The Mermaid and The Cowboy: A Second Chance Cowboy Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 3)

by Tessa Bowen

  She leaned in for a kiss, craving the feel of his lips and the fulfillment he could supply, but Jeb Jackson was much too quick for her—and much too agile. No shocker there.

  He lifted himself up and away from her, rolling to the side and propelling himself off the bed in a half-somersault. He moved to the opposite end of the massage table, so that the length of it lay between them.

  “You sure are a forward little filly.”

  “I came here for a reason.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Are you really cowering in the corner, hiding from a seventeen-year-old.”

  “Damn straight,” he chuckled. “Listen darlin’, come back when you’re eighteen.”

  “I want it now. I don’t want to wait.”

  “Whooowee, you’re a lot to handle. Better make that twenty-five.”

  “Why twenty-five? That’s eight years.”

  “It’s going to take me eight years to prepare for the likes of you.”

  “I don’t want to be a twenty-five-year-old virgin!” she hollered at him.

  Jeb shrugged and gave her a wink. “Guess you’ll have to hit up one of your pastel pansies then.”

  “Why you—”

  The colorful array of insults she planned on hurling at him was cut short when the door opened and a dark young woman appeared, wearing a tube top. She had black straight hair clear to her waist and narrow black eyes, the jagged cheekbones of a Native American.

  Jeb wiped sweat from his brow. “Christ, Sophie—what took you so long?”

  The exotic woman slid her gaze over Lorelai, sizing her up with a cool disregard. “About to be devoured by a deb, were you?”

  Lorelai’s jaw dropped in outrage and she let out a gasp of fury.

  The mysterious Sophie swung a bottle of lotion. “Let me guess, you wanted to give him a rubdown.”

  “So—what if I did?”

  “That’s Sophie’s job, darlin’. Now, you wouldn’t want to take her job away from her, would you?”

  The way the woman’s name rolled off his tongue made Lorelai see red. That and she wasn’t getting her way tonight. With a little shriek, she hurled her “soda pop” as hard as she could. An arc of lemon-lime liquid spewed through the air before the bottle met its intended mark—his smug face. Once again, he was too quick for her and ducked, but Lorelai was pleased to see the sticky soda bubbled over his bare toes once it landed on the floor.

  “You’re going to grow up to be one hell of a humdinger,” Jeb laughed. “And you sure do have a temper on you—like a little wildcat. Glad that bottle wasn’t glass, darlin’.”

  “Don’t call me that!” Lorelai seethed. “You’re nothing but an ill-educated cowboy! And I am grown-up, which means I already am one hell of a humdinger—so there!”

  Jeb grinned at her even as his lady friend with the lotion took Lorelai by the arm, leading her to the door.

  She pulled away with a rabid hiss.

  “Yep, a little wildcat to be sure. Night now.”

  Those were the last words she heard before she was “escorted” out of the room by Jeb Jackson’s squeeze for the night. Lorelai plastered her back against the metal door, hoping the chill of it would cool her feverish jealousy. A rubdown wasn’t all Jeb Jackson was getting tonight. This was supposed to be her night, instead she’d been rejected—rejected for the first time in her life. She’d thought they’d shared a moment—and they had—almost. Perhaps he was right, she needed to grow up a bit. Her attempt at seducing him had certainly been a flop.

  Lorelai Northrup vowed then and there, she’d have Jeb Jackson one day. Even if she had to wait eight years.

  Chapter One

  Jackson Ranch, Montana

  Eight Years Later

  A loud knock from below woke Jeb with a start. There couldn’t be anyone at the door. He must have been dreaming.

  Everyone had vacated the ranch. His brother John and his wife, Abigail, along with his adorable niece, Daphne (who they called Ducky because she made quacking sounds just like a duck) had taken off to England to tie up some loose ends with Abbie’s estate there—although John wasn’t too happy about his lady travelling in her current condition. She was expecting their second child. Jeb and John had sent Margaret and her family on vacation. They sure deserved it, the way they helped take care of things around the place.

