maybe this time it would work.

Now she just had to get a ride after dinner to Hazel's. And she would probably have to ask Bruce Everett to take her.

She moaned. Was there no saving face in front of the man?

Heaving a great sigh, she gathered her bath supplies.

Surely there was a cab company in Mystery. As soon as she soaked her sore muscles, she would find out how to call one. Then she could avoid asking anyone for favors, let alone being indebted to Bruce Everett and having to endure his damnable all-knowing gaze.

The plan sounded so good. On paper. Just like her investors.

 

“Heard a rumor Hazel's girl is leavin'.” Justin Garth, the stable manager, said while the cowhands were gathered in the cookhouse.

Bruce looked up from his laptop. He kept track of his herd in eastern Montana by way of reports from his ranch.

“She's not going anywhere. She needs this vacation.” He bit out the words, then went back to his computer screen.

“Not what I heard,” Justin retorted, his handsome tanned face crinkled with suppressed laughter. “I heard she can't wait to beat a path out of Mystery since she went swimming with you at the mill. What happened, partner? Was it too cold to impress her, or what?”

All Justin got was a snarl. “I don't need to impress no woman from New Orleans. I'm sure she's seen more naked men at a tea party down there than most women see in a lifetime.”

“So you both were naked, eh?” Justin whistled. Though short of stature, he was a bearish man with thick red hair and an easy grin, and he was usually considered the troublemaker in the lot.

“We weren't naked,” Bruce said.

“Almost naked?”

Bruce finally laughed. He didn't confirm or deny the charge.

“She's sure a beauty, that one. I saw her at the stomp and near fell in love right then and there. And I'll bet she's headstrong, too, if Hazel's blood's in her.”

Bruce frowned.

“Are you thinkin' a goin' for it? If not, I certainly wouldn't mind—” Justin stopped his offer dead.

Bruce's expression told him all he needed to know.

“Fine. Fine,” the cowpoke finished. “But don't let me hear she's gone back to New Orleans without any Mystery hospitality. It would break my heart.”

A snort was Bruce's response.

Justin looked at him working on the computer.

“It's about time you took a woman. I've never seen a grizzly so mean as you without one.”

A shrug and then the words “I've quit hibernating” was the only answer Justin got.

 

If there was one thing Lyndie could say about Montana, it was that it certainly increased her appetite. Gone were the days of existing on a
café au lait
and a salad. The Mystery Dude Ranch's chuck wagon served steak, and she found she craved it like an anemic.

Filling her plate, she sat down at a rustic pine table in the middle of the lodge. There were maybe fifteen people at most making up the ranch's guests.

“Roger Fallon, and this is my wife, Annette.” A bearded and bespectacled middle-aged man stood up at Lyndie's picnic table while she seated herself.

“I'm pleased to meet you,” she replied, suddenly self-conscious of her heaping plate.

“We saw you at the stomp last night. We're from
London. Living the real cowboy life here, ain't we?” Annette was a matronly, twinkle-eyed, bleached blonde with a contagious smile.

Lyndie liked them both immediately. There was something disarming about the couple. She thought perhaps it was the cowboy attire. Both had enthusiastically dressed for the trail, right down to the leather-fringed vests and red knotted kerchiefs.

“You've come far to ride a horse,” Lyndie commented pleasantly.

“This is the best dude ranch in the U.S. How could we resist—despite the cost?”

Annette's words took Lyndie aback. She hadn't paid anything for the dude ranch; she figured Hazel had owned it, and just let her come. Now she wondered if she was even more indebted to the cattle baroness than she'd thought, for letting her take the place of a well-heeled, paying tourist.

“I— I have to confess I don't know much about the dude ranch,” Lyndie said. “My great-aunt, who lives here in Mystery, told me to come. She was convinced I was working myself to death, but that really wasn't so.”

Lyndie cut into the thick juicy filet still sizzling on her plate. She was mortified that Hazel might have allowed the Mystery Dude Ranch to take a loss on her. She'd assumed the ranch was Hazel's, to do with as the cattle baroness wished.

“The cowboys here are supposed to be the best
in the state. But Bruce Everett was recommended to us from Tokyo to Timbuktu,” Roger Fallon commented with a charming smile. “We've waited five years on the list to get to come here. How about you?”

