Two to Wrangle (9 page)

He was right, of course. She'd realized too late that returning to Las Vegas with Ty was much like a junkie seeking another fix. He was becoming her drug—the more she got, the more she craved. Having sex in the limo was proof of her addiction.

“Are you saying you really want this, Ty?” She searched his eyes, uncertain she could trust him. She knew he needed her money, but did he really need her?

“Sugar, I told you I was raised in the belief that actions speak louder than words. I thought my actions told you loud and clear what I want, but if that's not good enough, if you really need to hear those words, listen to me close right now.” He took her face in his hands, locking his gaze to hers. “I
want
you to stay in Vegas. I want you to stay
with me
. I want to know once and for all if we have any shot of making this thing work. You got that now? We done talkin'? You satisfied?”

“Yes, Ty,” she whispered. He'd said everything she'd needed to hear and more. She rose up a few inches and leaned in to trace the seam of his mouth with her tongue, and then slowly slid down his shaft. “We're done talking but I'm far from satisfied.”

A
fter they'd driven up and down The Strip a half dozen times while fogging the windows, Ty instructed Frankie to drop them off at the hotel.

“Tonight's the final round of the bull-riding championships. I know you don't have any interest in it, but it's the biggest week of the year for this place,” Ty explained. “The riding starts at six and gets over about nine. I really need to be there. Following that event, I have to at least make an appearance at the after-party. I don't s'pose you want to come along?” he asked.

Monica considered Ty's invitation for only a moment before declining. “I don't know, Ty. I really have a lot to do. Bob gave me an entire briefcase full of paperwork to look at. And the sooner the better. Maybe I should just stay in for the night.”

“If that's what you want,” Ty replied. “You sure you can entertain yourself without me?” he asked with a suggestive quirk of his brow.

“I
suppose
I'll manage,” Monica replied. “I'm going to go through Tom's assets and investments and determine which ones to keep and what to liquidate. Although the thought of all this positively gives me a headache, it has to be done.”

“I suppose the hotel is on the top of that liquidation list?”

“Until yesterday it was solidly in the ‘dispose of” column,” she confessed. “But now, thanks to your masterful persuasion, it's back up for discussion.”

“Masterful, eh?”

His smirk reminded her of all the other things he'd done today with his talented mouth.

“Don't let it go to your head, cowboy.”

“I'll try and slip away early,” he said. “If you decide to wait up, I'll make it worth your while with another round of masterful persuasion.”

The look he gave her with that promise guaranteed she'd wait up if he took all night.

 

After Ty left, Monica spent the next hour staring blankly at financial reports, feeling irrationally resentful. She knew the bull-riding finals were a huge event for the hotel. Of course Ty had to be there, but why should she be stuck in the room alone? She might actually have gone with him if the invitation hadn't sounded so much like an afterthought. That was the crux of the issue.

Only weeks ago, she would have scoffed at the idea, but now part of her, a bigger part than she ever could have imagined, wanted to experience a bit of Ty's world. Until now, she'd done almost nothing to try to fit in. Maybe it was time. Hadn't he brought her back here to discuss a partnership? If she and Ty were going to work together, it seemed only logical for her to dirty her boots . . . if she had boots, that is. She'd left the borrowed Ropers and Wranglers in Oklahoma, not that she'd be caught dead in them out here in Las Vegas.

Ty had said the event didn't begin until six. Maybe it wasn't too late. She checked her watch. It was barely three, which still gave her a couple of hours. She phoned Frankie. “Hey, Frankie. It's Monica. Can you pick me up? I need to do some shopping.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. You want to hit Prada?”

“Not this time. I need to buy some Western clothes?”

“
Western
? You mean like rodeo?” Frankie asked.

“Something like that. I'm going to the bull-riding championships. I'm afraid I'd look a little out of place in my Roberto Cavalli skinny jeans and stilettos.”

“You might be surprised,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?”

“There's a lot of high-class city girls who chase after those guys. I don't understand the appeal, but lots of them have picked up cowboys in these limos. We drivers see it all.”

“TMI, Frankie.” Although she and Ty had christened it not once but twice, Monica didn't want to think about what else had gone on in the back of her hired limo.

