Steal Me, Cowboy (Copper Mountain Rodeo)

by Kim Boykin

  I was ready to dig in when my cell rang. Adam’s ringtone. For four years, every time I heard that sound, my heart would beat faster. On the rare occasion I didn’t have my phone with me, I’d move heaven and earth to find it, excited it was Adam and always snapping it up before the second or third ring. This time I froze.

  Beck seemed to know this and put his fork down to watch me. Still, I didn’t move. The phone went silent and then started up again. He pushed back from the table, went into the kitchen and brought it to me. Adam and Buster’s picture was on the caller ID. Beck was daring me to answer it.

  Don’t you ever dare me to do anything. “Hey.” I breathed into the phone.

  “Hey. You still coming?” He still sounded slightly less pissed off.

  “Yeah, if everything goes the way I’ve planned, I should be in Missoula Saturday night.” Beck watched me, sipping his ruby red wine, not mad but not thrilled I’d taken his dare.

  “Where are you now, babe?” He grinned knowing full well I wasn’t about to tell Adam Harper where I was.

  “I’m eating dinner.”

  “You stopped for a meal? Good, but you really shouldn’t be out on the road alone, Rainey. You never know what might happen.”

  “I’m a tough girl,” I said, and Beck raised his glass to me.

  “The place must not be very good, sounds like nobody’s there.” Beck raised his eyebrows, but that wasn’t a dare I wasn’t going to take. “You the only person in the dining room?”

  “Yes.” I could feel the blush from the lie across my face. “Adam, my food’s here. Can I call you later?”

  “Sure, babe. Be safe. Love you.”

  “Me too.” I ended the call and froze. What in the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t a me too kind of girl. And I wasn’t the kind of girl to go on a date with someone who wasn’t my boyfriend.

  I expected Beck would make one of his patented smart remarks, but he just started eating, chatting me up about South Carolina. “You haven’t touched your elk.”

  I put my fork down in surrender. “I love deer. They’re sleek and beautiful. If this is like Bambi, I’m not sure I can eat it.”

  “Only if Bambi weighs seven hundred to a thousand pounds and could kill or seriously maim you. Just taste it, if you don’t like it, I’ll fix you a grilled cheese,” he grinned, obviously aware of my weakness. “Promise.”

  I nodded and cut a little piece off and ran it around in the sauce. “It’s good, tastes like beef. And you’re sure it’s not Bambi?”

  “Maybe Iron Bambi or Super Bambi. I would say Bambi on steroids, but our elk is farm raised, naturally, with no chemicals.”

  I cut a bigger piece. “Bon appetit.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beck was smart enough not to mention the phone call from the asshole, even smarter to keep the wine and the food coming. “So what’s South Carolina like?”

  “You’ve never been?” She feigned being shocked.

  “Wasn’t on my list.” Until now.

  “I live in Columbia. It’s the capitol city, smack dab in the middle of the state. Columbia’s hot as pure T hell in the summertime, but it’s a nice town. It’s also great because it’s two hours from the beach and two hours from the mountains, with a bunch of lakes in between. That’s probably one of the best things about South Carolina, you can have the best of both worlds. And we have Charleston, which everyone knows is the most romantic city in the world.”

  “Not too sure about that. Have you ever been to Paris?”

  “You ever been to Charleston?”

  “Okay, you win the geography round.” He liked her laugh and the way she made her point wagging her fork at him. “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Nope. Just me. My parents have a little country store in New Zion, a farm community about an hour from Columbia.”

  “I bet they spoiled you rotten.”

  “Just the opposite. It was a hard living for them then, it still is. But they grew up there. Haven’t had a desire to do anything else. How about you?”

  “I’m an only too, and was definitely spoiled by my mom. Always wanted a brother though. When I was little, I told everyone I had a big brother. It was kind of pathetic.”

  “I think it’s sweet.” He started to pour her more wine and she put her hand over the glass. “I have work tomorrow. Better not.”

