KILLER COWBOY CHARM

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Now he had to go down to the bunkhouse and act as if nothing had happened up here last night. That could have been easier if he and Meg had cooked up a story about how they'd passed the evening. They hadn't had time for that.

  Still, before he left the house he ought to do a few things to cover their tracks. She was still in the bathroom putting on her war paint when he went into her bedroom and tossed back the covers on the bed she'd never slept in. After rumpling the sheets, he smacked his fist into the pillow, denting it as if she'd put her head there all night.

  From there he went into the living room, where the scent of wood smoke brought back potent memories. Her clothes lay across the back of the easy chair and his clothes were crumpled haphazardly on the floor. His mind stuttered when he realized Jamie could have easily come up here when he'd gotten no answer on Meg's phone.

  Or Tuck might have decided to pop in. The clothes in the living room would have been impossible to explain. Thank God their cleaning lady, who was a terrible gossip, only showed up once a week. She'd been there the day before getting the place spotless for Meg's visit.

  On his way back down the hall to throw their stuff in each of their respective bedrooms, he nearly ran over Meg barging out of the bathroom. He screeched to a halt.

  "I thought you'd left," she said as she pulled a blue knit top over her head.

  He followed her into her bedroom and dumped her clothes on the bed. "I decided to do some damage control first."

  She glanced at her clothes in horror. "Omigod. Is there any other evidence?"

  "Not really. The kitchen's a mess, and our dishes are still on the coffee table, but that doesn't indicate that we—"

  "Good." She quickly stepped into the black pants he'd ironed. "And thanks, again. We absolutely can't let anyone know." She buttoned and zipped with amazing speed.

  "They won't hear it from me."

  "Or me." She yanked the black fringed jacket from its hanger at the same time she shoved her feet into a pair of black slides. "I see you're wearing jeans."

  He gazed at her. "I figure I can trust you not to throw me in front of the camera."

  "Of course I won't do that." She buttoned the jacket and grabbed her laptop. "That's it. I'm ready. Which way to the bunkhouse?"

  He hadn't thought about her not knowing her way around. "What were you planning to do if I'd already left?"

  "Go outside and circle the house, looking for the white van. But that would take extra time. I also could have called Jamie on the cell and asked for directions."

  He should have known she'd have backup plans. A woman didn't get where she was without being resourceful. "Let me get rid of these clothes and I'll take you there."

  "Hurry. Every second counts."

  "I'll hurry." He lengthened his stride as he headed down the hall. In the bedroom he didn't waste time looking at the bed where they'd had the orgasm fest she'd asked for. He just threw down his clothes, snatched up his hat and clapped it on his head.

  He found her pacing the living room. "Back door's closest." He led the way through the dining room and was nearly into the kitchen when he realized she wasn't right behind him.

  Instead she stood in the living room, staring at him in a dazed sort of way.

  "Get a move on, Meg! I thought you were in a hurry." She blinked and walked quickly forward. "I am. Let's go."

  "Is something wrong?" He opened the back door and gestured her out ahead of him.

  "No, no. I mean, other than the obvious, that I'm horribly late."

  He decided not to press her on it. The morning was brisk, and he took a deep breath of cool air, which steadied him. "This way." He started down an incline toward the bunkhouse about fifty yards away.

  The van's antenna was cranked up, and the thing was huge, out of proportion with the van. With all the equipment, it looked as if alien spacecraft had landed, but he remembered from watching a movie being made in Sonoita that the big canvas things on tripods were actually lights. Electrical cords ran inside to the bunkhouse.

  Jamie, headphones plastered to his ears, hurried in and out of the van. Jed and Denny milled around as if trying to help. Most likely they were getting in Jamie's way.

  Tuck stood over by the barn with a small crowd of maybe ten people. Clint recognized cowhands from the area, a couple of wives and one girlfriend. No doubt they were all here to get a glimpse of Meg.

  For the first time Clint understood that his time alone with her the previous night had been a rare occurrence. He'd had her all to himself because she hadn't yet made her first appearance in the community. No one had dared to come up to the house and ask to see her, but now that she was broadcasting the morning show, they felt comfortable showing up.

