“You can’t be serious.”
“Sure I am,” he said. “You never specified how I was to catch the steer, just that I was to catch it.”
“Why you—That’s cheating.”
“Technically,” the reporter said, “it’s not, as I’m sure our readers will agree.”
“Your readers?”
“He’s from the Merc,” Scott said smugly. “He’s going to write about how I won my bet and got a date with you.”
“He’s what?” Amanda cried.
“Going to—”
“No, no, no,” she interrupted. “No one’s doing a story on this.”
“Actually, Ms. Johnson, I am,” said the reporter. “It’s called freedom of speech.”
It’s called freedom of speech, Amanda silently mimicked. Whelp. She ought to boot him from their land. Except it wasn’t her land, which made her feel…resigned. Outsmarted. Again. “You’ll never get near Houdini with that thing,” she pointed out.
Which turned out to be totally untrue, because Houdini was the type of quarter horse that nothing seemed to bother, including fifteen-foot-long pieces of white pipe with a lasso hanging off the end of it.
“Unbelievable,” Amanda said as Scott was handed the pole. He looked like a knight of old with a very odd looking lance. Oddly, it made her want to laugh.
“He used to be a drill-team horse,” Chase explained. “Probably thinks it’s a flag.”
And the horse probably did, but that didn’t mean Scott’s “invention” would work. Please, Lord, don’t let it, Amanda thought. She didn’t want to beg him to sell the ranch back to her. Or go on a date with him, either.
Amanda gnashed her teeth together, actually ground the enamel together so that it creaked in a satisfying way, which was about the only satisfaction she’d get, if she didn’t miss her guess.
“I can’t believe this,” she found herself muttering.
And all Scott did was smile.
“Actually, it’s a pretty ingenious idea,” Roy Johnson said as he moved closer.
Amanda whirled on her father. “Dad. I can’t believe you. He’s cheating.”
“No, he’s winning a bet. Gotta respect that.”
Amanda stared at the faces surrounding her, each of which stared back at her with various degrees of amusement, sympathy and even—in Stephanie’s case—glee. And it was then she realized she fought a losing battle.
“I’ll work the chute,” Stephanie said as Scott sorted the reins, the pole and himself atop the horse. He grimaced inspite of the painkillers he’d wolfed down earlier.
“Ready?” Stephanie asked as she put her hand on the release mechanism.
“Ready,” Scott said with a look on his face that would have done a professional team roper proud, except his Acme steer-catcher spoiled the whole image.
Amanda glumly crossed her arms in front of her as she watched Scott settle the horse into the header box.
“You gonna need me to haze?” Chase asked her.
“Why make it easier for him?” Amanda muttered knowing she’d lost her chance at the ranch. Darn it.
Scott took his position, her dad—of all people—moving a steer into the chute. Scott had obviously seen it done on TV because he positioned Houdini exactly right, either that or someone had educated him. He took a tighter grip on the pole as he nodded for the steer to be released.
Amanda hoped it wouldn’t work, or the very least she’d hoped it would take eleven minutes to “net” a steer. It didn’t. Darned if that lasso didn’t go around that steer’s neck the first time out, and darned if Scott didn’t hold on to that pole so tight the rope slid through without a problem. Of course, there was no way he could catch the end of it as it exited the pole, but that wasn’t the point. She’d bet him he couldn’t rope a steer. Well, he had. In less than a minute.
Just like he’d made you scream out his name in less than a minute.
She almost covered her ears with her hands. But she refused to let anyone see how losing her bet made her feel.
Disappointed. Frustrated. Excited.
Chase looked over at her, his face expressionless as he said, “Guess you’re going on a date.”
I guess I am, she thought as she watched Scott turn Houdini toward the barn without a glance in her direction. And I guess I’m not getting the ranch back.
THERE WAS A BOX on her bed when Amanda got back to her room.
Sure, she didn’t know until she opened the gray box that it was a dress, but she had a good idea because on the outside, in white fancy lettering, were the words Saks Fifth Avenue.