  Beck nodded. “So the dog, on your phone—.” The blush traveled down her face, her long neck and disappeared under her dress. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to make her blush more, without the dress, trace it wherever it went.

  “That’s Buster. He’s my baby. My best friend, Antwan’s keeping him while I’m gone.”

  “So, he’s your dog?”

  “Adam and I got him a couple of years ago.”

  The asshole probably got her the dog to keep her company when he wasn’t there. What an idiot for giving her a substitute when he could be with her. But it looked like Rainey got the good end of that deal because the Lab looked sweet.

  “So he’s the married dog?” Beck asked

  “What do you mean?

  “You know, the dog couples get to make sure they can actually do the parent/kid thing before marriage.” She all but winced at that last word, making him want to dig a little deeper. “So four years? That’s a long time, you and—Adam is it? You must be close to taking the plunge.”

  “Didn’t you say you made dessert?” She gave him her best smile, trying to distract him.

  Beck didn’t budge. “So tell me about, Adam.”

  She let a few beats pass. “I met him when I was on vacation in Florida. He’d just been drafted by the Tampa Yankees.”

  “That’s Class-A-Advanced, isn’t it? He must be pretty good.”

  “It’s hard to make it to the major leagues.” It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about this now. “So he’s coaching now.”

  “Must be tough. Commuting,” he grinned at her.

  “Yes. It is.” She traced the rim of her wine glass. “Now, about that dessert.”

  She loved his tiramisu, although her cute little nose turned up a bit when he presented it as tiramisu banana pudding.

  “I love a good tiramisu, Beck, and banana pudding’s right up there with grits and elk, but I don’t know about tiramisu and banana pudding together.”

  “You might like it, it’s the classic version with a southern twist, a little bit of banana liqueur in the filling topped with paper thin slices of brûléed banana.”

  I took a small bite and moaned. “God, do you serve this at the restaurant?” It was to die for.

  “The classic, yes, but I wanted to see what it would be like to blend the west and the south. What do you think?”

  I blushed hard again, wanting to rave about how perfect it was, but I was wary of the messages Beck was sending with his food. Thank God he didn’t just come out and say what he was implying, because I might have said or done anything for another piece of dessert.

  But dinner was over and we were to the point in the evening where he wanted to sit out on the deck and look up into that beautiful Montana sky—with me. And I had a boyfriend to call.

  “Dinner was amazing, Beck, but I’d better get back to the motel.” He looked disappointed for a second, like he might just let everything that had happened tonight go. He pulled my chair out but didn’t step aside when I stood up. I was close enough to touch his soft cotton shirt and smell his clean, earthy scent. Close enough that looking into his eyes seemed dangerous.

  “Rainey, I’ve got no right to put my arms around you,” his voice was low and husky. “I wish I did. There’s something here, between you and me. I know you feel it too.”

  “Please, Beck.” I’d been faithful to Adam for four years; I wasn’t going to screw that up now. Yet, Beck hadn’t even touched me and my skin tingled like he had. And I was beyond aroused.

  “Rainey, just give me a chance to change your mind.”

  “Please don’t do this.”

  “Then
one kiss.”

  The only thing more intimate than eye contact was a kiss, and I couldn’t give him that. But I wanted to kiss him, ached to kiss him. And I couldn’t deny that my body responded to him, to his voice. He was gorgeous, what woman in her right might wouldn’t want him? “No, Beck. Take me back to the motel. Please.”

  He stood there for a moment, then got his keys and I followed him out to the car. I couldn’t tell if he was hurt or angry, and to be honest he didn’t seem like he was any of those things, most likely because he knew he was right. There was something between us.

  Relief flooded me when I closed the motel room door. I slipped into Adam’s T-shirt and sat on top of the covers with my ankles crossed, wondering if Adam had those kinds of temptations too. I had always guarded myself against situations like that with smart remarks or just flat out walking away from seduction, and yet I’d walked right into Beck Hartnett’s place. Pretending it was just dinner.