  He wished he could somehow skip back to the beginning of their short relationship and go through it again. Only this time he'd savor everything more, because he'd have a deeper appreciation for the special treat he'd been given. He'd had no right to be grumpy this morning when she'd launched into her star routine. She was, after all, famous.

  "Are you doing okay?" he asked, glancing sideways at her.

  "Fine. Just keep going."

  "This isn't the best footing for your shoes." How she navigated in those backless wonders he'd never know, but she didn't seem the least impaired as she hurried along beside him. He didn't offer to take her arm, not wanting to be seen touching her at all.

  "I can manage. Listen, when we get there, I need to get organized for the broadcast, so I won't have time to deal with that group of people."

  "I'll make sure they don't bother you."

  "Don't be hard on them. Just let them know I have limited time to get on the satellite."

  "I'll explain it."

  "Tell me your foreman's name again. I know I should remember, but my brain is mush right now. Tanner? Turner?"

  "Tucker. He asked you to call him Tuck, though." Clint wished he'd brought his shades. Without them he'd have to be very careful of his expression when he glanced her way. Tuck had known him for a long time, had even been around during a couple of his lovesick phases, and Tuck would catch on fast if Clint cast even one longing glance in Meg's direction.

  "That's right. Tucker Benson. Tuck." She took a shaky breath. "I wish you'd reconsider and go on camera. You're exactly what people think of when they picture a cowboy."

  "Sorry, no can do."

  "All right. Then here we go." She smiled and waved at the crowd. "Catch you all after the broadcast, okay?" she called out. "Tuck, I need you over here by the van."

  "Yes, ma'am." Tuck, dressed in his newest shirt and sporting his favorite silver belt buckle, walked toward Jamie.

  "I already have him miked," Jamie said out as they neared the van. "Go get your mike. Got a script?"

  Meg tapped the case of her laptop. "Wrote it yesterday."

  "Need cues?"

  "Nope, I'll remember it." She glanced at Clint. "If you won't go on camera, will you at least let me borrow your hat?"

  Instinctively he grabbed the brim of his cherished Stetson in a possessive hold. It had been a present from his dad a year before he'd died. Nobody wore Clint's hat besides Clint. "Uh, what for?"

  "I'm having an incredibly bad hair day, and the hat will help. It'll look as if I've gone native if I wear it. Don't worry—I won't mention where I got it."

  Because she was a New Yorker, she wouldn't understand how he felt about this hat. After all the intimacies they'd shared, withholding his hat would seem unreasonable to her. He took it off and handed it over.

  "Thanks." She grasped the crown and settled the hat on her head with the brim tipped back, so it wouldn't put her face in shadow. "How's that?"

  He gulped and nodded. "Fine. Just fine." But she looked more than fine. Damned if she didn't look perfect in the hat, as if she'd been made to wear it. Of course a real cowgirl would pull it forward so that it blocked the sun the way it was supposed to, but Meg was still a natural for that old Stetson.

  He had the ridiculous
idea to give it to her as a souvenir. How stupid was that? Once home, she'd probably throw it in the corner of her closet.

  "Meg, three minutes!" Jamie called.

  "I'm on it!" Then she glanced at Clint. "Go over there and placate those people, okay?"

  "Right." The onlookers were staying right next to the corral and making no move to interfere, but Meg seemed determined to give him a job that took him away from the van. He had the oddest feeling that if he stayed, he'd make her nervous.

  In a small way, that comforted him. He didn't want to be the reason she loused up the broadcast, but he didn't want to think that she could easily dismiss what had happened, either. By sending him away, she'd shown that she was vulnerable. He'd hold onto that thought as a consolation prize.

  * * *

  Meg had done live feeds before, but from the streets of New York instead of the fields of Arizona. Earlier this year "Meg and Mel in the Morning" had run a segment in which she'd asked pedestrians a different question every morning. But she'd been on familiar ground then. And a man she'd been having sex with the night before hadn't been standing only a few yards away.

