Tempted by a Cowboy

by Vonna Harper, Melissa MacNeal

  She wheezed. Counted again, pinching the crisp, folded fifties to be sure they didn’t stick together. Sure enough, she had twelve of them.

  And what had he planned to do with that money? He’s not the type to carry that much cash.

  Diana blinked. How did she know that? She’d seen him all of twenty minutes before she’d gone to that motel room, and her mind had swum in a romantic muddle ever since. His story about that woman disappearing with his daughters could’ve been a ploy to win her sympathy. And how did she know he was really an accountant? And what if he used Garrison’s truck to commit a crime? Wouldn’t the cops trace the truck back to this address? Could she be held responsible for Michael’s actions if he turned out to be a bad apple?

  She caught sight of her scowl in the dresser mirror. When Michael had stood here behind her, holding her against his darker bare body, looking over her shoulder with those sparkling onyx eyes, her whole being had glowed. Now she looked like a worn-down widow again, old before her time.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, her thoughts taunted. Why does your happiness depend upon a man?

  But hey, she had money for food. And surely there’d be enough left to consult that attorney about how to handle Pohlsen…or who to contact so her home wouldn’t be dozed to make way for a damn resort community. If she stayed here whimpering, Fritzi Pohlsen would soon be choosing custom window treatments and gold-plated faucets for her new home. Right here in this spot.

  Diana grabbed her purse. That despicable banker and his high-toned wife would not build their McMansion here! This was her ranch!

  She walked resolutely to the garage, a woman on a mission. She stopped at the mailbox, cringing at past-due bills from the funeral home and the electric co-op. A greeting card awaited her at the bottom of the pile, addressed in handwriting she didn’t recognize.

  Surely this wasn’t another sympathy card, so long after Garrison’s passing. She almost tossed it on the passenger seat, but something about the masculine handwriting made her heart pound with hope. The front of the card showed a lone horse and rider silhouetted against a desert sunset. When she opened it, a folded slip of paper fell into her lap.

  Diana, my angel, the neat black printing read. I hit a couple lucky jackpots at the Silverwolf, and then won big-time at the Belt rodeo. You were my lucky charm and inspiration, so you should have this. Not since my mother died has any woman shown me such warmth and love without expecting anything in return. CALL TO LET ME KNOW YOU GOT THIS. Michael.

  Her heart did a flip-flop as she noted his cell number. She reread the note twice before she picked up the folded paper with trembling fingers. He’d been thinking of her! He’d won at his first rodeo event!

  “He loves me!” she whispered as tears sprang to her eyes. Then she mopped her face to be sure of the amount written on his money order.

  Forty-five hundred dollars.

  “Holy shit! Holy—” Diana flicked the fan up to its highest setting and stared at the paper. This wasn’t a check written on some account that might be bogus. This was honest-to-God money.

  Forty-five hundred dollars. Plus the fifties she had in her wallet.

  When she could get her breath, Diana dug her cell phone out of her purse. She hastily thumbnailed the number at the bottom of the card, and then waited. One ring…two…

  10

  When Michael saw the number of his incoming call his heart kicked his rib cage. He trotted behind the chutes toward the guy with the clipboard. “Yeah, Diana? Diana, hold on, sugar!” he wheezed. The crowd in the arena went wild, which told him the first saddle bronc rider had scored well.

  He grabbed the hostler’s arm. “Hey, put me as the last rider! I got an emergency call!” he rasped, pointing to his cell phone.

  The guy’s fat mustache curved downward. “Can’t just up and change the order of contestants, now that the event’s—”

  “Diana? Hold on, honey! Breathe real deep and then let it out in little pants! Remember?” He imitated the pattern he’d learned while coaching Carina during childbirth classes.

  The man’s eyes widened. “All right—I’ll tell the announcer you’re goin’ last. But you surely knew about that baby before you paid your entry fee!” he groused as he hurried toward the booth.

  “Baby? What baby?” Diana demanded in his other ear. “Michael, what’s going on? Where are you? What’s all that noise?”