  Jeb was alone in the great big house—not much to do this time of year. The isolation had gotten to him. He missed his family. He could tell they didn’t miss him. Well Ducky missed him, he knew by the way she quacked and chirped with excitement when he got on the phone with her. His brother and sister-in-law were positively giddy. Giddy and in love. What was meant to be a business trip had obviously turned into a second honeymoon. Jeb sure as sure as hell wasn’t giddy.

  He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head. He was cold and alone. Jeb Jackson didn’t deal in loneliness—he wasn’t used to the feeling. He’d always been popular, more popular than his brother, who could be surly at times. Jeb was the professional charmer—always had been. He was still popular enough with the ladies, though his successful bronc riding career was long finished, due to the injury he’d suffered to his hand. He wasn’t sure if it was his age, but lately the thrill of the one-night-stand had worn off. He hadn’t dabbled with the fair sex in months. He was happy for his brother’s newfound and unlikely love with an English baroness (of all things), but their union drove the reality of his situation home. His brother had found love and a family, and he had not. Something he seemed to crave more and more the older he got. He was thirty now, well past the age for settling down. Perhaps he didn’t deserve these things after what he’d done to his brother long ago.

  Sophie.

  Sometimes the thought of her still stung. And the mistake he’d made. She’d been his brother’s girl and he’d fallen for her. He’d suffered John’s wrath that horrible night Sophie died—the night John had broken nearly every bone in his hand, seeing to it he’d never ride a bronc on the professional circuit again.

  He and his brother had patched things up after an eight-year rift and his hand was doing better, still stiff sometimes in the cold of morning. There seemed to be a stiffness in his heart as well. One he didn’t welcome. Maybe he just missed his little niece and was sick to death of winter. Yes, that was it. A change of season would do him good. He made a hole in the blankets and peered out the window. No snow today and the sun was out. A few more days like this would have the trees blooming and the daffodils pushing out of the earth. A pair of ewes were already close to giving birth. That would give him something to do.

  The knock came again. This time it was more of a pounding, insistent and desperate.

  A naked Jeb flew out of bed. Apparently, he hadn’t been dreaming.

  “Jesus…hold your horses whoever you are…”

  He spotted his boxer briefs lying at the foot of the bed and stepped into them. He was still half asleep and not so coordinated. He hopped on one leg as he stepped into his worn jeans, nearly tripping before he got the other leg in.

  You used to handle bucking broncs. Now you can’t even handle your own pants.

  The relentless banging continued.

  “Keep your shirt on, damn it. Speaking of shirts…”

  The knocking was unbearable. It seemed to make his teeth rattle. He stomped from the room, annoyed now at the intrusion.

  “To hell with the shirt. Who is this idiot anyway?” he grumbled. “Probably some tourist wanting to get a gander at a Jackson Mustang.”

  Jackson Ranch was a storied place. It had the distinction of raising some of the most sought-after horses in the world. The Jackson Mustang was legendary, not only for its speed but for its lineage. John and Jeb let only a handful go a year—and at a pretty penny. This only added to the mystique of the rare animals they bred. The Jackson brothers were used to uninvited drop-ins, some pushier than others, looking to acquire one of their horses at any price.

  “But not this early in the God-forsaken morn
ing.”

  Jeb didn’t bother buttoning the top two snaps of his Levi’s. Nor did he bother patting down his unruly curls, which stuck up every which way. He took the steps quickly, finding adrenaline in his annoyance. Jeb was an easygoing guy—the “fun brother”, everyone called him. It was John’s job to grumble and grouse, but whoever was hammering on his door at seven a.m. was going to get a tongue lashing, that was for damned sure. He shook the residual cramping from his bad hand and threw open the front door.

  A very young and very glamorous woman stood on the threshold. She was tall and slim, wearing oversized sunglasses and a short white fur coat. Beneath the coat sparkled a slinky knee-length dress, covered in shimmering sequins in all different shades of blue and green. It clung to her form like a second skin, reminding him of a mermaid’s lower half.

