To Tame a Wild Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  “You’re my favorite, you know,” Duke said. “Always have been.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Duke ignored his sarcasm. “That’s why I’m giving you this bit of advice. Don’t burden yourself with kids. They’ll ruin everything.”

  “Good talk, Duke.” Rhett slapped his hands on his knees and jumped to his feet.

  “You sleep with her yet?”

  Rhett swung his head around, met the old man’s crafty gaze. “Who?”

  “Tara.”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “It’s not an unreasonable question. She’s hot, and you sleep with anything that moves.”

  “No,” Rhett said. “That was you.”

  Duke let out a loud guffaw. “Told you we were peas in a pod.”

  “Rhett?”

  He looked over to see Tara standing there with concerned eyes. “Yes?”

  “May I speak with you?”

  In that moment, Rhett wanted to swing her into his arms and give her a big hug for getting him off the hot seat.

  “You never did answer my question about her.” Duke nodded at Tara.

  “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “Peas in pod.” Duke laughed again.

  Tara slipped her arm through Rhett’s and drew him to her. Instantly, he felt soothed. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Lockhart, but I need to borrow your son.”

  Rhett latched on tight to Tara’s arm. “Get me out of here,” he murmured near her ear.

  “Working on it.” Tara motioned to Vivi, who moved to settle in beside her husband. Prying him away from Duke took a tag team.

  “See you later, Mr. Lockhart,” Tara sang out, grabbed Rhett’s wrist, and tugged him around the side of the house.

  “You’re a lifesaver.” He chuffed out a breath. “If you hadn’t come along when you did, I might have belted him.”

  “I could tell you were drowning. I know your father is a piece of work.” Her smile lifted his spirits. “Besides, I really do need you. If Julie and I are going to spend the night at your house, it’s time to get this show on the road.”

  It was just after seven-thirty p.m. and even though it was daylight saving time, the Davis Mountains cast long shadows across the valley, bringing cooling temperatures with the encroaching dusk.

  Excitement didn’t begin to cover what Rhett was feeling as Tara followed him down the dusty ranch road that led the twelve miles from Ridge and Kaia’s expansive home on the east side of the Silver Feather, to his more modest bungalow to the south.

  He told himself that his jittery belly and wild heart rate were due to spending the night with his daughter, but his anxiety ran far deeper than that. Rhett was thrilled about Tara too. He’d been thinking about her almost nonstop for the past three weeks. The only time his mind had been off her and Julie was when he’d been in the arena.

  It was slowly starting to sink in that he really, truly had a child. He hadn’t had nine months to prepare like most dads, and the jolt of learning that he was a father was still fresh. What he had not expected was the fierce protectiveness he felt for the baby.

  And by association, Tara.

  Because Tara so loved his daughter, he wanted to protect her too.

  These emotions were new and unexpected. He’d believed he was wired differently from other men. That he’d missed out on some paternal gene. He had not ever dreamed of having a family. A wife and kids hadn’t been a blip on his radar.

  His lack of nurturing instincts probably had something to do with his old man. Not that Rhett had given it much thought. He was neither prone to introspection like Ranger nor a planner like Ridge. Rhett breezed through life on his looks and his charm and the family name. He liked it that way.

  Until Julie.

  And Tara.

  Seeing Tara again today, dressed in white denim shorts, sexy sandals, and that sleeveless red tank top, his body had responded in classically masculine ways.

  She was sexy.

  She was strong.

  She was beautiful.

  And she was spending the night at his house.

  “Don’t get cocky, Lockhart. She’s here for the baby, not you,” he muttered as he bumped over the cattle guard leading to his spread. Yes, he was attracted to Tara. Yes, he couldn’t stop conjuring up images of the two of them naked in bed together.

  But would he act on his desires?

  Hell no.

  Getting custody of Julie was far too important. Besides, from Tara’s side there was no love lost. She didn’t like him the way he liked her. He wouldn’t make a move. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy being around her.

