Love With a Perfect Cowboy

by Lori Wilde

  Her face paled. “The lake is gone?”

  “For all intents and purposes. It’s nothing but a stagnant mosquito pit.”

  She put a palm to her heart. “Luke, that’s terrible.”

  “Devastating.”

  “I had no idea things were that bad.”

  “It’s just the beginning. Farmers can’t irrigate enough to keep the crops growing. Ranchers are selling off livestock because they can’t afford to feed them. Tourism is our lifeblood and without the lake as a desert oasis …” He spread his hands wide. “There’s nothing much to attract visitors anymore.”

  “What about the Cupid Caverns?” she asked, referring to the legendary caverns for which their town was named. Inside the caverns, one of the caves housed a seven-­foot stalagmite that resembled the Roman god of love flinging an arrow. That stalagmite had generated a host of myths and fables that the town had capitalized on to encourage visitors.

  “The Davis Mountains are a long way to drive just to see some caverns. Especially when Carlsbad is not all that far away.”

  “Ah, but Carlsbad doesn’t have a Cupid stalagmite.”

  “Cupid is not enough to counter this drought.”

  “What about the mineral springs?”

  “They’re in trouble too. The hotels, the vineyards, the botanical gardens, all hurting bad.”

  “And as mayor, everyone is expecting you to save the day.” She summed up his dilemma.

  “Something like that, which is why I needed to talk to you.”

  “Are the phone lines down in Cupid? You could have just called.”

  Her question wasn’t totally rhetorical. Their area of the Trans-­Pecos was so isolated that it was sometimes difficult to place calls out. “I thought this mission necessitated a face-­to-­face meeting. Besides, I needed a break from that heat.”

  All right, so in reality he’d just wanted to see her. What was so bad about that?

  “Hmm.” She tapped her chin with an index finger. “Things must be really bad for a Nielson to fly to New York to ask a Fant descendant for assistance.”

  He met her eyes, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “You have no idea how bad.”

  A visible shiver went down her spine and she hugged herself. “But what can I do to help?”

  “First, let’s dispense with the Hatfield and McCoy thing. It’s long past time our families buried the hatchet.”

  “And not in each other’s heads?” She smiled.

  “This stupid feud has gone on far too long. Which is one of the reasons I’m turning to you for help. What better way to end a century of hurt than for a Nielson and a Fant to work together to save Cupid?”

  “Sounds good in theory,” she said. “But what on earth can you and I possibly do to end a drought? Know any rain dance steps you haven’t told me about?”

  “If I did, you can bet I would have already tried them out.”

  “So coming to see me—­”

  “—­is a last-­ditch effort,” he confirmed.

  “I hate to dash your hopes, but as you can see”—­she swept a hand from her head to her waist and back again—­“I’m pretty much of a mess.”

  A mess was not how he would describe her. Far from it.

  He saw a beautiful woman who’d been through the wringer and still managed to pull herself together and come out to dinner with him when many ­people would be curled up in a fetal position, crying themselves to sleep, but Melody bounced back like a Super Ball.

  Her top teeth worried her bottom lip, giving away her insecurity. She was tough and she would survive, but right now she was vulnerable. His timing was for shit.

  The sommelier replenished her glass with champagne and she took another long sip. Fortifying herself in order to get through the evening with him?

  “I came to you because you’re one of the best advertising executives in the business,” he said. “And, granted, the only one I know personally.”

  “Was,” she said. “This morning. Now I’m a has-­been.”

  “Temporary setback. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Easy for you to say, Mayor. Your job is secure.”

  “The position doesn’t pay much. I’m doing it to serve our community, not for the salary. Ranching is still my bread and butter, although, granted, right now it is pretty damn dry.”

  “Your community,” she corrected. “I’m a New Yorker.”

  “Deny it all you want, Melody. Cupid blood runs through your veins. It always has and it always will, no matter where you end up living.”

  She glanced away, and something akin to regret moved across her face. “I’m still not seeing how I can help.”

  “We need to come up with a plan for bringing the tourists back to Cupid. We can’t control the drought, but we can put on events to lure folks back to the Davis Mountains in spite of the lack of rain. That’s where you come in. You’ve got connections, celebrity friends.”

  She spread her hands on the table. “I’m not sure what you want from me, Luke.”

  “I don’t know either. That’s why I’m here. To brainstorm and see what we can come up with.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then I’d say you sure have changed.” He leveled her a hard stare. “And not for the better.”

  “Are you trying to manipulate me?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “If asking for what I need is manipulation, then yeah, I guess I am.”

  “I can’t just snap my fingers and make Cupid all better.”

  ­“People back home think you can.”

  “That’s my mother’s propaganda. She loves to tell everyone how successful I am because it makes her feel good. You’ve seen firsthand what a train wreck my life is. There’s nothing I can do for you. I have my own problems.”

  “I’m disappointed to hear you say that.”

  “Manipulator.”

  “You’re right.” He held up his hands. “You don’t owe us anything. I just felt obligated to try.”

  Her face softened. “I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing.”