“So you're needing what? A hat? Some boots?” Frankie asked.

“The whole ensemble, I think.”

“I know just the place that can fix you up. The rodeo queens all go to The Pinto Ranch when they're in town for the big pageant. It's right between Macy's and Neiman Marcus in the Fashion Show Mall.”

An hour later, Monica stepped out of the dressing room in ass-boosting, rhinestone-studded jeans, complete with a blingy belt. She then added a colorful, snug-fitting Western blouse and a pair of hand-crafted Lucchese boots. Letting her hair down from her customary chignon, she finger-combed the loose waves and then donned a Resistol straw hat. Tilting the hat this way and that, she grinned into the mirror, hardly recognizing herself. Whoever would have known cowgirl chic would suit her so well? She couldn't help wondering what Ty would think.

 

Once he'd settled Monica in the owner's suite, Ty checked his messages and then made the rounds at the hotel, before finally heading down to the Last Chance Saloon. He was glad to see the place was busier than usual, but that was to be expected, given the bull-riding finals. Although Tom's death had put a serious damper on everyone's spirits, the show had to go on. It's what Tom would have expected. What he would have wanted.

Spotting a vacant stool at the bar, Ty claimed it.

“Ty! You're back already?” Gabby greeted him as she filled an order from the tap. “I didn't expect you for at least a week.”

“Neither did I,” he replied. “But circumstances have changed.”

Gabby filled another frosty mug with foaming beer and slid it across the bar to Ty. “Changed how?”

“Tom left me controlling interest in the hotel,” he answered.

Gabby's jaw dropped. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. Surprised the hell out of me too.”

“Gotta fill some orders,” she said, “but I want to hear all about this.”

Ty sipped his drink and scanned the bar, tipping his hat to several familiar faces. He searched the crowd for Zac McDaniel, but didn't see any sign of the broody bull rider. He wondered how Zac had fared in the past few days of competition. Had he made the short list? They'd been through a lot over the years. He'd hated that they'd drifted so far apart. So much time wasted. Just another regret compounding so many others. He was glad they were finally back on speaking terms again.

“What about the boss lady?” Gabby asked when she returned. “How does Ms. Brandt feel about all this?”

“I'm trying to convince her that this place is worth the gamble.”

“Really? And how's that working out?” she asked dubiously.

He shrugged. “Dunno yet, but at least I got her to come back.”

“You did?” Gabby asked with surprise. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs in the owner's suite.”

“You aren't taking her with you tonight?” Gabby asked.

“Nope. I asked her, but she declined. You know she's not into any of this.” He tilted his head in a gesture meant to encompass the whole saloon. “She's a New Yorker, a city girl through and through.”

“Yet you still think you can convince her to be your partner?”

“Dunno,” he said. “But I'm gonna try. I need someone who's better with the financial side of things than I am. I might have control now, but as Tom's daughter, Monica is still a partner in this place, whether she likes it or not. I just need to convince her that she likes it.”

“Well, speak of the devil.” Gabby nodded toward the swinging doors.

The moment Ty spun around, he experienced a dizzying rush of air leaving his lungs. Holy shit! Was that really Monica? Catching sight of Ty, she flashed a smile that made every man in the place stare. Ty eyed her slowly up and down again as she sashayed up to the bar.

“Buy me a drink, cowboy?” she asked with a look that gave him an instant semi.

“Right about now, I think I'd buy you anything your little heart desires. You are really rocking that look, sugar.”

“Glad you approve,” she said. “I changed my mind about going tonight.”

“Did you now?”

“Yup. When in Rome . . .”

“Martini, Ms. Brandt?” Gabby asked.

“Not tonight, Gabby. I'm feeling a bit more adventurous,” Monica said, never taking her gaze from Ty's.

“That so?” Ty asked.

“Yeah. I think maybe I'll try a shooter instead. What's the special, Gabby?”

Gabby grimaced. “You might be sorry you asked. It's Buckle Bunnies and Cowboy Cocksuckers.”

“Maybe not
that
adventurous,” Monica laughed. “Could they make the drink names any filthier? How about you surprise me?” she said to Gabby.