  Before they’d left Ridge’s house, four members of her family—count ’em, four—had pulled him aside and had a serious talk about treating Tara with kid gloves. She might be fierce and proud and strong, but she was vulnerable too.

  Granny Blue had promised to strangle him if he hurt her granddaughter. Tara’s father, Armand, had clamped him on the shoulder and stared into his eyes and said, “No funny business.” Kaia had clucked her tongue and reminded him that Tara was doing him a big favor. And Aria cornered him by the back door on his way out and said, “Tara does not need to know any of the details of our time together. Keep your lips zipped.”

  Alzate overwhelm.

  They looked out for each other and he admired the one-for-all-and-all-for-one philosophy. He dug how they supported and lifted each other up. Unlike his messed-up family. The Alzates had been the glue that held the Lockharts together. Without them, the Silver Feather would have been infinitely less than.

  This was what he longed for without ever really knowing it. To be part of a clan who good-naturedly badgered and bantered, who shared and cared, who loved hard and deep and forever. It was the foreverness that got him the most. The promise that no matter what happened, you did not have to face the bad stuff alone.

  The only thing he’d come across that was remotely close to what the Alzates had was being in the PBR. But while he had found belonging on the circuit, competition underscored everything. Either you were up or you were down.

  That wasn’t the case with the Alzates. No one kept score. They understood that life had a natural ebb and flow. That what looked good could later turn out bad, and vice versa. Building each other up instead of looking for ways to tear each other down to size.

  The second he pulled into the driveway, he killed the engine and hopped out of the truck. Jogged to where Tara was parked on the far side of the drive, flung open the car door for her before she could do it herself.

  “I had forgotten how far and gone your place is back here,” she said.

  “Southernmost part of the ranch.” He waved at the fence in the distance. “Last section of Lockhart land.”

  “Pretty isolated.”

  He held out his arm to help her out. “How long have you had the minivan? What happened to your Corolla?”

  “I traded it in when I decided to become a foster parent.”

  “You bought a new car for Julie’s sake?”

  She met his eyes, and as soon as her sandals hit the dirt, she let go of his hand and didn’t say a word. Just turned to open the back door.

  “Let me help.” He leaped to her side.

  “I’ve got the baby,” she said brusquely, and leaned over the car seat to undo the infant carrier portion from the rest of the apparatus. Giving him a fine view of her shapely rump.

  He tried not to notice, but that was like trying not to notice the sun. Her heart-shaped butt was out-of-this-world sexy. He didn’t know what it said about him that he couldn’t look away. Or that he imagined cupping those luscious cheeks in his palms.

  Grow up, Lockhart.

  “You can unload Julie’s things,” she told him.

  Pulled back to earth, he startled. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She jerked her head up, glared. “Are you being a smartass? Remember, I’m doing you a favor. Julie and I can leave right now.”

  He tipped his S
tetson. “I was not being a smartass. You’re in charge. You tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  She sank her top teeth into her bottom lip.

  The urge to kiss her bowled him right over. Of course he wouldn’t. But damn if he didn’t ache to do so. She was standing there, the baby carrier with a sleeping Julie in it looped over her elbow.

  Nope. He wouldn’t kiss her no matter how hot her butt looked in those shorts. For one thing, he wouldn’t do anything to ruin his chances for getting custody of Julie. For another, he had a feeling if he tried anything hinky, Tara would belt him.

  And there were those warnings from her family . . .

  She must have seen something in his eyes, because she ducked her head, hoisted the carrier up higher on her arm, and said, “Let’s get this thing over with before I change my mind. I could kick my own bum for even suggesting it.”

  Bum.

  A cute word pickup from her Irish mother and oddly more provocative than if she’d said “ass” or “butt.”

  His body got hard.

  Even though she was thirty-two and a nurse and had many life experiences, there was still an innocence about her that drew him. He had an irresistible urge to merge with her in the hopes some of that sweetness would rub off on him.

