Bet on a Cowboy

by Julie Benson

  His jaw relaxed. The sparkle returned to his eye. Dizzy from his abrupt shift, Maggie had no idea how to respond, or what had caused his instant turn around.

  Griffin stood and held out his hand. “Let’s dance.”

  She glanced at the bodies moving in synchronicity on the wooden floor. No way could she execute those precision steps. The last time she’d line danced was at home, before she headed for NYU, and she’d been lousy then. “It’s been years since I’ve done this. The moves have changed a lot.”

  “Then you’re in luck, because I’m an excellent teacher.”

  Now that she believed.

  “People who have two left feet dance better than I do.”

  “Trust me.”

  His husky voice reached deep inside her, evaporating any fear of embarrassment. He looked at her in a way no man ever had, as if he truly cared about her. As a woman.

  She’d be seeing purple giraffes any time now.

  He was simply being nice. A gentleman. There was nothing more to his actions, but maybe for tonight she could pretend. Maggie placed her hand in his callused one and stood.

  Big mistake.

  Her pulse quickened. Her world spun, and she’d only touched his hand. Lord help her if the band played a slow song and Griffin put his arms around her. She’d probably spontaneously combust.

  On the dance floor, she tried to follow Griffin’s moves. She scooted right, then left, tapping her heels and toes, usually seconds after everyone else. Finally thinking that she might pull this off without too much embarrassment, she zigged when she should’ve zagged, and tromped on Griffin’s right foot. “I’m sorry. Let’s sit—”

  “I’m fine. Maggie girl, just keep moving and have fun.”

  After two rousing line dances, the band played a slow ballad. The gentle strains about a cowboy and his lost love flowed over her. She stared into Griffin’s mesmerizing eyes. He’d say they should take a breather. Get a drink. Go to the restroom, or some other excuse to leave the dance floor. She knew the drill, because that’s what happened with other men whenever the music slowed down.

  Instead, Griffin placed his hand on her back, leaving her shocked and thrilled. He stepped closer. She inhaled deeply and his earthy scent filled her. She’d died and gone to heaven.

  Please don’t let me step on his toes again. I can’t bear to spoil this moment.

  As Griffin glided her around the dance floor, for the first time in her life Maggie felt graceful. His attention focused on her. He wasn’t glancing around the room to trade up. She could get lost in this man, and not care if anyone ever looked for her.

  Stop this. You work together. Nothing but disaster can come from thoughts like that.

  And at the end of the season he would propose to another woman.

  She never should’ve danced with him. She should’ve said she had a migraine. Or a raging toothache. A sudden case of the flu. Anything to avoid being in his arms. How would she ever watch him flirt with other women? Watch him hold the bachelorettes and kiss them? She’d never before wanted to trade places with the women on her show, but now she found herself eager to do just that.

  Knowing all of those reasons why she shouldn’t have danced with him, Maggie wouldn’t have given up the experience for anything.

  But now the ball was almost over, and she had to think of Griffin like every other bachelor she’d worked with in the last six years. But how?

  She’d need a fairy godmother’s intervention to pull off that trick.

  Chapter Four

  Sleep eluded Griffin until three, by which time he’d hammered out his strategy to deal with the proposal issue. His other concern, his reaction to Maggie, had him stumped.

  He’d asked her to dinner for a simple reason: to keep her from coming back to the ranch and running into his mother. He’d figured they would eat and listen to Nick’s band play a few songs. Nothing more. Night over. After all, what about Maggie would tempt him? Griffin liked his women as curvy as a mountain road, with legs longer than a Colorado winter night. Who knew if Maggie possessed any curves at all under those ugly clothes she wore? He swore a feed sack would fit better.

  No, he hadn’t worried about being with her, but he’d enjoyed her company, and when they danced she’d felt good in his arms. Too good.

  That was last night. Today his mind focused on business. As he walked into the ranch’s office and threw himself into the leather wing chair, he said, “I’d like to take ten weeks off. Matthew Davis can take over my duties until I get back. Is that okay with you?”

  His big brother looked up from the stack of invoices on their dad’s large oak desk. Griffin thanked the good Lord that mess wasn’t his responsibility, as it had been a couple months ago.

  “We can’t afford to hire anyone right now, even temporarily,” Rory said.

  “I’ll pay him out of what I make.”

  He frowned. “I don’t have time for games. What’s going on?”

  “You’re not the only one who can land a high paying gig, bro. I found a way to put some serious money into the family coffers.” Griffin stretched his legs out in front of him. For the first time since the accident, he had a purpose and a way to ease the family’s financial problems. Damned if he didn’t like the feeling.

  “I could use some good news. Tour bookings are down this month, and our cash flow is more like a trickle. What’re you going to do?”

  “The director from the reality show Finding Mrs. Right was here yesterday and asked me to be their bachelor.”

  “A reality show? Don’t tell me you’re considering it.” Rory leaned forward and his chair squeaked. “Wait a minute. You said you’d be the bachelor. Is it one of those dating and marriage shows?”

  He nodded.

  “I can’t believe you want to get married.”

  “I don’t. Why would I order the same meal every day when I haven’t sampled the whole menu?”