  He grinned as her voice filled him with the only sound he’d wanted to hear these past few weeks. “Diana, I’ve almost called you every night, but I had to be sure you still wanted—”

  “Michael, I’m sitting in my car, at the mailbox, and I’m holding a money order for forty-five hundred dollars,” she said in a shaky voice. “What the hell is that for?”

  “Whatever you want, sugar. No strings,” he added quickly, and then wished he hadn’t. He wanted strings—to wrap around her, to wrap around his own heart—but the loading chutes under a grandstand filled with cheering fans wasn’t the place to discuss that. “Angel, I’ve got to saddle up, so I can—”

  “And you’re winning! That’s so awesome, Michael!”

  His heart swelled. He closed his eyes to see her sweet face in his mind. “It is awesome. And I’m so damn glad to hear your voice again, sweetheart. I’ll call you tonight, okay? Unless you’ve got a hot date with some stud—”

  “Fat chance! I’m going for groceries, but then I’ll be home waiting for your call! And, hey—who’s Will Killiam?”

  He scowled. Why was she asking him that? The hostler was back, frantically pointing him toward his chute, where a rangy, mottled bronc kicked the wooden partitions. “Will’s my—look, it’s a long story and I’ve got to saddle my bronc. Talk to you tonight, Diana. Want you, angel.”

  He punched off his phone and buttoned it into his shirt pocket. Crammed his hat tighter and grabbed his saddle. His pulse raced to the music of Diana’s voice…damn horse snorted and kicked while he slipped down into the narrow chute to saddle it. Michael slapped the horse’s belly, tightened the cinch with a hard yank, and then heard his cue blaring out of the speakers.

  “Our last contestant in the saddle bronc competition is Mike White Horse, who hails from Medicine Lake, Montana,” the announcer’s voice boomed out over the sound system. “Mike has drawn Demon’s Dare, a horse with a nasty reputation on the circuit. You clowns and pickup riders better be ready—we’re all wishing Mike the best.”

  He silenced his mind. Breathed deeply. Let instinct take over. He reveled in the scents of sweaty horseflesh and corn dogs and fresh straw. Slipped his foot into the stirrup and swung over the bronc’s back, allowing his body to gauge the high-strung mount’s skittishness and the likelihood of it making any unexpected moves during this eight-second contest of wills. Guessing how a random saddle bronc would behave was a lot like figuring out a woman’s patterns—but rewarding in a different way.

  With a last fleeting thought of Diana smiling at him, Michael wrapped the rope around his arm. He took a deep breath and held it.

  Whack! The gate flew up as the band played a rousing march tune, and Michael’s mount began to spin like a wicked tornado. He let his mind go slack, let his body flow and fly with the bronc’s, spinning like a tightly wound top on a horse born to break every bone in a man’s body. Some mounts had to be kicked and cajoled to perform, thus raising the cowboy’s chance at a high score, but this demon loved his work. Up and back he kicked with spine-cracking strength, spiraling around the arena with a speed and agility Michael had seldom encountered.

  When the buzzer sounded and the crowd roared, Michael opened his eyes. He spotted the pickup riders. Let the strap fall from his arm so he could leap off at the best moment in the horse’s spin cycle. He hit the dirt with a whump and instinctively rolled away from the bronc while the clowns steered the snorting horse toward the gate.

  “And there’s your winner, folks!” the announcer bellowed. “Our judges have given Mike White Horse a nearly perfect score, based on his riding sk
ill and agility on the tightest sidewinder of a mount we’ve seen this week! Show him how you liked it, folks! Mike White Horse!”

  Michael rolled to his feet to accept his applause. Raising his black hat in thanks, he trotted out of the arena—then fell back against the wooden post at the end of the ramp to catch his breath. Every muscle in his body was crying out from the tension of that ride, but it was a glorious stress: it affirmed that he’d done the right thing, returning to rodeo now rather than waiting. Hell, in a few more years his body wouldn’t withstand this abuse.