Saks, no less.
Sure enough, when she pulled back the tissue paper, a black silk dress and matching black shoes sat there like costly jewels, both of which looked fragile, but had probably set Scott back a small fortune. She checked the label—designer, of course. Oh, and it just happened to be her size.
Of course.
Oh, but it burned her up. Gone went her disappointment at not winning the ranch back. In its place was something awfully close to anger. Overconfident, egotistical male.
She scooped the box up, storming out of her room, down the hall and out the front door. Her boots must have smashed the gravel to smithereens.
These boots are made for stompin’, and that’s just what she’d do. Today these boots were going to stomp all over you.
Scott Beringer.
Mr. Scott Beringer…was gone.
She pulled up short when she hit the porch, the whump-whump-whump of helicopter blades filling her ears. Stephanie, Chase and her dad were all lined up along the rail of the arena, hands shielding their eyes as they stared at the departing helicopter.
“What the—”
She couldn’t believe it. He was leaving?
“Oh, my gosh, Amanda,” Stephanie called when she spied her standing there—likely with her mouth hanging open—the sound of Scott’s toy fading into the distance. “Can you imagine having your own helicopter? I can’t believe you’re going on a date with him. What if the two of you get married?”
Married?
“I’m not going to marry him,” Amanda all but shouted.
“Well, I don’t know why you wouldn’t, if he asks, that is.”
How about I won’t marry him because he doesn’t have a clue about ranch life?
How about because he lives a life of helicopters and homes in Aspen and France and goodness knew what else?
How about because she’d tried once before to have a relationship with a man like Scott and it hadn’t worked out.
“I’d rather marry a hippopotamus,” she muttered.
And she really meant it. She truly did.
IN THE END, SHE CHICKENED out on not wearing the dress. She had no idea where a man like Scott Beringer would take her, and showing up in a denim skirt and a white cotton shirt—which was about the dressiest thing she owned right now—to Viva La Fancy Restaurant where everyone would stare at her as if she was some hick from the sticks, which she was, she admitted proudly, wasn’t her idea of fun. Still, in a fit of rebellion, she wore black cowboy boots with a swirled pattern of leaves sewn into the calf. It probably looked hokey, but she didn’t care. Scott needed to remember she was no society girl.
You could take the girl out of the country…
And yet…and yet…as she stood there waiting for the helicopter to come pick her up, her skin tingled with a current of—oh, for pity’s sake—excitement.
Oh, no, she warned herself. Oh, no, you’re not going to get your head turned by a fancy dress and a helicopter ride, are you?
She wasn’t, she told herself. She wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t.
And then she heard that helicopter come in low and loud, and her stomach did that…that tingly thing that made her abdomen muscles constrict.
You are excited, she accused herself.
And she was, darn it, she was. In the distance the drone had become a steady hum, signaling a landing. What the heck was she supposed to d
o? Go outside? Meet him at the landing pad, er, pasture? What?
In the end, she waited. If he wanted a date, he’d have to treat it like one…helicopter and all.
When a knock sounded on the door, she called out, “Who is it?”
No answer.
Fine. She stomped down the hall, those darn butterflies returning, opened the door and said, “If you’re selling cosmetics, I don’t want any.”
But then her eyes did a bottle-fly bulge because her first glimpse of Scott Beringer standing there with a dozen red roses in his left hand, a box of chocolates under his other arm, just about made her gasp out loud. Lord above, the man cleaned up good. Better than good. He looked—and she couldn’t believe she was about to admit this—but he looked like that poster hanging outside the tuxedo store in town, right down to the sexy black tux with a stark white shirt whose buttons were cleverly concealed behind a strip of white fabric, with the exception of a single black one at the very, very top.
One she wanted to undo.
Slowly.
Lord, he’d even done a George Clooney slick-back to his hair.
What the heck had happened? Where was the geek? The glasses? The goofy clothes?