  Ha! Fat chance.

  How did she do it? How did she stay so grounded and practical while at the same time exuding this wide-eyed, the-world-is-a-beautiful-place quality that drew him in? God, but he wanted her!

  Resolutely, Rhett tamped down the urge. He might not be able to control his penis, but he could control his thoughts and actions.

  The infant carrier tugged against the material of her tank top, pulling the V-neck down to reveal a heart-shaped gold locket resting on her light brown skin above a generous spill of cleavage.

  Call him a scoundrel, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. She looked like an earth goddess, a woman unto her own. So different from the needy buckle bunnies who followed him around the circuit—a priceless work of art in a stack of hobby store posters.

  And the proud flounce of her fanny as she moved past him for the front door had his unruly body standing at attention. Toned and rounded, her feminine form was substantial, solid, and made for sin.

  He’d known her since he was a kid, but as adults, they hardly came in contact beyond the Alzate/Lockhart gatherings, and even then, she was usually huddled with her family in the kitchen while he hung out with his brothers in a barn or corral.

  A mosaic of memories came back to him, Tara at the center of them all. The time at Archer and Casey’s wedding rehearsal dinner when he’d walked up on the porch at the mansion to find Tara and her sisters dancing around the room, bananas in their hands using them like microphones, singing “You Can’t Hurry Love” in off-key joy. Tara had been leading the conga line of sisters-turned-doo-wop-girls, her face alight with happiness.

  The time, on the ten-year anniversary of his mother’s death, he’d gotten drunk and stumbled to the cemetery. Found Tara there putting red roses on the graves of family members, only to discover she’d left a single bud on his mother’s grave as well. The sight of that rose had brought him to maudlin tears. She’d taken him home, made him drink three big glasses of water and down two aspirins, took off his boots, and put him to bed. She’d never spoken of it again.

  The time, five years ago, he’d been out riding Golden Boy at sunrise and spotted her in the distance near the stock tank, wearing a hooded poncho, arms outstretched, eyes focused on the horizon, welcoming the day.

  “What are you doing out in the middle of the desert all by yourself at dawn?” he’d asked.

  “I was out for a run. I stopped by the tank to remember my grandfather and give thanks for having known him. He used to bring me fishing here. Out here, I see him everywhere,” she had said, a mysterious twinkle in her dark eyes. She’d awarded him with a luminous, droll grin.

  That moment had forever altered the way he looked at sunrise.

  “Later, dork,” she’d said affectionately. Then without another word, she sprinted away. Long legs skimming over scrub brush and sand, lush straight hair flying out behind her, running like a wild thing. Leaving him feeling raw and exposed in a fundamental way. Aching for a woman who viewed him as nothing but an annoying kid brother.

  Confounded by the sudden flood of unexpected emotions, Rhett rushed past Tara. He was her humble servant, and keyed open the front door just as she hit the top step behind him. He could hear the soft scrape of her sandals on the wooden porch, the calming sound of her even breathing.

  “Ta-da,” he announced inanely, flinging the door open, moving aside, feeling like an idiot and having no excuse for it except she scrambled his brain six ways to Sunday.

  Rhett cast a nervous glance at her, saw amusement tipping up her lips. Oh, this was a good thing.

  She tossed her head and breezed past him into the house, her long dark hair swishing over her shoulders. On the drive over, she’d released it from the tight bun.

  What would it feel like to gather those straight, thick locks into his hands like reins? To press his mouth to the underside of her chin? To taste the sweet-salty flavor of her skin?

  Cool it, cowboy. Tara is off-limits.

  To get control of his libido, he darted back out to the minivan, unloaded an insane amount of equipment—two diaper bags, a Pack ’n Play, and a stroller. Juggled the stuff up the steps. Staggered off-balance into the house. Kicked the door closed.

  The smell of talc and baby formula and spit-up surrounded him. Rhett dropped the baby supplies onto the foyer floor. Panic washed over him.

