Cowboy Lessons (Harlequin American Romance)

by Pamela Britton

  Chapter Ten

  It was the longest ride of Amanda’s life. Long and humiliating because her dad kept shooting them both disapproving looks. Amanda hadn’t felt so mortified since the time Roy had caught her smoking in the bathroom. Still, it surprised her a bit that her father seemed to disapprove. Granted, Scott had stolen the family ranch, but she’d never seen her father so downright rank. He kept shooting Scott snake-venom looks, tugging his hat low over his brow as if he were about to mow Scott down with a six-shooter.

  When they got back to the ranch, all Amanda wanted to do was retreat inside the house.

  “Put the horses up,” she ordered Scott, and when he looked a bit miffed at her autocratic tone, she added, “I have some things to do inside.” Which they both knew was a bunch of hooey, not that Amanda cared. Nor did she care that Scott looked a bit pained when he dismounted.

  “I swear I can’t feel my legs,” he said.

  “Move around. You’ll feel better.”

  “I’d rather lie down in a bed.”

  She nodded.

  “With you,” he added, which made Amanda blush like a girl on her first date.

  “Sorry. Can’t help you there.”

  “That’s not the impression I got earlier.”

  Which was something she didn’t want to be reminded of. In fact, what she wanted to do was slink away somewhere and think about exactly that. Or rather not think about it. Or maybe think about it and then figure out what the heck it all meant. Or didn’t mean. Or—

  Stop it! she ordered herself. “I’ll be inside if you need me,” she said, turning away.

  “Oh, I need you, all right.”

  But Amanda ignored him, even as her cheeks turned as red as a Radio Flyer wagon. Terrific. Just what she needed. Scott making flirtatious remarks, remarks that, darn it all, made her feel all hot and bothered.

  She had mad cow disease. Because she sure as heck must be losing her mind if she was contemplating a relationship with Scott Beringer.

  Relationship. Hah. More like fling. One-night stand. Sex. Because she sure as heck wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d be sticking around the farm for her, despite his silly idea to become a cowboy.

  Slamming the front door behind her, she stomped into the kitchen. Her message light blinked, and for a moment the hope that it was the bank calling her back about the loan she’d applied for filled her with anticipation. She stabbed at the play button with enough force to bend her nail back.

  “Amanda.” Stephanie Prichart’s voice filled the room as Amanda shook her hand in pain. “It’s me, Stephanie. Hey, I was wondering if Scott might be interested in riding in the celebrity team-roping event at this year’s rodeo. I know it’s kinda short notice, but you’re such a whiz with teaching people how to ride, I bet you could get him to throw a rope in a heartbeat. Would you mind asking him if he’d like to do it? I already called Chase and he has a horse he can use. And if he rides, I’ll bet we’ll get tons more press coverage, which means more money for the shelter if ticket sales increase, and, well, it’d be just great. If you could ask him, I’d really appreciate it. Thanks. Bye.”

  When the beep sounded the end of the message, Amanda stared at the machine as if it’d started singing the national anthem.

  Teach Scott Beringer how to rope?

  In four weeks’ time?

  Stephanie must have eaten a mad cow.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Amanda just about jumped out of her underwear. “What the—” She turned toward the kitchen door. “There is no way you’re done putting those horses up.”

  Scott shuffled into the kitchen, shuffled because she could tell he was still hurting after his ride. He’d found his straw hat—although she suspected it was really one of those palm hats—out in the arena, too, the thing pulled low over his brow. Like her dad’s. “Relax,” he said. “Your dad offered to take care of the horses.”

  “And you let him? He shouldn’t be riding, much less cooling horses out.”

  “Amanda,” Scott said, grabbing her arm as she made to move past him. “Your father’s capable of doing a lot more than you think. Let him. He enjoys it.”

  “Enjoying it isn’t the point,” she said, moving away from him because, darn it, when she felt his fingers on her arm all she could think about was those same fingers…

  Doing…

  That.

  She warmed between her legs.