  “I’m discovering a lot of benefits to marriage.” A dreamy look filled his brother’s eyes. Rory was whipped.

  “As lovely and captivating as my sister-in-law is, there’s a reason they call marriage an institution.”

  “But getting you married is the show’s goal.”

  “Oh, come on,” Griffin scoffed. “People don’t expect those relationships to last.”

  Rory shook his head. “At least tell me they won’t be filming here on the ranch.”

  Griffin shook his in turn. “We’re shooting in Las Vegas.”

  “Good. The last thing we need is a repeat of what happened to Mom when we made the commercial here.”

  When Devlin Designs had filmed Rory’s jeans commercial at Twin Creeks, their mother discovered Rory had agreed to model because of the ranch’s poor financial state, which was news to her, and to pay for her treatment. When the truth came out, she’d gotten so upset she’d collapsed, scaring the daylights out of everyone.

  “The way I see it, I pretend to search for the future Mrs. Griffin McAlister. The key is to pick the woman who’ll fit into my plans. I’ve got it all worked out.”

  Rory leaned back in his massive leather desk chair—now, that part of the job Griff had appreciated—and put his hands behind his head. He grinned. “This I’ve got to hear.”

  “I eliminate anyone who’s not career driven or wants more than one kid. Then before the finale, I drop the little bombshell that I want a whole houseful of them, and I want my wife to stay home to raise them. Telling the final contender I want to keep her barefoot and pregnant should send her screaming into the night, never to return. It’s perfect. I propose. She says no. I’m in the clear.”

  “Did I ever mention how career driven Lizzie was when we met?”

  “As far as I can see she still is.” Since moving from New York to Colorado, Elizabeth, a whirlwind of activity, had revamped the ranch’s advertising and marketing campaign. In addition, she was knocking on every door in the county, trying to drum up more business for her ad agency. “Career women like Eliz
abeth would never be happy staying at home raising kids.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “I thought about that. If my original plan doesn’t work, I can turn into a nightmare fiancé.” He’d spent the better part of the night sorting through potential problems and devising solutions. “I’ll get possessive or insult the future in-laws. I don’t know. I’ll work something out.”

  “Your arrogance could get you into trouble.”

  Griffin smiled. “Thanks for giving me another strategy. I can turn into a complete ass.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard for you.”

  Rory, the serious one, always played devil’s advocate. However, that tendency often dampened Griffin’s enthusiasm or drained the fun out of his idea. No way was he letting his wet-blanket big brother do that with this sweet deal.

  “Thanks for having faith in me,” he snapped.

  “But seriously, Griff, when relationships from reality TV go up in flames, the whole thing gets played out in the tabloids. If you act like an ass to get her to break up with you, it could backfire. She’ll probably do interviews. That could affect our ranch business, and we have to be able to face everyone here.”

  Rory had a good point. “So I’ll tone it down, but I can still pull this off. Every woman has a deal-breaker issue. All I have to do is find it.”

  “You don’t have to do this. We can find another way to come up with the money for Mom.”

  Their mother, the rock of the family even before their dad had died over two years ago, was in a tough battle against cancer. After every traditional treatment failed to shrink her inoperable brain tumor, they’d heard about an experimental procedure. Not only was it expensive and in Portland, insurance didn’t cover the costs.

  “Seems I said the same thing to you when you announced you were going to model. As I recall, you did it anyway.”

  Rory folded his arms across his chest. “That was a job. This is a show to find you a wife. That’s your life. This will put everything you say and do on display for millions of viewers.”

  “The spotlight’s never bothered me, and I see this as a job. It’s a sweet deal. They’re going to pay me three thousand an episode to date women whose only objective is to please me and get my undivided attention. What could be better than that?”

  “The saying if it seems too good to be true, it probably is, might be worth mentioning here.”

  Griffin leaned forward. “Think about this, Rory. The show runs ten weeks. That’ll go a long way to covering Mom’s medical expenses. If I do this, you won’t have to sink to modeling underwear.” He shuddered. Rory’s boss at Devlin Designs was pushing him to model other items in the men’s line, especially their newest product, boxers and briefs. The only reason Rory was considering the proposal was because of the money. “No one wants to see that. You could scar thousands of kids for life if a commercial of you in tighty whities came on during SpongeBob.”

  “Very funny. But I’ll do whatever’s necessary for Mom.”

  “You’re not the only one who loves her, you know. My going on this show can make a big financial difference for the family, for Mom.”

  “You sure?”

  “I need to do my part, and I’ll never find a better way to make some quick money. Who wants a washed-up rodeo cowboy with no education?”

  Griffin had once had his sights set on the lucrative endorsements that went with being a national bull riding champion. But fate had different plans.

  Although he’d wanted to risk returning to the circuit, his mother had begged him to quit the sport, saying she couldn’t stand worrying every time he stepped into an arena that he’d end up in a wheelchair.

  “Did you ask if they have a financial penalty if you break the engagement?” Rory asked, interrupting Griffin’s thoughts.

  He nodded. “I won’t break things off. She will.”

  “What if there’s a morality clause? Devlin Designs has one in all my contracts.”