  “Helluva ride, Mike! So what’s your secret?”

  He opened his eyes: a microphone was in his face, and the guy holding it wore a press pass and a big grin. “No secret,” he replied. “Does you no good to be smarter than the horse, or to anticipate its moves, because you’ll guess wrong every time. Really good rodeo stock is bred and trained to go hellbent-for-leather.”

  The reporter’s head tipped a little as he listened. “But you looked so natural—so unconcerned—while your mount spun in some of the nastiest circles I’ve seen.”

  Michael reminded himself rodeo was a family-oriented sport, and smiled cryptically. “I respond to the horse, rather than reacting. Rodeo broncs are a lot like women, because if you think you’ve figured them out, they’ll throw you every time. Respect and adoration—giving the bronc its way—gets you further than dominating it.”

  The reporter laughed out loud. “Our lady listeners are chuckling about that one! Good luck to you on the circuit, Mike! Good to have you back in the game.”

  And it was good to be back, wasn’t it? As he watched the stocky reporter hustle through the dim passageway beneath the grandstand…heard the laughter as the announcer and the clowns bantered back and forth between events…Michael felt a deep sense of satisfaction that eased a lot of his physical discomfort.

  He gathered his gear and headed for the pay window. Strolled toward the proud red pickup with his saddle slung over his shoulder and a spring in his step. He’d treat himself to a good steak and a belt or two of high-dollar whiskey rather than the chili and beer he’d devoured as a younger rodeo contestant.

  But first he stopped at a convenience store and put three-quarters of his prize into a money order…tucked it into a greeting card that showed a row of blue-jeaned cowboy butts along a corral gate. Diana would laugh at the eye candy before her jaw dropped at another gift from him. He wasn’t wild about sending her money and she wasn’t keen on accepting it, but it was a give-and-take that served his purpose until he could engage her in the give-and-take they both liked so much better.

  “Diana…how ya doin’ tonight, angel?” Michael relaxed against the bed pillows, closing his eyes to picture her in that homey bedroom with the four-poster.

  “Michael! I’m fine! So how’d you ride today?”

  He smiled, partly from the second glass of Yukon Jack and water he balanced on his chest, and partly from the way her voice affected his vital parts. “You’re talkin’ to a winner,” he crooned, “but an eight-second ride wouldn’t be nearly long enough if I were there with you. Whatcha doin’?”

  She giggled tentatively, which made his insides twitch. “I’ll have you know I indulged in a steak tonight.”

  “Glad to hear it. Me, too.”

  “Before that I restocked the fridge and kitchen shelves. I can’t thank you enough, Michael. You saved my life—”

  “I doubt that, sugar. You’re a tough one.”

  “And I owe you big-time for helping me.”

  “Nonsense. Nobody else would’ve loaned me her husband’s truck and told me to go follow my dream, Diana. I haven’t nearly repaid you for that favor.” He sipped his drink, considering where to take this. “But we’re talkin’ awfully serious here, considering—”

  “Oh! And I called Will Killiam. We set a time next week to look at my…financial options with the bank.”

  Envy kicked his gut like a wayward bronc. Will’s business card must’ve slipped out of his wallet with those fifties—which would teach him to pay attention to what he was doing, instead of gawking at Diana. Killiam’s personal power and refined looks won him a lot of cases…and women. “Probably should’ve stayed there to help you myself—”

  “He spoke very highly of you, both as an accountant and a rodeo rider,” she interrupted pertly.

  “As well he should! I’ve pulled his ass out of a few fires, and he’s advised me about some casino situations. He was my college roommate,” Michael added, lowering his voice, trying to remain calm. “Good-lookin’ sucker, too, so don’t go getting any ideas about bartering your uh, services for his.”

  “Michael! Really!”

  Shit. This wasn’t how he’d planned to talk to her tonight. “Sorry, angel. Will and I know each other’s tricks, okay? I didn’t mean to imply that you would behave—”

  “Well, I guess I gave you reason to, didn’t I?” came her soft reply. “Michael, I’m not the type to check into a motel with a stranger, or to peel off my clothes for—”

  “Ah, shucks, ma’am. I was hoping for some down-and-dirty phone sex. You in?” The liquor and his loneliness made him say that. Would she listen?