“Sure thing, boss lady,” Gabby turned away to mix a drink.

“Maybe you'd like to try a Cowgirl Clit Licker instead?” Ty murmured low in Monica's ear.

“That offer's hard to refuse,” she replied. “But I thought you had important business tonight.”

“I can only think of one kind of business right now,” Ty replied, sliding his hands up to grip her waist. “And I'm half ready to throw you over my shoulder and go take care of it. I can't get enough of you in that outfit, sugar. All you need now is a pair of fanny fringe chaps to complete my fantasy. I gotta ask, what brought this all about?”

“Curiosity mostly,” she replied. “I did a little research today. It seems the bull-riding championship generates close to fifteen million in non-gaming revenue in Las Vegas. I'm a numbers girl, and figures like that are hard to ignore. So I decided to see for myself what all the hype is about.”

“So this is just about business?” Ty asked.

“Only in part,” she confessed. “I also hoped to see that priceless look on your face.” She added with a quirk of her lips, “I admit it was worth every penny I spent.”

“It'll be worth every penny when I get you upstairs,” he promised darkly.

“I'm counting on that, Ty. So tonight is the big finale?”

“Yeah. There were thirty-five cowboys initially,” Ty explained, “but they got narrowed down to fifteen for the final round.”

“How much is this championship worth?” Monica asked.

“Two hundred fifty thousand, cash money,” Ty replied.

“Wow. No wonder it's so competitive.”

“It's the fastest-growing sport in the US,” Gabby interjected.

“I met a young cowboy the first week I was here,” Monica said. “His name was Kade Mc-something. He reminded me a little bit of Brad Pitt. He said he knew you. He told me his brother is one of the riders.”

“Yeah,” Ty said. “His name's Kade McDaniel. I heard the snot-nosed little shit tried to pick you up.”

“He never stood a chance, Ty.”

“Good thing,” Ty said. “I'd hate to have to beat the bejeesus out of my best friend's brother. What's the news about Zac?” Ty asked Gabby as she set a glass in front of Monica. “Did he make the cut?”

“Only by the skin of his teeth,” Gabby replied. “He's number fifteen.”

“Who's first?” Ty asked.

“Guilherme Alvaro,” Gabby replied. “Plenty of cowboys had hoped to take him down a few notches, but he's in the lead by almost five hundred points.”

“Damn.” Ty blew out a breath and shook his head. “With that kinda lead, Alvaro doesn't even have to show up to win. Zac doesn't have a snowball's chance. He's a real good rider, but he's been at this too long. There's lots of younger cowboys eager to win that purse, not to mention the Brazilians, who have kicked our American asses for far too long. I just hope Zac makes the whistle. Going home with empty pockets would only be salt in the wound.”

Monica took a sip of her drink. Gabby had poured her usual.

“What is it?” Ty asked with a sniff. “That applejack stuff?”

“It's Calvados, Ty,” she corrected. “Imported from Normandy.”

“Imported only means expensive, sugar. It doesn't mean better. There's nothing we don't do bigger and better right here in the good ol' USA.”

“That's an arrogant statement,” Monica said. “And exactly why Americans are generally disliked abroad.”

Ty shrugged. “The truth can be painful.”

“Are you for real?” she asked.

“Just a true-blue American cowboy.” He raised his mug in a mock salute and took a long drink.

“If you want us to be partners, you're going to have to be more open to new ideas, Ty. Haven't you ever traveled?” she asked.

“More than I even care to remember. I spent half a dozen years on the road,” Ty replied.

“I meant outside of this country,” she said.

“Went to Mexico once to watch their bull riding,” he said. “Wasn't impressed. And their bullfighting is nothing short of animal brutality. The bull doesn't have a chance. He's dead the minute he enters the ring. It's nothing like American bullfighting. In our version the bull has the advantage.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he has horns and outweighs his adversary by at least fifteen hundred pounds. If things play out like they should, both contenders walk out of the arena when it's done. Like I said, we do things better here. It's easier to experience it than to have it explained,” Ty replied. “I think you'd best just come tonight and see for yourself.”