“No cosmetics,” he said with a smile, white teeth flashing. “You don’t need any.” He gave her a once-over, Amanda’s skin tingling wherever his eyes lingered. Nerves, she told herself. Just nerves.
“Nice boots,” he commented. And he wasn’t being sarcastic. He appeared to genuinely like her rebellious touch.
Get a hold of yourself, Amanda. A wolf is still a wolf even after he’s had a bath.
So she straightened, called out, “Dad, I’m leaving,” to wherever her dad was, then looked Scott squarely in the eye and said, “Well, let’s get this over with.”
Chapter Twelve
She felt like Cinderella.
It was the only way to describe how Amanda felt as she walked toward the helicopter. She was only missing the glass slipper. She had the carriage…well, helicopter. And she had the princely business tycoon on her arm. But she didn’t expect a happily ever after, that was for sure.
Still, as she took her seat in a helicopter that had a passenger area about the width of her front porch, she couldn’t help but peek outside the window to her left. And as she clicked the belt into place, she couldn’t help but think how nice it’d be to have so much money. And as she tried to ignore Scott sitting next to her, his left arm sharing space with her right, she couldn’t help but wonder if he took it all for granted.
Yeah, well, Amanda, wouldn’t you?
And Amanda decided she wouldn’t. Not ever.
“Ready?” the pilot asked as he glanced back at the two of them.
“As I’ll ever be,” Amanda answered.
“You strapped in, Mr. Beringer?”
Mr. Beringer? It sounded so formal.
“Go,” he said.
Go…an order, not a request.
The pilot did something up front and a low hum filled the cabin. At first Amanda didn’t notice anything different. Then a movement outside the helicopter caught her attention as, from her small window to her left, she could see the rotor begin to spin.
They were taking off. She was really going on a helicopter ride with Scott Beringer.
Slowly the helicopter began to sway. That was the only way to describe it. That or they were inside a giant Hula Hoop. The helicopter began to gyrate. First slowly, then faster and faster, the hum turning into a whine that climbed higher and higher until it passed out of her ear’s range of hearing.
Hot damn.
She all but wiggled in her seat, Scott completely forgotten. Well, not really, because she’d noticed when he’d taken a seat next to her that he smelled good. Really, really good. Like expensive pine trees. If trees could be expensive.
“Here we go,” the pilot said.
They lurched. The back end began to move around, then the helicopter lifted off so smoothly, Amanda hardly even noticed it. They began to climb. Higher and higher. She could see the ranch, the pens with the steers and bulls, the arena and…
Dad?
Yup, that was her father out in front of the horse barn waving up at her with his hat, his gray hair looking more white from up above.
Only when she leaned back did she realize she had a smile on her face. A huge smile. And who could blame her? Heck, she’d never been in a helicopter before. And she never would again.
“You like it?” Scott asked, his breath brushing her ear in a way that made her shiver.
“It’s all right.”
“Cold?”
“No.”
“Positive?”
“I’m positive.”
“Good, then look,” he said, his arm coming out in front of her to point out the window.
“Oh, my gosh,” she gasped, for now that they’d climbed a bit more, she could see a blazing orange sun dipping behind the mountains of the Bay Area. See clouds that gleamed off in the distance like a giant piece of gold, the sky above an egg-shell blue and then an orange and then a fiery red that seemed to paint the mountains and the Bay Area in pink.
“Beautiful,” she murmured.
It was. They were coasting over rolling hills and it took her breath away, especially when they seemed to swoop upward, and then suddenly downward, her stomach lurching as she clutched at something to hold onto, found Scott’s arm and quickly let it go.
“Was that a laugh?” Scott asked.
Had she giggled? “No.”
“Yes, it was.”
It was, she admitted. And she didn’t care that he knew it.
“Do you see the bay?”
She followed his gaze, her smile no doubt one of wonder as she stared at the strip of water that glowed like liquid mercury. Had they already reached the Bay Area? Man, she was going to have to get herself one of these things.