Color crept into Lyndie's cheeks.

She'd had no idea Mystery Dude Ranch was such a desirable destination. If anything, she figured Hazel had let her come because the ranch was desperate for customers.

“I really don't know anything about a list. As I said, my great-aunt got me up here.” Lyndie chewed her steak, hoping they could change the subject.

“So you have real relations here who are cowboys?” Annette seemed amazed. “How utterly fascinating. You have no idea how far the average Londoner will go to live the life of a cowboy for just a week.”

“I had no idea,” Lyndie conceded.

“Oh, darling. Look who's here!” Annette jabbed her husband.

All at the table looked to the chuck wagon. Bruce Everett was at the grill, getting his steak.

“He is the most fantastical person, don't you agree?” Roger said to Lyndie. “All those rodeos. All those championship belt buckles. I feel like we're living a Clint Eastwood film with him around.
The ranch's fees were worth double what we paid, just to experience what he can show us.”

Lyndie glanced at Bruce.

He glanced back.

A strange unwanted shiver shook her very core. As much as she fought it, consciously, valiantly, she was succumbing. Desire crept up on her with every swagger of his hips, with every flash of his lazy smile. If she didn't fight it, she might fall altogether.

“What can he show us? I'm not that familiar with him.” Lyndie turned her attention back to her steak.

“Why, he's considered one of the best cattle breeders in all of the West. He has a ranch a couple hundred miles from here. And he does have a legend around him,” Annette chimed in.

“We read that he once saved a pair of grizzly cubs from the highway by scooping a cub up in each arm and running them to safety. The man's strong, because even a baby grizzly's bloody heavy.”

“And what did the mother think of all that?” Lyndie couldn't help but ask.

“She was right smitten with him, like all the other of her sex,” Roger finished. “She just put her cubs in check and disappeared to the other side of the highway.”

“Certainly sounds like a tall tale to me,” Lyndie commented drily.

“Miss Clay. May I have the pleasure?”

She looked over her shoulder and found the subject of their discussion standing—no, looming—over her.

“Mr. Everett,” she acknowledged as he sat next to her with his steak and his thick, muscular thigh pressing against her own, reminding her of all the things she was lonely for.

Annette and Roger both gaped.

Lyndie could only offer a weak smile.

After all, there was so much to deny, and so very little to acknowledge.

“Have you fully recovered from last night?” Bruce asked.

Annette looked ready to swoon and Roger certainly needed to close his jaw.

“Have you met Roger and Annette?” Lyndie asked in a perky tone. “They're from London. Big fans.”

Bruce nodded. “I met you on the trail. You both have a good sense of balance. That's to be appreciated in a greenhorn.”

“Th-tha-thank you,” Roger stuttered, his salt-and-pepper beard twitching with pleasure.

“We were just telling Miss Clay here how wonderful the ranch is,” Annette added. “She doesn't seem to be as familiar with it as most.”

Bruce slid Lyndie a glance. “She'll find her way. Besides, she's come highly recommended.”

“By my great-aunt Hazel,” Lyndie finished, trying to set it straight.

“Yes, Miss Clay is a businesswoman. She doesn't feel the need to get back in touch with her natural side.”

Bruce dug into his steak as if it were his last meal.

Lyndie watched that hard, punishing mouth tear into the meat, and the memory of his kiss made her melt from the pit of her stomach all the way down to her knees.

“Never lose touch, my dear,” Annette said. “For there's nothing like a pink mountain sunset, or the sight of an elk with her young, to remind you what's truly important.”

“And that is?” Lyndie prompted, clinging to any subject that would free her mind from the fiery press of the muscular male thigh against hers.

“God. The spirit. Connection. All that and more,” her husband added.

Lyndie mulled over the words. They were poetic to her hungry soul, but the wounded part of her knew the words and their substance were out of reach.

Releasing a sad little smile she said, “Unfortunately, there are no spreadsheets and inventory in those mountains, and that's what's got a choke-hold on me. I'm afraid I'll be flying home tomorrow. I've had a business emergency.”

“Oh, no!” Annette cooed.

Lyndie turned to Bruce. “Which reminds me. I'll need a cab to go to Hazel's tonight. What's the name of the taxi company around here?”

“I'll take you,” he said.

