How to Seduce a Texan

by Karen Kelley

  “Bandit usually hangs around the barn. I’ll find out how he got inside and make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Of course, there’s one houseguest I can’t get rid of.”

  Great. If there was a pet snake or mouse, that was it. Marge could get her own story.

  “What?” She warily eyed the corners of the kitchen.

  “The ghost.”

  She laughed.

  He didn’t join in.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious. No pun intended.”

  She smiled. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Maybe this was part of staying here. Ghost enthusiasts would love this place. She had never believed in anything she couldn’t see, taste, or touch.

  Ghost stories never terrified her when she was growing up. Her parents always explained how the special effects created the ghostly images in the movies. “I’m not afraid of things that go bump in the night.”

  “Good, then you won’t mind the one here.” He tugged his hat down a little farther on his forehead. “I’ll just go see if I can find where Bandit got in while you look around.”

  There was one pressing matter she needed to take care of, and it couldn’t wait. “Where exactly is the bathroom.” She hadn’t seen a door that might lead to it.

  He gave her a look that said he’d thought she’d never ask. “Out back.”

  She raised her eyebrows in question. What did he mean, “out back”? The bathroom wasn’t attached to the cabin? Now that would be damned inconvenient.

  He motioned toward the back door. She hesitantly walked to the screen and glanced out. Oh, good Lord. “That’s an outhouse.”

  “A two-holer. State of the art. Complete with a Sears catalog.” He looked at her, his expression serious. “I might be able to scare up a JCPenney if you’d prefer.”

  He was trying his hand at being funny, and he seemed to relish the discomforts she would be going through. His fiancée must’ve really done a number on him because he seemed to have decided to take his angst out on Nikki.

  She’d read that Cynthia Cole was an only child of business tycoon Milburn Cole. Her investigation before she’d left Fort Worth had given her enough information that told her Milburn Cole didn’t do anything illegal, but he was so close to committing a crime that you could almost see the prison stripes on his Armani suit.

  On the other hand, his daughter was the darling of society. Elite boarding schools, a private college, the best sorority—and lots of wild parties. She made Paris Hilton look like a choir girl. Cynthia had been in rehab so many times that they’d dedicated a wing to her.

  So, was Cal pining for his love and decided to take his frustrations out on Nikki? Which one had broken the relationship off? Cynthia? Or him?

  A week. That’s all it would take before she had her answers. She’d bet her next paycheck on it.

  But for now, she had to deal with the outhouse. How hard could it be?

  She smiled up at Cal. “No problem.” She opened the door and stepped out, then cautiously looked around. The raccoon wasn’t anywhere that she could see, thank goodness.

  She followed the well-worn path to the little wooden structure. Packed earth from years of use made it a little easier to walk in her heels.

  She kept her eyes focused on the small building. It looked rather quaint.

  Whatever she had to tell herself, right?

  Just before she opened the rickety door, she looked over her shoulder. Cal watched her. Did he think she wouldn’t go inside?

  She’d show him, although the prospect of stepping inside the building held no appeal whatsoever. But she really had to go bad, and if she stood outside much longer, she’d be squirming and that wouldn’t look at all good.

  She kicked the door a couple of times, to scare any creepy-crawly bugs or spiders out of the way; opened the door; and stepped inside.

  The door bumped closed behind her.

  Her eyes began to burn. She stumbled back against the door, her arms waving in front of her as she fought for air that wasn’t rancid from years of waste products. Oh, God, this must be what hell was like. No wonder someone had invented the toilet!

  Her mind screamed hurry as she tried to focus in the dim light that came from the half-moon cutout. Thankfully, not enough that she could fully appreciate her surroundings. She saw the two holes. Where were the toilet seats? There were no toilet seats!

  Don’t panic. She took a deep, calming breath…and gagged. Just do it. Yeah, right. Try filming a commercial in here, Nike!

  She jerked her skirt up and her panty hose down. Had no one ever heard of air freshener? Stickups? Candles? Okay, maybe lighting a flame wouldn’t be good unless it was someone’s intention to blow the place up. Which right now sounded like a good idea to her.

  She finished in record time. He’d lied; there was toilet paper. She jerked her panty hose up only to snag them on a sliver of wood that was sticking out, sending a three-inch run from thigh to ankle.

  At this point in time, she didn’t care that she’d paid twenty frigging dollars for the hose. Marge would replace them. Boy, would she replace them.

  She yanked the panty hose off and tossed them in the hole before pulling her skirt down, then opened the door. Blessed fresh air from a welcome breeze hit her in the face when she stepped out. She let the door slam behind her. As she walked up the path, her legs wobbled and she was light-headed from holding her breath.

  How the hell was she going to manage to stay here until she got her stupid story? The homestead was deplorable. She couldn’t live here under these conditions. No one would expect her to.

  Was she throwing in the towel?

  No, damn it!

  At least she’d been saved from Cal laughing at her. He wasn’t at the back door. He hadn’t seen her humiliation, and she’d make sure he never did. If she had to face outhouses and raccoons every day until she got her story, she would. Giving up was not an option.