“There’s some fog hugging the city’s north side, but other than that, it’s clear as a bell,” the pilot said. “Should look pretty when we get there.”
The city. San Francisco. They were going to San Francisco. She should have figured. Why else would Scott have bought her a fancy designer gown and shoes? For a moment she wondered what the heck she was doing in a helicopter with one of America’s wealthiest men.
You lost a bet, remember?
Oh, yeah.
And then the pilot turned the craft and Amanda got her first glimpse of the Bay Area from the air…well, other than when she rode in a jet. Wow. Oh, wow. If the sunset had looked pretty behind the Los Molina foothills, it looked even more stunning with San Francisco as a backdrop.
Fog hung over the back side of the city, but that didn’t stop the sun from turning the tips of tall skyscrapers a gold and red that looked too vivid to be painted by nature’s hand. And though from their height the sun still shone, beneath them it didn’t, and so lights began to twinkle on, first from a steady stream of cars that crossed the Bay Bridge and then inside the office complexes that made up San Francisco’s east side.
The helicopter rotated around, Amanda looking toward San Francisco and wondering which building they would land on, and how safe it would be, and if her cowboy boots looked stupid and a whole host of other things that had her edgier and edgier by the minute.
Only they didn’t fly toward San Francisco.
She sat up a bit, wondering where the heck they were going: San Jose? Over the hill to Santa Cruz?
They headed back toward Los Molina.
“Scott,” she drawled out in a pique-filled voice. “Where the heck are you taking me?”
“Burger Barn.”
SCOTT ALMOST LAUGHED at the way she jerked in her seat to face him. The sun had just about set, but there was enough light left to illuminate that gorgeous skin of hers and her fiery red hair. “You’re taking me to Burger Barn? Burger Barn?”
“You said that was your favorite restaurant.”
“I was joking.”
“How was I supposed to know that?” h
e asked, trying not to laugh.
“But why the helicopter ride?”
“I was trying to impress you.” And then he saw her lips twitch as if she were fighting back a smile, or maybe a laugh. “Did it work?” he asked.
“Yes,” she surprised him by admitting.
Good. He’d worried that she might not appreciate his taking her to a burger joint for their big “date,” but he’d reasoned it was her choice. But when he looked at her profile, at that smile she fought, making her lips twitch, he realized he might have actually scored points. Go figure. The first woman he’d ever dated who didn’t want to eat at a four-star restaurant. And the funny thing was, he didn’t, either.
When they hovered over the tiny barn-shaped building that housed Los Molina’s Burger Barn, a lone street lamp lighting the barren parking lot, he felt more relaxed and at ease than he could ever recall feeling on a date. That shocked him. Sure, he knew he liked Amanda. Knew he wanted to make love to her, but he sensed in that calm a happiness and liking that went a whole lot deeper than mere sexual attraction.
“It looks kind of deserted for a Saturday night.”
“That’s because I arranged for the two of us to have the place to ourselves.”
“You what?” she turned to him, her hair once again flicking him in the face.
And that hair smelled nice. Like the flower shop he’d bought her roses in, only better. “Paid to have the place to ourselves,” he said again.
“How the heck much money did that cost you?”
“Who cares?”
Her brows went up, her amazing blue eyes widening along the way. “Unbelievable,” he heard her murmur as she turned back.
Not really. As she’d pointed out to him not too long ago, anything could be had for a price. He’d simply asked the owner of Burger Barn how much money he made on a Saturday night, then doubled it. Simple.
They landed in a deserted gravel lot big enough to accommodate the big rigs that passed through Los Molina’s main drag. Down the road a bit were other storefronts; Scott decided he could get used to the charm of Amanda’s hometown. Cars slowed as they touched down, Scott saw faces plastered to windows, little-kid faces, and from nowhere came the memory of him being a little kid, of how he’d wished someone would come forward and claim him as his long-lost relative and take him out of foster care. Someone wealthy. Someone who would buy him a pony and a…
Cowboy Lessons (Harlequin American Romance) Page 10