  My cell phone rang. Adam. “Hey, baby, you still driving or are you bedded down for the night?”

  “Already in bed with your T-shirt on. How was your day?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that now. Put your phone on speaker and tell me what you are wearing under that T-shirt.”

  It had been a couple of weeks, but I knew this game. Adam would have me panting in a matter of minutes. My body was conditioned to respond to his voice, nipples already hard. That ache for him to be inside me that would soon be replaced by my fingers. But something didn’t feel quite right.

  “Do you have on that tiny black thong I bought you?”

  The edge of my pink cotton bikinis peeked out from under the shirt. “Yes.”

  “Close your eyes, baby.” I let his voice take me where I belonged. “God, you’re beautiful. I am so hard for you. Touch yourself the way you want me to touch you. Tell me what you feel.”

  I pushed my shirt up. My fingers skimmed over my ribs and made lazy circles around my breasts. I was starved for this and getting into it the way I was supposed to. “My nipples are hard.”

  “Tug on them. Feel my mouth on you. Licking. Sucking. Does it feel good?”

  “Yes.” The invisible line that ran from my breasts down to my core was electric.

  “Are you hot for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let your fingers trail down your belly, baby. Feel my tongue.” I could see his face tracing the line down my center. My legs instinctively opened to him, my fingers pumping where he would soon be. “God you taste good, baby. How many times can you come for me?” My guy, always keeping score.

  “As many times as you make me.” My thumb brushed my clit, almost pushing me over the edge.

  “My cock is so hard for you. Do you feel it?”

  “Yes. I want you inside me.” He was panting now.

  “I am, baby. I’m inside you. I’m all over you, eating you up. Come for me, baby.”

  My body unleashed every ounce of wanting inside me. And when we went over the edge together, I screamed Adam’s name. But it was Beck’s face I saw hovering over me, smiling. Gorgeous.

  What the hell was I doing? Granted, we’re talking imaginary lovers, but why had my brain replaced Adam with Beck? Was I punishing Adam for ignoring me, for leaving me with so many unanswered questions, questions I was afraid for him to answer? God knows Adam deserved to be punished eight ways to Sunday for that. Or was Beck right about him and me?

  The last thought brought on a heaping portion of good southern girl guilt, which is every bit as potent as anything the Baptists or the Catholics can dole out.

  What the hell was I doing? I’d better straighten up. I’d make it up to Adam when I saw him. Of course he would never know I was giving him mind-blowing penance-filled sex. And to be honest, as committed as I was to the task, I don’t think he would care if he did.

  “Wanna go again?” He asked after some pillow talk.

  “Babe, I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I should probably get some sleep.” And scold myself some more.

  “Rainey, I’m sorry I was a jerk. It’ll be good for you to be here.”

  “I’m glad, baby. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Kind of. I’m not sure about this coaching thing. I was used to being one of the players, so I tried to act that way with the guys. That doesn’t work so well if you want them to listen to you. Then I tried to act more like a coach and now they think I’m a dick. So, I don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry, Adam. I wish I could help.”

  “You do help babe. You’re my backup.” For a man who always spoke in sports clichés, you’d think he could have chosen a better one. Was I a backup? Just a replacement for whatever he didn’t have at the time? But before I could protest, he said, “You’re always there for me, Rainey. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” I ended the call and lay awake, my body still faintly humming, trying not to think about Beck Hartnett.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I put on my makeup in the mirror the next morning. “You belong to Adam Harper. You are wearing his jersey,” I said out loud, hoping the cliché would stick. I slipped into a cute yellow sundress with spaghetti straps just before Nell stopped by to pick me up.

  “I don’t know how you kids wear street clothes to work,” Nell said. “I’ve been wearing the same uniform since I opened my doors. Well, that’s not true, a long time ago they didn’t even make uniform pants. Just dresses, but now, nobody in this town wears uniforms. Except me.”

  “I love your uniform, Nell. It’s so you.”