  Jamie balanced the camera on his shoulder. "I want you and Tuck over there, with that weathered gray wall behind you," he said.

  "Got it." Grabbing her lapel mike and battery pack, she motioned Tuck to stand beside her. But as she attached her battery pack to her waistband at the small of her back, she remembered the sweet pressure of Clint's hand there. As she ran her mike up under the front of her jacket and clipped it on, she remembered how his gentle caress had become urgent, his kisses deeper…

  "Meg, don't space out on me," Jamie said. "Didn't get much sleep, huh, kid?"

  "Uh, not a lot. Too quiet out here in the boonies." She managed a smile as she tucked her earpiece in place.

  "Thirty-second commercial break," Jamie said. "Let's check everything out. Mel and Mona, how are we looking?" He glanced at Meg. "Mona wants to know if the hat is because of a bad hair day."

  Meg stood up straighter and worked not to clench her jaw, which would make her look grim instead of perky. "Who has time to worry about hair? I'm too busy looking at cute buns in tight denim to give a damn." Whoops. She'd meant to say "give a hoot" instead of "give a damn." Her nerves were a wee bit on edge.

  "Mona also wants to know why your chin is pink," Jamie said as he focused the camera.

  Mona can bite my… "Sunburn," Meg said with another smile.

  "And Mel wants to know why you're not on a horse." Somehow Meg kept her smile in place. She'd never been on a horse in her life. After the incident at the parade, she'd avoided horses completely. "No time for that," she said.

  "Tip the hat up a bit more," Jamie said.

  Meg adjusted the hat.

  Jamie held up his hand, fingers raised. "Five seconds."

  As Jamie silently counted down the seconds, Meg cleared her throat and moistened her lips. Then Jamie pointed to her, and she was live, coast-to-coast, beaming into the living rooms, kitchens and family rooms of America. She never failed to get a charge out of that.

  The time went like lightning. She worked in her reference to the Mustang Mountains and the historic nature of the ranch, hoping George would see this segment and give Clint a break.

  After that brief introduction, she interviewed Tuck about his day-to-day routine, and his shyness in front of the camera made him seem like the strong, silent type. Then Meg promised viewers that she'd have three hot cowboy finalists on the air the following morning.

  Jamie gave her the signal, and the broadcast was over. "Good job," Jamie called over to her as he lifted the camera from his shoulder. "You ever been on a horse?"

  "Nope." She started taking off her equipment. "Why?" She had a bad feeling about that question.

  "Mel wants everyone on horseback tomorrow. You and the three finalists."

  Meg groaned. "I'll bet that was Mona's idea." Maybe somehow Mona had found out she was afraid of horses.

  "We can find you a real tame one," Tuck said. "Don't worry about it."

  "I'll need the oldest and slowest nag on the place," she said. "If you have one named Dobbin, that would be my horse. By the way, you were great on the air. Thank you." She decided not to think about the horse thing. That was tomorrow.

  "No problem." He appeared pleased with himself now that it was over. "Anytime you need me, just holler."

  "Thanks, I will." She felt restless and disoriented now that the broadcast was finished. Compared to the hour she was used to spending in the limelight, this seemed minuscule. She was like a runner who'd been taken out of the race a few yards out of the starting block. She wanted more air time.

  But she wouldn't be getting that until this gig was over, and if Mona stole her spot, she might never have that kind of air time again. She hoped she hadn't looked as disheveled on camera as she'd felt. Maybe the hat had been too cutesie, but considering how her hair had looked this morning, it had been a dire necessity.

  Besides, wearing it had felt good, a kind of talisman to see her through. She'd needed the hat nearby, but not the guy who owned it. Even now she started to shake when she realized he'd watched the whole performance. Strange, when nobody else made her nervous. But nobody else had ever gotten so close, so fast.

  And now she had to act as if they were nothing but casual friends. She walked toward the group of people standing beside the barn. "I want to thank all of you for being so quiet during the broadcast," she said. "Now if I can answer any questions, or—"

  "Can we get an autograph?" called out a brunette in jeans and a denim jacket.