  He stared in open-mouthed fascination down the length of her encrusted dress. There seemed to be a mermaid at his door. She had to be a mermaid with those glimmering scales and that head of long incredible hair—hair that hung clear to her waist, a silvery platinum blonde, straight and silky, falling in a rippling cascade as though she were under water. She even wore a starfish behind her ear. He squinted at it. Upon closer inspection, he realized it could have been a hair clip in the shape of a star-fish. Or maybe it was just shaped like a star. It too was covered in sea-jewels. Either his sanity was in question, or her species was.

  His eyes dropped lower, seeking out her legs—which he found sticking out of the knee-length dress—very nice legs, long and slender and shapely, her feet adorned with spike-heeled black patent leather ankle-boots.

  Mermaids grow legs when they travel on land though—don’t they?

  “What in tarnation…?”

  “I know…I’m a little overdressed. I came from a party.”

  His head snapped up in surprise. She said the words so casually, as if she knew him. He heard himself ask the ridiculous question.

  “Party…where?”

  “Dallas—but I had to get out of there.”

  “You came all the way from Dallas?”

  “I’ve been driving for two days straight.”

  He peered over her shoulder. A BMW was parked crookedly in the driveway. Her parking job wasn’t the only thing that was haphazard. She was too. It was no wonder if she’d been driving for two days straight.

  Though she was drop-dead gorgeous, quite like a movie star in that snazzy outfit of hers, she seemed a little the worse for wear. Her hair clip was crooked, as were her glasses. And her clothes were wrinkled, boots scuffed. She was also weaving on her feet. Was she tired or on something?

  “I’m here for a riding lesson,” she remarked blithely.

  Ok, she was as cracked as he was. Jeb decided right then and there that she was tired—

  delirious in fact—as well as on something. Her words were slurred. She was speaking too slowly and if she didn’t stop weaving, he was going to have to reach out and steady her.

  “We don’t give riding lessons here. You must have the wrong place.”

  She gave an exasperated sigh. “I’m not in the wrong place. My father sent me—I haven’t ridden a horse in years. But I am quite accomplished. Well, I used to be before…” she trailed off and then cursed. “Crap, I need to pop a pill.” She fumbled through the evening clutch she held, seeking out a prescription bottle. She popped the lid and tossed back a few before Jeb could stop her. She’d certainly had enough of whatever was in that bottle.

  A pill-popping mermaid who speaks nonsense. Just what I need.

  She took a great steadying breath. “Anyway, I’m newly divorced. There I said it—thank goodness for Xanax. Both my father and my shrink thought it would be good for me to get back on a horse. Bring me back to my center. Wherever that is…”

  “You’re in the center of nowhere, miss. This is Montana.”

  She threw more attitude at him with an uppity pursing of her lips. “Are you going to let me in, or what? It’s cold out here. I’m not exactly dressed for this weather.”

  Her teeth had begun to chatter and so had his. He shouldn’t keep a lady out in the cold, but something told Jeb that if he let her in there would be no turning back. Instinct told him to pack her off into her fancy car and send her on her way, but she obviously wasn’t in a good way. She’d do harm to herself behind the wheel of a car.

  As if reading his mind, she bowed her head contritely. “I think I need straightening out. Will you help me?”

  Jeb resorted to humor, as he so often did. “I’m not the man for such a job. I couldn’t even find my own shirt.”

  She studied his chest from behind those enormous shades. “It’s a good look for you.”

  “What look is that?”

  “The shirtless one.”

  She began swaying in earnest then, clinging to the door frame. Guess that pill had kicked in. Jeb knew he had real trouble on his hands when she began speaking gibberish.

  “I never thought I’d end up like this…divorced. I was a beauty queen you know…I came all the way from Texas, can’t I come in?”

  “Guess there is no harm in you sleeping it off on the couch.”

  He’d surrendered to her demands, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t, for in the next moment the girl crumpled. Jeb caught her just before she fell into a heap on his porch. He swept her up in his arms, sequins and all.

  “You feel nice,” she sighed, just as she passed out.

  “Fuck,” Jeb swore.

  Now he was stuck with her.

  HE BUNDLED HER INTO THE HOUSE, slamming the door with his heel. He glanced at the couch in the sprawling living room. It didn’t seem right to leave her passed out there, no matter how big and comfortable it was. He’d put her in one of the spare rooms upstairs.