  The day was slow, but better than yesterday. Four silver heads for a total of $44 plus ten bucks in the pickle jar. Three-thirty rolled around and my California lady was thirty minutes late. I sat down in Earline’s chair and prayed she’d show.

  “She’ll be back,” Nell said. “I saw the look in her eyes when she left here. She’ll be back.”

  But then it was 4:30 and no one but Nell and me were in the shop. The rest of her clientele was probably eating their dinner or getting ready for bed. Even Nell looked worn out although she’d only gabbed and swept up hair all day.

  “She’s not going to show, Nell, and you look tired. Why don’t we close early?”

  “I’m telling you she’s coming. So we’ll wait,” she said with a little fire left in her. “You haven’t been at this long enough to know. But I do.”

  It was just before five. I put my box away and grabbed my purse just as Miss California pushed through the door, looking a mess. Chin quivering, mascara running. “I couldn’t find your card to call. Am I too late?”

  “No, honey,” Nell ushered the poor woman to the chair. “What happened to you?”

  “They. Made. Me.” She could barely get the words out. “Go. Hiiiiiking.”

  So for the first time in the history of Nell’s Cut ‘n Curl, the fine art of foils was performed and the doors stayed open after five o’clock.

  Miss California’s name was Audrey and she was from Dana Point, which didn’t mean anything to me, but when she said Orange County, I knew where she was talking about. Audrey didn’t seem anything like the Housewives of Orange County; although she was pretty, she was also super nice. Sure she was probably a little high maintenance, and wasn’t the outdoorsy type, but when I got done with her, her hair looked fabulous.

  “Oh, Rainey. It’s beautiful,” she said, worshipping the image in the hand mirror as I twirled the chair around. “My stylist tried to talk me into this, but I’m new with him and just haven’t gotten to that point with him. You know?”

  I did know. The best part of my job is when a client embraces the trust that is such a huge part of our relationship. “You look amazing.” Nell didn’t pipe up, and when I turned to ask her opinion, she was passed out in her chair. “Thanks for coming in, Audrey, you made my day.”

  And it wasn’t just the money. She’d given me what the silver heads couldn’t give me because they were Nell’s people through and through. While fixing hair might seem like a one-way stre
et when it comes to the giving, I’d missed the love and appreciation my own people always gave me.

  Audrey wrote me a check because Nell has never taken credit cards. It took her a couple of tries to get it right since it had been so long since she’d written one. She’d even forgotten she had her checkbook in her great big bag. She put it in the pickle jar and gave me a big hug.

  The shop bell over the door rang as Audrey left, waking Nell with a snort. “Everything go all right, sunshine?”

  There was fifty-four dollars in the pickle jar from the other clients. I opened Audrey’s check and gasped.

  “She stiff you on the tip?”

  I turned the check around so Nell could see. $85 plus a $50 tip—only $437.89 to go!

  Beck hadn’t slept at all last night. Why had he screwed up the plan? He was going to have a nice dinner, and make Rainey comfortable enough to let down her damn guard. But then he’d watched her eat the tiramisu. That smart mouth savoring the desert he’d created for her. The moment she sucked on the first brûléed slice of banana, he lost his mind and the plan went out the fucking window.

  If he wasn’t so stupid, he’d probably be with Rainey tonight, but he wasn’t. He’d worked hard, worked the whole staff ten times harder. All of his employees were angry with him for being such a dick tonight, but it wasn’t like he was going to explain to them that he was falling for a woman who was in love with someone else. Or was she?

  He’d watched her while she talked to the asshole, blushing when she lied to him—she wasn’t alone. And she definitely didn’t want to talk about him to Beck.

  He took a long draw off of his beer, and looked up at the stars. He’d always thought there wasn’t anything much better than a starry Big Sky night. The moonlight made the lake and the mountains look dreamlike, the night sounds were peaceful. But now he could think of a million things that were better than this view and everything single one of them began and ended with Rainey Brown.