  Get used to it, buddy, this is what your life is going to be like from now on.

  For one deer-in-the-headlights moment, he almost told Tara he’d changed his mind. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no business raising a baby. It was all ego to think he could do this on his own.

  And then she peeked her head around the corner and smiled at him, and he was reassured.

  Chapter 12

  Chute fighter: A bull that will not stand still and tries to fight the cowboy before leaving the chute.

  Even though the whole spend-the-night thing had initially been her idea, Tara was thrown off-kilter by the reality of sleeping over at Rhett’s house. She swept into the living room and settled Julie, who was asleep in her infant carrier, onto the coffee table. Her plan was to overwhelm him with the details of child care so that he’d back off filing for custody.

  But she was the one feeling overwhelmed.

  “Let’s get started,” she announced crisply. “There’s so much you need to know about Julie.”

  “Slow down, Tea.” Her childhood nickname slipped off his tongue like a caress. “We’ve got all night.”

  Good grief! He made this sound like a seduction.

  “There’s a lot to learn. No time to waste.” She kept her tone low and urgent, and her eyes off his face.

  He removed his Stetson and hung it on the hat rack by the door, his hair disarmingly messy. He unsnapped the cuffs of his shirt and one at a time, slowly rolled the sleeves up to his elbow. Getting down to business and showing off tanned, strong forearms roped with veins and muscles.

  Her heart shifted gears, slipping like a transmission going bad. The nurse in her wondered idly what her heart rhythm would look like if she were hooked up to a cardiac monitor. Would the pattern look as crazy as it felt?

  Knock it off. There’s nothing wrong with your heart.

  Other than that the sight of this sexy slab of man sent her pulse jumping. Understandable. She hadn’t had sex in over two years. He was hot. They were all alone except for the sleeping baby, far away from anyone . . .

  But it was Rhett, of all people.

  She eyed his biceps bulging beneath the material of his shirt. Her stomach clenched in a happy way, a thrill buzzing through her veins. Good God, but he was handsome.

  He’s the one taking Julie away from you.

  That did it. She snapped
clear. Whew. Now that was better. No more sexy fantasies about this guy.

  She stuck her hands in her pockets, felt the pack of Juicy Fruit he’d given her. Smiled. She opened the gum and offered him a piece. “Want a stick?”

  “Sure.”

  He took the gum. In unintentional unison, they unwrapped their gum, curled the stick in their mouths, and chewed.

  Their gazes linked.

  He grinned.

  She giggled. Which wasn’t like her. Not at all.

  “This is fun,” he said.

  Strangely, it was. The moment felt too intimate, and Tara quickly looked away, shifting her attention to the baby.

  “While she’s still sleeping, let’s get to work.” Tara folded her gum into the paper it had been wrapped in and tossed it in the wastebasket next to the computer desk in the corner of the room. “First, I’ll teach you how to prepare her formula. After that, we’ll move on to the apnea monitor and her nighttime meds.”

  “Is it like whipping up formula for baby calves? I’m already pretty good at it.”

  “Julie is not a baby calf,” she said. “Best to remember that.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Kitchen.” She gathered up the diaper bag he’d brought in, which included formula and supplies. She’d been inside his house for a housewarming party when he’d built it seven years ago, but she hadn’t set foot in the place since. She breezed into the kitchen, Rhett on her heels.

  She emphasized the importance of washing his hands and cleaning off the prep surface, showed him how to prepare the formula and store the bottles.

  “Contrary to the opinion you seem to have of me, I am not a complete slob,” he said.

  His place was very tidy, but she suspected it was the result of a housekeeper and not his innate cleaning skills.

  “Because she’s a preemie, Julie’s immune system is more compromised than a normal baby’s. Please pay close attention.”

  He “yes ma’amed” her again.

  “Shouldn’t you be writing this down?”

  He held up his phone. “I’ve been filming you.”

  “Oh,” she said.