She held up her hand. “No, no. I couldn't impose—”

“You're a guest at this ranch. There's no imposition.”

She went back to her steak, suddenly devoid of appetite. Now she was going to have to be alone with the man again. But at least she'd made it clear she wanted no favors from him.

She pushed the steak away. “Well, then, if you'll excuse me, I'll get ready to see Hazel. It was nice meeting you,” she said to the British couple.

“I hope things change so you can stay,” Annette added.

Lyndie smiled and shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “I guess playing is for others—and not the self-employed—”

“Could have surprised me last night,” Bruce interjected, nonchalantly taking a bite of his steak.

Roger and Annette exchanged a delighted look.

“Well, I— I guess I'm not quite as used to whiskey as the locals,” Lyndie stammered, lamely trying to save her reputation.

“Then, you should drink more often,” Bruce commented, clearly holding back a grin.

Lyndie wanted to punch him.

Instead, she turned to leave, an old saying following her out the door.
If a girl is brave enough, she can do without a reputation.

All she knew was that a girl sure had to be brave around Bruce Everett.

L
yndie said nothing during the ride to Hazel's. She sat silent, once more watching Bruce's Adonis profile by the green dashboard light.

The truck pulled through the wrought-iron gates of the Lazy M ranch. Perfunctorily, Bruce held the truck door for her and walked her to the entrance.

“C'mon in!” Hazel announced when she answered the door. “Well, don't you two look like a fine surprise. Giddy-ap in here and let me look at you both!”

Lyndie opened her mouth to protest that only she needed to speak with Hazel, but suddenly she realized how rude that would appear. After all, Bruce
had driven her to the Lazy M, and he was one of Hazel's friends.

She closed her mouth, and along with Bruce stepped inside Hazel's antique-filled parlor.

Portraits and tintypes of McCallums, her very own ancestors, stared back at her from the walls. It seemed even they were holding their collective breath.

“Ebby, get us some refreshment, won't you? We got company,” Hazel said when Ebby appeared at the elaborately carved walnut pocket doors.

Ebby looked more than pleased to see them. “Right away! Coming right away!” she promised, wringing her hands excitedly on her white apron.

“What brings you two out here to see me?” Hazel asked, gesturing to the silk-covered parlor love seat.

Once again, Lyndie felt set up, but somehow it was a trap of her own making. She sat next to Bruce on the love seat.

The tiny Victorian piece was not made for modern figures. She found she was practically sitting on Bruce's lap once he splayed his legs and accepted the brandy from Ebby.

Deciding to be out with it, Lyndie declined refreshment and said, “Hazel, I can't let you do it. I found out about the MDR Corporation and your generous investment in Milady, but I can't accept it. It's risky—and even as hard as I know I'll work for
it, I can't accept that there's even the possibility of losing your money. So I'm declining—”

“You're declining the offer of good honest cash?” Bruce interrupted. “What kind of businesswoman are you?”

Lyndie's temper snapped. “Look, Mr. Everett, in all respect, I don't need your opinions. This really is between Hazel and me.”

Hazel glanced from one to the other. She seemed to want to say something, but the words eluded her—a rarity where Hazel McCallum was concerned.

“Lyndie, dear, I don't cotton to unwanted opinions any more than you do, but I think Bruce is right,” she began hesitantly. “It's good honest cash. It's what you need to expand. And it's also what you need in order to take this vacation and get a break from the work that—according to your mother—is grinding you into the ground.”

“I'll be fine,” Lyndie declared. “But I couldn't live with myself if the business took a downturn and I couldn't give you a profit, let alone repay the debt.”

“You won't lose it. It's not a possibility,” the cattle baroness said firmly.

“But what if—”

Hazel cut her off.

“Lyndie, let this settle it. Take the MDR Corporation's cash for now. When you've had a rest up
here and your time at the dude ranch is up, you can go back to New Orleans and find new investors.”

“But that may take time. I should go now—”

Hazel put up her hand. “I won't hear of it.” Her notorious Prussian-blue eyes glittered with mischief. “Humor an old woman, will you, Lyndie.”

Lyndie wanted to roll her eyes. Hazel had caught her in a web but good.

“It's only for a few weeks. You'll be home before the month is up, and the same problems will be there waiting for you when you do.”