  “What’s he sick with, anyway?” Scott asked, and she was surprised to see the note of genuine concern in his voice, especially given the glares her father had given him all the way home.

  “Diabetes,” she said. “He’s had it for years, not that you’d know it looking at what he eats and drinks. Unfortunately, it’s caught up to him now.”

  “Is it his kidneys?”

  “That and other things. It’s why I came home after college. He needs help.” She tried to move past him again.

  “Amanda, let him be. Exercise is good for him. I know. My mom was a diabetic.”

  She didn’t think it was possible for him to surprise her, but every time Scott revealed another facet of his past, it generally did.

  “She managed her disease with diet and exercise,” he said. “I’m sure your father can, too. If you’ll let him.”

  “It’s too late for that, Scott. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

  “Then let him pretend for a moment that he’s not sick. If he needs help, I’m sure he’ll ask for it.”

  “You don’t know my dad,” she muttered under her breath.

  “No, but if he’s anything like you, I’m sure he’ll surprise us both by living to a ripe old age.”

  Had she been complimented?

  “Let him take care of the horses, Amanda. He told me they just needed to be unsaddled. Surely he can do that?”

  He could. She knew he could. She needed to—

  Escape.

  That was what she really wanted.

  “Now,” Scott said. “What is this team-roping thing and when can you start teaching me to do it?”

  “Do it? Are you nuts?” And Amanda momentarily forgot about their time at the lake and her father’s failing health and the need to escape. “You can’t possibly learn how to rope a steer in four weeks’ time.”

  “I can try.”

  “Without me.”

  He shook his head, crossing his arms in front of her. “And here I thought you were the type of person who’d want to help raise money for a homeless shelter.”

  “Oh, that’s low. That’s really low. And it’s a children’s shelter.”

  “Even more of a reason to teach me how to rope.”

  “Impossible.”

  “You forget who you’re dealing with.”

  But that was the thing. She did know whom she was dealing with. The man constantly threw her off guard. He was like a Cracker Jack box that revealed a really cool and unexpected prize inside. “You think just because you’ve got a genius IQ you can learn to rope a steer in record time?”

  “I bet I could.”

  “Your arrogance is amazing.”

  “I thought what we did earlier was pretty amazing.”

  “Please don’t bring that up.”

  “But we should, Amanda. We should talk about what happened. And where we’re going with this.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.” She turned on her heel, determined to leave him in the kitchen this time if it meant using a cattle prod to keep him away.

  “I’ll take that bet, Amanda.”

  She told herself to ignore him, even as she waited for him to follow her outside, which he did, his new boots clomp-clomp-clomping on the wooden deck.

  “I bet I can learn to rope a steer faster than you cried out my name by that lake.”

  It’s a stock pond, she almost snapped in exasperation.

  “In fact, I’ll make you a deal,” he called out from the top of the porch. “I’ll sell the ranch back to you for a dollar if I can’t rope a steer
in less than—how long did it take for me to pleasure you? Two minutes? One?”

  The words brought her up short. And even though she turned around only to note that he looked as handsome as a model on a Wrangler poster as he leaned against a post, she was proud of the way she managed to contain her instant pique as she said, “Pleasure me?”

  He took the steps slowly as he said, “Yup.”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve, buddy.”

  “Well?” he asked. “Will you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Accept my bet?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head.

  “You think you can rope a steer in less than ten minutes?” she asked.

  “Ten? It wasn’t ten.”

  “Yes. It. Was.”

  He lifted his hands. Big hands, they were, and looking more work-worn than when she’d first met him. She liked that.

  “Fine,” he said. “Ten minutes.”

  And for a moment she had to work to remember what it was they were talking about. Oh, yeah, he was betting her—

  “I bet I can rope a steer in less than ten minutes.” And it was really strange, because she could have sworn she saw a crafty look of glee enter his eyes just before he said, “Of course, now we have to decide what you’ll give me if I win.”