  A shadow moved across one window. He’d said the homestead was haunted. A cold chill of foreboding swept over her.

  Of course the place wasn’t haunted! Now she was being utterly ridiculous and she knew better than this. Her parents hadn’t raised a fool.

  Now, the stupid raccoon was a different matter. She could see it, touch it, and had even smelled it—which hadn’t been pleasant. The raccoon made her nervous and she was never, well, hardly ever, nervous.

  She would not let a dumb animal defeat her, nor an imaginary ghost or even a smelly outhouse. She was Nikki Scott and no one got the best of her.

  Chapter 3

  Cal moved from the bedroom window just in case Nikki decided to look his way. She didn’t seem quite as confident as she had right before she went inside the outhouse.

  Big city had just met country and it hadn’t been pretty.

  Not that he could blame her for looking a little shaken. You couldn’t pay him to go inside an outhouse. In fact, he didn’t know why anyone, other than Nikki, would want to stay at the old homestead, but there were actually people who did. If they felt that compelled to know how it was done in the early days, they could read a book.

  But Cal knew her reason, and he had her number. She hated it here. He grinned. That was pretty much a gimme and had been from the moment she’d laid eyes on the place. This wasn’t part of whatever bargain she’d cut with her editor. He expected Nikki to walk straight through the house, out to her car, and never look back.

  Good-bye reporter.

  Damned shame, though. If the circumstances were different, he’d have liked to get to know her better. She was a looker, with her short, dark hair and those pouty lips that were made for kissing.

  If that wasn’t enough, her breasts were full. The kind that were made for cupping, massaging. He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined how they would feel.

  And she had great legs. Long and sexy. He bit back a groan as he imagined them wrapp
ing around him and pulling him in closer, deeper. Images filled his mind. Her naked. Him naked. Together. On the bed.

  He could barely draw in a steady breath when he heard the back door slam. Man, if his fantasies about her were this good, what would the real thing be like? Not that he’d ever find out. The outhouse was enough to scare anyone away.

  He waited for the front door to slam.

  It didn’t.

  He frowned.

  Why wasn’t she leaving? Any normal woman would’ve already run screaming from the cabin. But then, Jeff had told him they called her the barracuda.

  Maybe she was. The cabin hadn’t scared her off. Bandit was an unplanned bonus. The raccoon should’ve had her running out the front door, but she’d only made it as far as his arms. Damn, she’d felt nice pressed against him, her body trembling. And she’d smelled nice, like exotic flowers.

  But he hadn’t been able to contain his laughter. Barracuda? Nah, she’d been more like a little harmless goldfish. Well, at least until she’d realized he thought the situation was funny. She hadn’t liked that very much. Her eyes had flashed their annoyance.

  He kind of liked her annoyed. Sexy as hell. He wouldn’t mind spending time getting to know her a little better. Except for the fact she still wanted to fry his ass and he wasn’t about to let that happen. So maybe it was time to bring out the big guns, or in this case the broom. Cynthia had turned up her nose at doing any kind of manual labor. Heaven forbid she break a fingernail.

  What would Nikki’s reaction be?

  He went into the living room. He could hear her mumbling to herself in the kitchen. He couldn’t make out the words, though. On the other hand, he might not want to know.

  “Having trouble?” he asked.

  She jumped and whirled around. “This thing is out of water.” She waved her hand at the pump.

  “Did you lift the handle up, then push it down?”

  She squared her shoulders and crossed her arms in front of her. “Yes, but it didn’t do anything.”

  Cal had to at least give her credit for sticking around this long—reporter or not. He’d give her until the end of the day. By the time he finished with her, she’d be glad to give up trying to get a story and run back to the city.

  He raised the handle and pushed it down several times before water began to flow. Without so much as a thank-you, she washed her hands, then shook them dry.

  He should’ve known she wouldn’t lower herself to his level. Jeff had said her parents were lawyers. That meant money. Maybe not as rich as Cynthia, but he’d bet his last dollar she’d never had to suffer any kind of hardship.

  Man, he needed to get away to clear his head. “I’m going back to the ranch to get something to cover the hole where Bandit got inside the house,” he said. “There’s a broom and a mop on the back porch. You might want to get started on the cleaning before it gets dark.

  “Cleaning?”

  “That’s part of the experience of staying in the old homestead.” He smiled and tugged on the brim of his hat before turning to leave.

  “Uh…”

  He looked back. Her expression showed uncertainty. He almost felt sorry for her. Until he remembered why she was there. She wanted to use him just like Cynthia had tried to use him, just like all the reporters who hounded him for a picture or a story. His heart quickly hardened. At least it was his heart this time and not another part of his anatomy.

  “You wanted something else?” he asked.

  “There isn’t really a ghost, is there?”

  Not exactly what he thought she was going to ask. Maybe he could cut her a little slack. “I’ve never seen one, but my little brother swears the cabin is haunted. My grandmother once told me a young woman died here. That’s how my grandmother’s parents were able to buy this property so cheap. People were scared to live here.”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “But no one has ever been hurt or anything?”

  He could lie, tell her the ghost was evil, when in truth he thought his brother had made the whole thing up. That would have her running to her car.