Setting her jaw, Lyndie agreed. “Fine. But I'm paying interest on the money, five percent over prime. That's more than the bank pays.”

Hazel laughed. Even Bruce looked as if he was biting back a chuckle.

“Excellent. Then, we have an agreement? You'll take MDR's cash and stay here as long as you promised?” Hazel's silver eyebrows went up.

“Yes.”

Lyndie released her breath. She didn't know how she was going to pay the interest, let alone procure new financing, but she would do it if taking the money for a time would make her great-aunt happy.

“Now do have a cookie. It's my mother's recipe. Made with essence of violet—quite the rage in eighteen ninety-five.” Hazel held out a hand-painted plate filled with pale butter cookies.

Even though she had no appetite, Lyndie took one.

For the next twenty minutes, Hazel made small talk. Finally, when the parlor clock chimed, Bruce rose from the settee. In his flannel shirt and jeans, he looked like a giant in the beautiful parlor.

“Part of ranch life is getting up early, Hazel, so if you don't mind?” He reached for his ubiquitous black Stetson, which Lyndie hadn't noticed him place on a nearby table.

“Yes, that's right.” The gleam in Hazel's eyes danced. “And this girl of mine needs rest and lots of it. Now, you promise to get her to bed right away.”

Lyndie was so exhausted that she'd kissed Hazel good-night and gone out the front door before she realized exactly what the old girl had said. Or, in truth, what the old girl had
meant.

“She's downright wicked, isn't she,” Lyndie said in a quiet tone as they pulled out of the Lazy M ranch.

Bruce smiled. “She's one of a kind, that's for sure. I always wanted a woman like Hazel.”

“She's available, you know,” she answered archly.

He looked at her. His eyes warmed in the pale green light. “I know, but unfortunately for me, Hazel's out of the reckoning for having babies—and I want lots of them.”

His comment shocked her. She didn't want to think of him as a family man. She'd wanted children herself, but Mitch had always put it off. After she'd discovered the true nature of his character, she was almost relieved they hadn't had children. But that had left her wanting. A family, a husband, children. It didn't seem like anything she was entitled to. Her mother hadn't gotten it; neither, it seemed, would she.

But then, here was this cowboy sitting next to her, telling her he had the same yearning. It made him way too appealing. It made him dangerous.

“What're you thinking? You don't like babies?” He returned to the road.

She shook her head. “Love them. Don't have any—hear they're a lot of trouble.”

“That it?”

She almost laughed. She didn't know what else to say. Men just didn't talk like this in the city. An urban man was more apt to show a woman the keys to his sports car than look in her mouth to see if she was good breeding stock.

“What more is there?” she asked, quashing her trepidation on the subject.

“Well, how many kids would you want?”

She tried to hide her surprise. “It depends, doesn't it?”

“On what?”

“On the father.” She looked at him as if he were crazy.

He nodded. “The father's good. Go on that one. Then, how many?”

“Look, I'm not the baby-factory type. I mean, I've certainly got good wide hips—I know it every time I go to buy a pair of pants—but my idea of child-rearing isn't just like having puppies. They're expensive, you know. Kids.”

She hoped that might set him straight. After all, he had a good enough job at Hazel's dude ranch, but he certainly couldn't tack a wife and kids onto the back of the bunkhouse.

“I never thought of it that way,” he said pensively. “My parents had seven kids. Somehow they managed. They saw to it there was food on the table and love in the house. That kinda taught me to believe that if something's important, you can't think about the cost.”

She gave him an ironic smile. “I'm afraid I can't afford idealism. My mother raised me alone and it was difficult. So difficult that I'm determined not to repeat it. Besides, I have to confess I'm a little preoccupied with fiscal responsibility right now—as you know, since you were sitting through my whole conversation with Hazel.”

“You worry too much about that business.”

Her sigh was involuntary. “The business is all I have. It's what holds me together. I work hard. Hell,
for the last couple of years I've done nothing but work hard.”

“But you have to play, too.”

There was no arguing with his logic.

“You don't have time to play when you're drowning,” she said grimly.

He looked over at her.

“Then, let someone save you.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “No one saved my mother from being a single mom, and if I'd had a child with Mitch I'd be in the same lonely sinking boat. So, no thanks.”

“In my world, we don't abandon family.”