  She was light as a feather as he hoisted her high. She curled into his bare chest, her chilly nose pressed against one pectoral muscle. The purse slipped from her limp grip. Loose pills rolled every which way. Jeb shook his head in disgust. What was this pretty young woman doing spinning herself out on meds? She’d babbled something about divorce—guess she was taking it pretty hard. He still had no idea why she was here. She didn’t sound like she was from Texas, she sounded like she was from the East. Maybe she was just a girl from Billings who (in a Xanax-induced stupor) had taken it upon herself to wander over to Jackson Ranch. After all, the place was widely known in these parts. Maybe she was a runaway who was looking for a clean bed. But runaways didn’t drive luxury cars, and they didn’t have girls that dressed this fancy in Billings. So, she’d remain a mystery to him for the time being—a very wasted mystery.

  Jeb carried her up the steps to the room down the hall from his. It was Jenny’s room, Margaret’s sixteen-year-old daughter. The walls were covered in boy band posters, the bed spread an awful shade of bubble-gum pink. It would have to do. Not that his mystifying house guest would notice her surroundings. That’s how whacked out of her head she was.

  He laid her atop the bed, arranging her legs so they weren’t splayed so wantonly. He gave her dress a good firm tug so that it covered her knees. His attempt to straighten her failed. She groaned and flopped, kicking one leg off the bed, revealing the length of her shapely flank once again. Jeb stood there, not sure what to do next. He supposed he should get her shoes and jacket off and cover her with a blanket. He bent, slipping off her ankle boots. Her feet were pale and icy cold. He spent a few moments chafing them between his strong warm hands. Next, he scooped her up so that she was in a sitting position. She made little mewls of protest as he worked her out of the fur coat. The dress she wore was a halter style. The entire expanse of her smooth back was exposed. He did the same chafing job on her shoulders and arms before pushing her back to the coverlet. Her sunglasses had slid low. These were easy to pull off her face. She only grimaced a bit and turned her face to the side.

  Jeb realized he hadn’t seen her eyes yet, but now, though they were closed, he could see their shape and her lashes. They had
an unusual tilt to them and were hooded. Her lashes were spiky and cat-like at the edges, resting against very high cheekbones. She wore makeup on her perfect skin, that kind that came in a compact, a powdery concoction that covered everything. Why girls did that, he’d never know, but he thought he detected a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, veiled behind the barrier of cosmetics. He tilted his head, seeing some on her shoulders as well. Yes, the girl had freckles. And she wasn’t exactly a girl. She was certainly younger than he was, probably by five years. A few shafts of sunlight crept across the room, illuminating her tresses, which spread across the pillow. Her hair looked like it was made of fine white gold. Sort of like Abbie’s, except Abbie’s was wavy. This girl reminded him of Abbie quite a bit. Leggy and outrageously beautiful, with fine feminine features and hair straight out of a fairy tale.

  “Or a mermaid’s ‘tail,’” Jeb mused to himself.

  She also had that stuck-up way about her—a rich girl’s way. His brother had tamed the snooty attitude right out of his sister-in-law, and now she was sweet as pie. Jeb had a hunch this girl had a long way to go before she was sweet. The sun beamed off her hair clip now. It looked hard, like if she rolled over on it, it would hurt. Carefully, he rested a knee on the bed and leaned over her, doing his best to make sense of the clip. He didn’t want to pull her beautiful hair.

  He had just gotten the barrette free when she reared up and placed a hand to his naked chest.

  “No sex,” she mumbled. “Not yet. That comes later…”

  Her eyes were still closed, but their lips almost touched. He felt her breath on his face.

  “Later?” he asked inanely.

  “Mmmmmh, yes…”

  She fell back to the pillow, but the sound she’d made was so seductive that he sprang off the bed, putting a good amount of distance between them.

  “I would never take advantage of a girl in your state.”

  He didn’t even know if she was aware enough to hear him. All he knew was he was standing there blushing like a virgin. He guessed he’d gone too long without a woman, the mere suggestion of sex had him sweating in the cold Montana morning. But he meant what he’d said. Whole heartedly.