  She felt like her brain was a carton of eggs that had just been dropped on the ground. Hard. “What do you mean?”

  “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

  “Why?”

  “Just tell me.”

  But she had a feeling she knew where this was going so she said, “Burger Barn.”

  “C’mon. What is it?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Because if I win I want to take you on a date. A real date. On my turf. Nice dress. Fancy restaurant. My treat.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Really,” he answered.

  A date. But then she stiffened as a fragment of what he’d said earlier came back.

  He’d sell the ranch back to her.

  “Did you really mean it about selling the ranch back to me?”

  “Yup. If I lose.”

  “You’re on,” she said.

  It was the perfect solution. If he lost the bet, he’d have to sell. She wouldn’t have to ask him, or beg him, or do something underhanded to make him hate ranching life.

  “Great,” he said. “When can that guy Chase bring over that horse?”

  “I’ll call and find out.”

  “Good. I’ll just wait here.”

  And he looked so utterly self-confident, so completely unlike that beta male she’d pegged him for, for a moment Amanda wondered if she’d been had. But, no. The bet was as good as won. No need to worry. No need at all.

  THREE HOURS LATER, hours during which Amanda avoided him as if he were a walking cow patty, Scott watched as a brown horse was backed out of a fancy horse trailer that was the equivalent of a horsey RV.

  “You have AC in there?” Scott asked the broad-shouldered man who held the horse’s lead rope.

  He shook his head, a black hat low over his brow. “Just in the living quarters.”

  Scott nodded. “You must travel with your horses a lot.”

  “Chase Cavanaugh is a stock contractor,” Stephanie Prichart said with a note of pride in her voice. “And a six-time all-round world-champion cowboy.”

  “Wow,” Scott said, impressed, even if he didn’t know what a “stock contractor” was. “I guess that means you must be pretty good.”

  The man shrugged, tying his horse to a ring welded into the side of the trailer. When he was finished, he turned to Stephanie and ignored him. “Where’s Amanda?”

  “She’s inside,” Stephanie answered.

  “And Roy?”

  “He said he’d be out in a minute.”

  The man nodded.

  “Chase,” Stephanie said. “I’m really grateful to you for bringing Houdini over on such notice. I know you’re busy this time of year.”

  “You caught me between rodeos,” he said. “So it’s not a big deal. Tell Amanda he’s an easy keeper. Likes to untie himself, so she’ll need to pull the rope through the slip knot to keep him from escaping. Why I call him Houdini.”

  “Are you going to stick around?” Stephanie asked.

  The man called Chase looked at Scott then, and it was kind of funny because up until that moment Scott hadn’t thought of the man in terms of competition, but suddenly, he did.

  “Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he said.

  The sound of gravel crackling under four wheels caught Scott’s attention. A silver Honda headed toward them, a man behind the wheel.

  “That must be Tim from the paper.”

  “Paper?” Scott asked.

  “Yeah,” Stephanie said, turning to face him. “I thought we could generate some advance interest in the rodeo if they did a story on your determination to learn how to rope.”

  “Great,” Chase grumbled as he came from the back of the trailer with a saddle in hand, the thing hanging on his hipbone the way Scott’d seen in cigarette ads. “They can take pictures of him breaking his neck.” He shifted his hands, swinging the saddle up, not even sparing Scott a glance as he settled the thing on his horse’s back.

  “For your information, I’ve ridden every day since coming here.”

  “Yeah? And how many days is that?”

  Scott felt just like he used to feel when confronted by the class jock. “Three, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “Doesn’t take much learnin’ to fall off,” Chase mumbled.

  “Is that why you became a rodeo rider?” Scott asked. “Because it’s easy?”

  Chase paused in the middle of what Scott now knew was called “girthing up.” He gave Scott a look, one that seemed almost amused. “Actually, yeah,” he said, before pulling up on the leather with a grimace and causing the horse to grunt.

  Scott almost said something else, but Stephanie interrupted him with “Here comes Amanda.”