  “It wasn’t for nothing,” he said. “At least I got to have dinner with you.”

  She sighed. “You’re determined to make me feel guilty, aren’t you?”

  “Only if it works.” He gave her his best lady-­killer smile.

  “All right.” She shook her head. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

  “You mean it?”

  She snorted. “Stop looking like you won the lottery. I’m not all that.”

  He stared at her long and hard.

  “What?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Are you for real? Don’t you get how special you are to our town? When ­people talk about Cupidites who’ve gone on to do well, your name is at the top of the list along with Pierce Hollister and your cousin Lace.”

  “Hmm, former Dallas Cowboys quarterback and a botanist who turned down an offer from the Smithsonian so she could prove the existence of a desert plant that everyone thought was extinct. A plant that has such strong antiviral properties, it could potentially eradicate the flu virus. Let’s put them up against a woman who makes her living peddling toilet paper and shaving cream? Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t even crack the top one hundred most illustrious Cupidites.”

  “You’re just down in the dumps.”

  “You think?”

  “Look, forget that Jean-­Claude character. You’ll find someone much better suited for you.”

  Like me.

  The second the thought popped into his head, Luke startled. Ever since his thirty-­second birthday, his heart had started to feel like the vacant farmhouse off Wolf Creek Road that he passed on his daily drive to and from Cupid. The house stood lonely sentinel at the end of a dirt lane, the only structure in sight on that patch of arid land, unseen by most everyone speeding by on their way to Alpine or Marfa. He wasn’t a philological guy and such wistful ponderings had taken him by surprise. He didn
’t want to be lonely anymore.

  And suddenly, Melody was taking center stage in his white-­picket-­fence fantasy. Right. Like she would ever come back home to Cupid for good. Like his family—­or hers for that matter—­would ever tolerate him hooking up with Millie Greenwood’s great-­granddaughter.

  Look what had happened when he’d tried it fifteen years ago.

  Ah crap, he was setting himself up for a hard tumble down a rocky cliff.

  Yeah? Guess what? He didn’t give a good damn. He wanted her and that’s all there was to it.

  Chapter 4

  EVEN though the conversation had drifted away from their reckless youth, her cheeks still burned. Why on God’s green earth had she mentioned that night at Lake Cupid?

  Why?

  Because history was a persistent undertow pulling at them, keeping them apart. Tugging him in one direction, her in the other.

  She drained the last of her champagne. The candlelight flickered brighter, casting Luke in a hazy golden glow. If they’d been born in another time, another place, to other families, things between them would have been so different.

  But fate was what it was and so was the past. No do-­overs. No mulligans. No what-­ifs.

  As it was, she could barely wrap her head around the fact that she was at Bernadette’s with Luke Nielson. Never in a million years. Yet there he sat, giving her his patented, come-­hither smile and smoldering stare that slid over her like a warm hand. His shoulders were so broad, his arms so strong, as if he could throw her over his shoulder and carry her for miles across the desert if she needed saving.

  In a flash of memory, she saw him as the lanky teen he’d once been and not the well-­built man before her. They’d been a lot alike, both from close-­knit families, each one of three siblings. They were both competitive. He’d been high school class president. She’d been the homecoming queen. He’d had a lawn-­mowing business in the seventh grade. By twelve, she’d been running her own franchise of snow cone stands around town. But they were different too. He was deeply rooted in Cupid; she was New York City all the way. He was traditional and down-­to-­earth. She was modern and creative.

  He ordered a bottle of an affordable chardonnay and his selection impressed her. Smooth, easy, humble, light. Completely lulling at first, but the wine finished with a serious kick that sneaked up on her.

  Just like the man across the table from her.

  She lowered her lashes, studied him surreptitiously, and surprised herself by blurting, “How come you haven’t ever gotten married? Smart, good-­looking, well-­off. I’m sure you have to whack the women off with a stick.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Who says I whack them off?”

  Embarrassed by the double entendre she’d accidentally started, she glanced away. Wow, this had taken an unexpected turn. “You’re a terrific catch. Looks like someone would have snared you by now.”

  “Thanks for the compliment,” he said. “But I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I’ve been busy building a career.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze holding hers. The way he took notice of her was both flattering and alarming. She wasn’t used to having a man’s undivided attention. “Tell me about that, Melly.”

  Melly.

  It was his pet name for her in high school. Should she correct him? Tell him she was no longer that perky cheerleader he kissed on that picnic table, the same girl who was once head-­over-­heels for him, but too afraid of displeasing her family to do anything about it.

  Long ago and far away.

  She’d changed so much and Luke … well … he hadn’t, had he? He was still easygoing, unhurried, and relaxed, always ready with a grin and wink. A winsome cowboy turned mayor. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. It’s just that Melody had bigger plans for her life, redeeming her reputation chief among them.

  “I’m all ears,” he prodded.

  He was easy to talk to. No doubt about it. She told him then about coming to New York and her early days in the business. The waiter cleared their plates, brought Irish coffees and a decadent chocolate lava cake dessert that Luke ordered.

  They shared it, bite for bite.