  “There is, but I can deal with it.” He gave Rory the Reader’s Digest version of the contract.

  “You don’t think withholding key information like the fact that you want a brood of kids and a stay-at-home wife will constitute a breach of contract?”

  “No one talks about that kind of stuff on early dates. If they ask, I’ll say I didn’t feel comfortable talking about having children until I was sure I was in love. There’s no way they can prove otherwise.” He stared his brother down. “As long as you keep quiet, I’ll be fine. You can’t even tell Elizabeth. She could never keep this big a secret from Mom and Avery.”

  “I don’t know, Griff. It’ll take fancy footwork to get your fiancée to break the engagement without you violating the contract.”

  “I can handle it. Why’s that so hard for you to believe?”

  “It’s not that. You’re a smart guy, but we’re talking about some costly consequences if you’re wrong.”

  “I’m doing this.”

  “Damn, but you’re hardheaded.”

  Griffin smiled. “Runs in the family.”

  “Don’t jump into anything. Take a couple of days to think about it. Give me the contract. I’ll send it to my Harvard buddy. He looked mine over.”

  “I already signed the papers.”

  “Griff, this isn’t the kind of thing to rush into.”

  “We both know I can’t pass up the chance to make this much money. Don’t you get it? The cost of my medical treatment is part of the reason we’re in this mess. I’ve got to do this.”

  “None of us blamed you. It could’ve easily been me in the car with Dad.”

  “But you had insurance.” Familiar guilt filled Griffin. Because the sport was so dangerous, no company would insure a bull rider. As a result, the family had been on the hook for every dime of his medical bills.

  His brother nodded, understanding in his eyes. “When are you going to tell Mom?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “You were there when she lectured me because I didn’t tell her about my modeling job. Now you’re doing the same thing. If I recall, we both swore we’d never leave her out of the loop again.”

  Shoot. Griff had forgotten about that promise. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rory held up his hand, halting him.

  “I recognize that look in your eyes, so before you ask, no, Avery and I won’t make sure Mom doesn’t watch the show, or censor her reading material. Hell, the only way she wouldn’t hear about this is if we locked her in her room and isolated her from the outside world.”

  “I gave up my social life to run the ranch when you went to New York. Seems like you could help me out with this little detail.”

  Rory laughed wryly. “Sorry, you’re on your own there.”

  “At least I have a few weeks before the show airs to figure out how to break the news to her. Telling her over the phone while I’m in Vegas sounds like a good idea. Asking for forgiveness is always easier and safer than asking for permission.”

  “Not with our mom. You should tell her before you leave. This whole thing reminds me of the time we saw that guy at the state fair juggling chain saws. Hope you can pull it off.”

  “This is the perfect job for me.”

  Rory smiled like the know-it-all big brother he was, and Griff hated that. When was Rory going to give up that role?

  “The phrase be careful what you wish for comes to mind. This could come back to bite you on the ass.”

  * * *

  TWO DAYS AFTER MEETING Maggie, Griffin found himself in a sprawling house in Las Vegas waiting for her to arrive and go over show details with him. He had to admit his new digs had advantages. The game room complete with near wall size TV would be great for watching football games. The place was big enough for his entire family to live in without ever having to worry about running into each other. The drawback was every room looked as if it belonged in a snooty design magazine.

  He’d spent his first day in Las Vegas signing release forms and fi
lling out useless questionnaires about his favorite food, his favorite color and what kind of car he drove. First of all, he didn’t drive a car; he drove a truck. But what difference did it make? Couples never broke up because of ridiculous stuff like that, and those things sure as hell didn’t reveal anything important about a person.

  Then he’d taken the Myers Briggs test. Did he like to experiment or follow familiar approaches? Could he easily empathize with the concerns of others? Questionnaires like that made him worry he’d answered half the questions wrong and would end up looking like an antisocial serial killer.

  He decided he couldn’t put off telling his mom about the show any longer. She’d arrived home from Portland yesterday and would wonder where he was.

  Since her cancer diagnosis, his mother, never big on subtlety in the first place, had suggested he and Rory find nice girls and settle down. Since Rory’s marriage, she’d been concentrating her energy on getting her remaining son married, saying she wanted to hold his children in her arms before she died. But what woman would want a guy without a career or prospects? Or worse yet, no direction or purpose in his life?

  Shaking off those thoughts, Griffin picked up his cell phone and called his mom. Her voice, when she answered, sounded weak and small. The last round of treatments must’ve been tough.

  “Bet you’re wondering why I wasn’t there when you got home.”

  “Rory said you found work,” she said with pride.

  “That’s why I called. I’ll be in Las Vegas for a couple of months.”

  “Tell me about the job. Does it make you happy?”

  He flinched. It makes me happy because I’ll earn enough money to help you fight the damn disease that’s eating away at your body and soul.

  Griffin chose his words carefully. “It’s not a job in the technical sense. I’m the next bachelor on the show Finding Mrs. Right. They’re paying me three thousand dollars an episode.”

  Silence. That could mean two things. Either he’d rendered his mother speechless, something that had never happened in his entire life, or she needed a minute to calm down so she didn’t burst his eardrums over the phone lines.