  "Of course."

  And just like that, Meg was surrounded by people holding pictures of her, magazine articles about her and even a TV Guide opened to the page where "Meg and Mel in the Morning" was listed.

  She signed autographs and talked to a crowd that seemed to grow bigger by the moment. Jed and Denny, Clint's other two employees, finally made their way over and asked for an autograph.

  Jed looked like a linebacker in cowboy clothes, and redheaded Denny had enough freckles to brand him forever as the cute and wholesome type. Of the two, she thought Denny had a better chance of making the finals, if he loosened up a little. But she could tell from the way they both stumbled over their words that they were scared to death of her. No wonder they'd stayed in the bunkhouse the night before.

  So her star power had given her one night of privacy, one night to be alone with Clint. From the eagerness of the people surrounding her now, she doubted that she'd have any more privacy while she was in Sonoita. Today she'd be mingling with everyone at the rodeo grounds as cowboys came to compete in the contest. By the end of the day she'd be an adopted member of the community, and if she valued her ratings she wouldn't go into hiding tonight.

  At one point she glanced up from the People magazine cover she was signing and searched the crowd for Clint. He'd moved a distance away and stood watching her. She caught his eye for one tiny moment, and in that split second she knew that he understood. They'd grabbed their one shining opportunity to be alone, and now it was gone.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  «^»

  Clint could find no good excuse to hang out with Meg as she moved through her scheduled activities. Plenty of people were ready to do anything she asked, from bringing her coffee to loaning her a pair of sunglasses. By ten in the morning the crowd had started for the rodeo grounds where the contestants would show off their roping and riding skills.

  "You going along?" Tuck asked as the van carrying Jamie and Meg pulled out, followed by a procession of pickup trucks.

  "I…" Clint couldn't decide. Nobody would miss him if he stayed behind and he hated the idea of being lumped in with the rest of her attentive fans. He was more than that, dammit. But maybe not anymore.

  "Aw, come on." Tuck said. "This doesn't happen every day. I'll drive my truck. You can ride with me."

  "Can I borrow a hat?" Clint felt naked without his, especially if
they were going to spend the rest of the morning at the rodeo grounds, where all the cowboys would have on hats. Luckily he and Tuck wore the same size.

  "You sure can. Let me duck into the bunkhouse and fetch you one." In no time Tuck was back with his old summer straw. "It's not right for the weather, but it'll keep the sun out of your eyes."

  "It'll work. Thanks." Clint put on the hat and walked with Tuck over to a dusty pickup parked beside the bunkhouse.

  "What happened to your city slicker routine?" Clint shrugged. "She's smarter than I thought. She saw right through me, so I had to confess."

  "That didn't take long." Tuck smiled. "You gonna enter her contest?"

  "Not on your life." Clint got into the truck and slammed the door with more force than was necessary.

  Tuck climbed in the driver's side and coaxed the ancient engine to life. Then he glanced sideways at Clint as he let out the clutch and started down the rutted road. "You two get along okay last night?"

  "Yeah, we managed." Clint gripped the dash as the truck bounced along.

  "Eating in front of the fire worked out?"

  Clint stared straight ahead through the bug-spattered windshield and wished he'd ridden with someone else. He hadn't counted on Tuck giving him the third degree. "Yeah. She liked Jose's enchiladas."

  "Don't take this the wrong way, but ever since you two walked out of the house this morning, you've behaved like a man with a cattle prod up his ass."

  That was probably true, and he didn't want Meg to catch him acting that way. He'd have to lighten up. "You know I've never liked the idea of this whole deal, Tuck. I'm merely tolerating it because I have no choice."

  "I thought it was good, what she said about the history of the Circle W. George might think twice about turning it into a subdivision and golf course once he hears that."

  Clint nodded. He'd appreciated that part of the broadcast. "Maybe. But don't count on it."

  "Wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Sunshine. I would hate for a ray of hope to sneak in and spoil that sour mood of yours."