  Scott turned, and—man—did she look good. It amazed him the way her hair swirled around her—she looked like one of those women in a shampoo commercial. And then his eyes narrowed as he wondered just why it was that her hair was brushed till it shone. Why she wore a clingy light green T-shirt that read Cowboy Up across her breasts. Which Cowboy Up? he wanted to know.

  Scott turned his head, looked at Mr. Six-Time All-Round World-Champion Cowboy, the man staring at Amanda as if she were the oats in his bucket.

  “Hey, Amanda,” he said.

  “Hey, Chase,” she answered softly.

  “I see you’ve taken on a new project,” Mr. Cowboy said.

  Scott waited for her to defend him, to explain that he was far more to her than a “project,” but she just smiled and said, “I had nothing to do with this. My dad’s up to his usual tricks.”

  “Mr. Beringer?” a young man’s voice said from behind him. “Wow. It really is you. I’m Tim from the San Jose Mercury.”

  Scott almost ignored the voice, his gaze flicking between Mr. Rodeo Dude and Amanda. And then Chase looked up at him and smirked.

  That did it.

  Scott had never liked jocks. Justin Powell, his high school nemesis, had pounded that into his head. Literally.

  A face obstructed his view. “Hi,” Tim from the Mercury said.

  Scott tightened his lips and pulled his gaze away from Mr. Dropped on His Head One Too Many Times.

  “Hi, Tim. Nice to meet you,” Scott said, holding out his hand. The kid looked like a lollipop with an overlarge head and rail-thin body. Young with acne-scarred skin, black hair and wide brown eyes, Tim had Scott almost feeling sorry for him. Might have, too, if he wasn’t so incensed with Amanda’s friend.

  Tim looked a little awestruck, which made Scott feel a bit better until he saw Amanda smile at Chase before turning to get Houdini’s bridle from the rear closet—or tack room—or whatever it was called.


  “Did Stephanie tell you about the bet?” Scott asked Tim, who shook his head no before hurriedly grabbing pen and paper. Scott pressed his lips together. But why not? Why not give the kid a story? In a low voice so Amanda couldn’t overhear—not that she was likely to, what with her and Chase all cozylike—Scott filled the reporter in.

  “So you have ten minutes to rope a steer?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah, but it won’t take me that long.”

  “It won’t?”

  This time it was Scott who shook his head, drawing a smirk on his own lips. “Nope.”

  “And what do you get if you win?”

  This was the best part. “A date,” Scott said.

  Tim’s eyes widened. “For real?”

  “For real,” Scott said, giving him a full-fledged smile now.

  “With who?”

  “Amanda Johnson.”

  “Cool. Our readers will love this. Billionaire Bets for a Babe.”

  “A babe?” Yeah, she is that.

  “Ready?” Chase asked, turning Houdini toward Scott just as Roy Johnson joined them, his only indication that he wished Scott good luck was a wink that he didn’t let the others see.

  Scott straightened, looking at Amanda as he said, “I’m ready.”

  “Let me go load the steers,” Amanda said, turning away from him.

  Scott looked at Chase. “I just have to go get something from the barn. I’ll be right back.”

  Chase didn’t seem to care if he had to travel to the moon. He shrugged, then turned his horse toward the arena.

  “What are you getting from the barn?” Tim, the intrepid reporter, asked.

  “Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He held a fishing pole in his hands when he came back from the barn. Amanda couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “Actually,” Scott said to her when she asked him what he was doing with a fishing pole, “this is my soon-to-be-patented Acme steer-catching pole.”

  Steer-catching what? Amanda stiffened.

  “Somehow, I don’t think the Professional Rodeo Cowboy Association would approve,” Chase said in a monotone.

  Amanda almost turned toward her longtime friend, but she just couldn’t take her eyes off the thing in Scott’s hands. It was a PVC pipe, about fifteen feet long or so, with a noose hanging out of one end. The other end of the rope trailed from the opposite hole, the thing resembling a fishnet, without the net.