She let the words fall into silence. The temptation was so great to believe him, to let someone else be strong. But the fear it aroused was worse than the comfort.

Something was on his mind, she could see it. She would have to put him off now, or it would be hard going for her, she just knew it.

Stammering, she confessed, “I guess what happened to my mom and what happened with Mitch—well, it's just too hard to believe in commitment and love and devotion— It's hard to allow yourself the luxury of believing, when you've had to watch them being taken away.”

He stared at her between glances at the road. “Look, last night at the mill… It was…” His words trailed off.

“Oh, I know. What in the world was I doing? I guess I'm a little crazy right now,” she dismissed, embarrassed.

“Hazel wants you to let loose. Forget about that shop for a while. It'd do you good.”

She rubbed her forehead. A headache was definitely coming on. “I appreciate the advice, but really, what's it to you?”

“At the mill—with you—I realized I need to play, too.” His confession was harsh and bitter. She couldn't help but be moved by it. His devotion to Katherine proved he was probably more steadfast than Mitch had been, and it suddenly made her ashamed of her conclusions about him. He was hurting, too.

Gently, she began, “Hazel told me what happened to your girlfriend. I'm sorry. It must have been terrible.”

He said nothing.

The silence became oppressive.

“Look,” she began with a deep breath, “you can't go by my opinions. I'm the creature of my own experience. But you—well, you sound like you had a great family life. So I hope you do start playing. You deserve it, after what you've been through. You've got a lot to give.”

“And you give too much. You need to learn to take,” he urged.

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Sounds so good, but I'm way too much of a coward. Sorry.”

She was relieved that they'd turned into the dude ranch.

“Well, thank you for the ride. Let me know if I owe you anything—for gasoline or whatever.” She couldn't think of anything else to say.

The truck pulled up to her bunkhouse. He put it in Park and turned to her. “What was he like? Your husband?”

The question took her aback. “He was—he was, well, I guess he was great at the beginning. I certainly thought I loved him. But then he turned into a jerk.” She laughed darkly. “Yep, that's about the long and short of it.”

He took her chin in his strong hand and their gazes locked. “He took the play out of you. He stole it just like a thief steals a diamond bracelet. You've got to get it back. It was yours and you need it.”

Her stomach knotted. His touch left a feather-like arousal in her loins. His words left her on the verge of tears.

Steeling herself, she said, “Yes, he stole from me. But how can I get it back? I can't afford another diamond bracelet.”

“Let someone else give you one.”

She finally had a way out of the emotional maze he was putting her through. “Again, that sounds perfect. Just like the old line about how to be a mil
lionaire—you know, you find a job that pays a million an hour, work for an hour, and there you go.” She laughed.

“But I have news for you, Mr. Everett, it just doesn't work that way. I could get a million guys to promise me the world, but what will I really get other than an overactive libido?”

“Sometimes men keep their promises,” he retorted.

“Maybe. But rule me out of that game. I've got too much work to do. At least my shop might take care of me in my old age. You, from what Hazel says about your youth, might be the type I couldn't count on until dawn.”

His jaw tightened. “I can go past dawn. You wanna test me?”

Her breath caught.

He let go of her chin.

“Good night, Miss Clay. We're hitting the trail early, so I heartily recommend you get some rest.”

She looked at him for a moment, then let herself out of the truck.

He took off in a cloud of dust.

Confused, she let herself into her bunkhouse room.

As she stripped and pulled back the covers, she wondered why she was even bothering. She knew she wasn't going to get any sleep that night. And
even if she did doze off, the only thing she was going to dream of was Bruce Everett.

And wolfish white smiles that promised pleasure and damnation with one lopsided grin.

 

Droopy-eyed, Lyndie reined Girlie left, to follow the rest of the pack. They'd been at the trail for over an hour when they'd come to a crossroads.

“Not there. Don't ever go there,” Justin instructed the group as they were about to take the wrong trail.

“What's up there?” Lyndie asked, tagging to the rear with Justin.

The trail-man only looked distant. “Som'un bad happened on that trail. We don't use it anymore.”

Lyndie strained to see up the winding trail as far as she could. Mini avalanches of rock littered the path. The trail seemed to become almost vertical as it wound up the mountain into the snow.

A shiver went through her. Somehow she knew that was the path on which Katherine had lost her life.