  She found herself telling him things she rarely told anyone. Her fears of never being good enough no matter how hard she tried. The conflicts her hometown values caused on a job where having to compromise her standards happened more often than not. How her love of the creative process and New York City made up for those conflicts.

  She pressed her palms together. “So there you have it. The ups and downs of a career that is looking pretty bleak right now.”

  “You’re at a crossroads.” He reached across the table to lightly stroke his thumb across the backs of her knuckles.

  His touch ignited her nerve endings. She sucked in a breath but she did not move her hand away. Oh, this was not good. She needed to remember that. Any decisions she made now were bound to be ones she would live to regret, but her body oozed warmth and her head was spinning and those devastating hazel eyes of his were doing her in.

  “No kidding,” she mumbled, and finished off her Irish coffee. “Standing at the corner of Walk and Don’t Walk.”

  Luke smiled kindly at her. “You’re tough. You’ll get through this.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Darlin’, you’re made of rubber. You’ll bounce back. I have total confidence in you.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to make it in this city?”

  “You can handle it. I have faith in you.”

  His words warmed her from the inside out. Or maybe it was the Irish coffee. Probably it was the coffee. But my, my, the man looked prime fine in candlelight.

  Her vision was sweetly fuzzy. This was her first time drinking Dom Perignon and she had no idea she would end up so drunk so quickly. The good stuff was the good stuff for a reason. Talk about drinking stars. Then again, apparently she had managed to drink a disproportionate amount of the Milky Way all by herself, not to mention the chardonnay and Irish coffee.

  Luke appeared unfazed by the alcohol and amused by her.

  At her.

  Grinning like a loon, she wriggled her fingers. “Hi.”

  “You’re tipsy,” he pronounced.

  She pointed at him. “And you’re cute.”

  “I’m getting the check.” He pushed back his chair.

  “Aw man,” she said. “Are we leaving already? I wanted another glass of Dom.”

  “You’ve had enough Dom. I’m taking you to bed.”

  “Ooh, now that’s a plan I can get behind. Forget Dom. I’m all yours, Luke.” They might not be able to have a happily-­ever-­after, but this was New York, not Cupid. Nobody knew they were together. Anything could happen. There was nothing wrong with happily-­right-­now.

  Was there?

  His face turned the color of sugar beets. “Putting, putting,” he sputtered. “I’m putting you to bed.”

  “Putting, taking.” She shrugged. “Who cares as long as we get to bed?”

  Luke held up a hand for the passing waiter. “Check please.”

  Dang, he had big hands. And dang, she was thinking “dang.” She’d worked hard to scrub the Texas colloquialism out of her vocabulary. But let her get around a cowboy for five minutes and blam-­o, it all came rocketing back.

  You can take the girl out of the country …

  She was having all kinds of thoughts she shouldn’t be having about Luke and beds and big hands when the waiter brought the check.

  Luke peeled several one-­hundred-­dollar bills from his money clip and tucked them underneath the receipt.

  “Don’t you use credit cards?”

  “Not if I can help it. I dislike credit.”

  “Old-­fashioned.” She clicked her tongue, shook her head.

  “You disapprove.”

  “It was an observation, not a judgment.”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “No.”

  He raised a skept
ical eyebrow. “You spent your whole life trying to get out of traditional, old-­fashioned Cupid.”

  “Yeah.” She notched up her chin. “And I did it too.”

  “I always knew you would. You’re the most persistent woman I’ve ever known.”

  “Look where it got me.” She flung her arms wide. “Fired from my job and dumped by my boyfriend all in one day.”

  “Neither of whom were worthy of you,” he said staunchly.

  “I appreciate the loyalty.” She hiccupped.

  Loudly.

  The ­couple at the next table frowned at her.

  She giggled, slapped a palm over her mouth, and raised her shoulders. “Oops, sorry. Too much bubbly.”

  “Don’t let those frowners get you down,” he whispered, winked.

  “Hey, at least I didn’t burp.”

  “There is that.” He stood. “C’mon, let’s hit the trail.”

  She pushed back her chair and started to get to her feet, but in the process, caught the tip of her shoe against the chair’s front leg. She pitched forward, hit into the edge of the table with her hip.

  Stumbled.

  “Ouch.”

  “Here,” Luke said in that low, testosterone-­laden voice of his, and slipped an arm around her waist. “Lean on me.”

  She did as he told her, because (a) she was having trouble staying firmly planted on her four-­inch stilettos and (b) she wanted to touch him more desperately than she’d ever wanted to touch any man in her entire life.

  His body was rock-­solid—­strong and hard and just there—­like the Davis Mountains back home.

  Her head was spinning from the expensive champagne, from the pressure of his palm at her back, from the fact that being with him felt sinfully taboo. Nothing tantalized more than the forbidden, and a dozen conflicting urges pushed through her. Half of those urges having something to do with getting away from him as quickly as she could and the other half compelling her to press as close to him as possible.

  Alarmingly familiar feelings.

  And then she did the most shocking thing.

  There in the dining room of Bernadette’s, as her life was falling in shambles around her, she reached up, slid her arms around Luke’s neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.