  The last few weeks had been boring as hell, though. Nikki was damned easy on the eyes. He didn’t like reporters and he damned sure didn’t like manipulating females. It was time he got a little back. If nothing else, for the entertainment factor. He had a feeling Nikki would be very entertaining.

  “No one has ever been hurt.” He turned and went to the door. Her heels clicked right behind him. When he stepped outside, he started having second thoughts. She was a city girl. What if she hurt herself—even though she was trying to hurt him?

  “You don’t have to stay here, you know. There’d be no shame in changing your mind.” He removed his worn Stetson, scraped his fingers through his hair before replacing his hat.

  She jutted her chin out. “Do you think I can’t? That I’m too soft?”

  His gaze roamed over her. Oh, yeah, she looked as though she’d be real soft. “Sometimes it’s better to cut your losses than get in way over your head and take a chance of getting hurt.”

  “And will I get hurt?”

  For a moment, he found himself lost in her eyes. Right now, the way the light and shadows played with them, they reminded him of the color of maple syrup: a soft golden brown.

  He cleared his throat. Yeah, she was real good. “You might if you stay. The country can hold all kinds of dangers you’d never even think about.”

  She stepped closer. Close enough he smelled her fragrance again, like a whispered caress.

  “And what about you?” she said in that throaty voice again. “Are you dangerous?”

  For a moment he couldn’t move, could only stare at her as she sucked him in. She brought her hand up and brushed her dark hair behind her ear. The only thing going through his mind was that he’d like to kiss her neck, nibble on her earlobe.

  Now he knew why they called her The Barracuda. It wouldn’t take much for him to tell her everything she wanted to know. It was a good thing Jeff had warned him.

  He leaned his hand against the wall above her head and moved in a little closer. Close enough that he saw her pupils dilate, saw the gold flecks in her eyes. “I’m only dangerous when someone crosses me,” he drawled.

  She visibly swallowed.

  “But then, you don’t have to worry about that,” he continued. “You’re only here to do a little research for your book.”

  Nikki wet her lips. A hell of a turn-on. It was all Cal could do to push away from the wall, away from the heat emanating from her body, when all he wanted to do was press closer and feel her breasts pushing against his chest. But he managed to move away—just barely.

  He walked down the steps to his pickup feeling as though he’d escaped with his life—at least the parts he wanted to keep private.

  As he drove off, he glanced toward the cabin. She was going back inside. It was a damned shame he was about to make her regret ever thinking he was an easy target. Hell, he ate reporters for breakfast every morning, then spit them out.

  Nikki turned back and glanced out the screen as Cal drove off. What had just happened? She’d used the ghost as an excuse to get him to linger—and it had worked. But not the way she’d planned. One minute she’d been the seducer, and in the next, Cal was making her forget the reason she was out here. She shook her head to clear it. Then she looked around the front room.

  She was alone, and she hated this place. It was all she could do to keep from running back to the porch and out to her car. In a few hours, she could be in Fort Worth soaking in a hot tub in her apartment. All this would be a distant nightmare.

  No, not all of it was a nightmare. Cal Braxton was a walking, talking, breathing fantasy come true.

  She raised her chin. And he apparently thought she’d run at the first sign of trouble; she’d seen it in his eyes.

  Okay, so maybe she had tried to run when she’d opened the cabinet and Bandit had stared back at her. Anyone would’ve done the same thing, so that didn’t really co
unt.

  But there was more to it. He didn’t seem to buy her act that she wanted to stay at the cabin. What was up with his attitude? It was almost as if he knew the real reason she was here.

  She reached in her pocket and brought out her cell phone, but when she flipped it open, she read “no service.”

  This wouldn’t do. Not at all. She didn’t like being disconnected from the outside world. Peace and quiet drove her insane. It was the hustle and bustle of the city all the way for her.

  She stepped to the front porch and held the phone up. Still nothing. She went through the house to the back. The phone never wavered from its “no service” message. She stepped off the porch. The message blinked. She walked farther away from the house.

  Service! Ha! She had service.

  Her nose wrinkled. Ugh! She was standing beside the outhouse. She grimaced. This was not funny.

  Thank God for speed dial. She held the phone to her ear after she punched in the number two and tried not to think how appropriate it was. Marge answered on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “He knows.”

  “Nikki? You made it to the ranch okay. Good. I was starting to worry.”

  “He knows I’m a reporter.”

  “Did he tell you he knows?”

  She frowned. “No, but he’s too happy I’ve chosen to stay in the cabin away from everyone else.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a sexy woman. Maybe he thinks he’ll get lucky.”

  “But you should see this place.” A shiver ran down her spine. “It’s so isolated.”

  “I’m confused. Won’t that make it easier to get the scoop on him? You won’t have a lot of pesky vacationers hanging about.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The cabin is a relic from the distant past,” she said between gritted teeth. “The toilet facilities consist of an outhouse, complete with a half-moon cutout, and I don’t even want to talk about how the odor could be used in bioterrorism. The only water is from a pump in the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have hot water. There’s not one microwave in sight, either.”

  “So why did you choose to stay in the cabin? It sounds dreadful.”