  She sucked air—and sucked away what remained of his rational thought. “You think I’m the kind of woman who…well, hell! I guess I am!”

  In the blink of an eye Diana had switched gears. Transformed herself into the wayward, willing woman he’d hoped to indulge in tonight, and he loved her for it. “So what’re you gonna do about it?” he challenged in a low whisper. He set his drink on the nightstand, thrumming with sweet anticipation.

  Oh, that wicked laugh that came through his phone! “You’ve already got your pants down, don’t you, Michael?”

  “Who says I was wearing any?”

  Diana snickered. “So should I confesss I’d just stepped out of the shower when you called? Had to run through the house all wet and naked to catch the phone—”

  “Hope to hell you shut the drapes!”

  “Maybe I left them open. So you could…watch me.”

  His cock shot up at that edge in her voice—at the way she directed his mind’s eye to peer through the front window from her porch, to gaze at her fine, feisty smile and the body that taunted him. “Oh, I’m watchin’, all right,” he murmured hoarsely. “And I have to wonder what you’re thinking about while you stand there with your foot on the arm of that chair…strumming yourself. Grab your tits and squeeze ’em together. Point your nipples at me—”

  “Grab ’em yourself, cowboy. And while your hands are busy with my boobs, I’m wrapping mine around your long…hard…cock, Michael. And I intend to get a long, hard ride out of that thing, ya know?”

  “Oh, I know how you love to ride it, Diana.” His hand slipped down to ease the ache…

  “But first I’m gonna suck it. Gonna suck you till you buck and squirt in my mouth.”

  “Jesus.” He squeezed his eyes shut and his pulse throbbed into a higher, needier gear.

  “My lips are running up and down your hot skin, Michael…wet and slick…while my tongue dances around your tip…tickles that little hole where the cum shoots out.”

  “You’re askin’ for it now,” he rasped. “I just laid you down on the couch and straddled you for sixty-nine. I know how much you love it when I shove my tongue up inside your—”

  Her moan sounded desperate, and it gratified the hell out of him. Phone sex was a new game, one he’d always wanted to try, but this! It was blowing his mind, imagining how her eager mouth tightened around his shaft…ran up and down him as he thrust into the “O” she made with her lips.

  “Deeper,” she moaned. “Stick your tongue down inside me and…oh, God, Michael! My butt’s shuddering so hard I can hardly talk to you.”

  Was it real or was she feeding into his fantasy? Diana sounded breathless and so damn turned on. Along with all the other pictures flickering through his mind, Michael recalled the way she’d stroked her inner pink lips with that single,
purposeful finger…the way her pearly juice made her skin shine with need as her thigh muscles quivered…

  “Diana.” He convulsed and had to hold himself back. Would she think he was a pervert if he lost himself during this phone scenario?

  “Michael…Michael…” Her desperation etched a clear picture in his mind: she was writhing beneath him on that couch, wide open and thrusting up to rub his face as he devoured her.

  “I’m gonna bring you off,” he rasped, squeezing himself. The creaking of his bed spurred him on, and he didn’t even care if she heard it. “My tongue’s teasing around your rim, and your hard little button is between my thumbs,” he breathed. “On the count of three, I’m gonna plunge my tongue inside you and rub everything all at once, really hard, until you holler out. One—”

  She started low and hesitant, but he could hear her writhing…going with the flow that drove them both so effortlessly…until she wailed like a siren. She fumbled with the phone—

  He grimaced in climax, muffling his moan like a teenager whose parents slept in the next room. He lay there then, loosely clasping his cell over his chest as he caught his breath. Spent. Totally spent.

  “Michael?” Her thin voice, muffled by his skin, reminded him she was still on the line. Made him want to cradle her body, bare and hot and vibrant.

  “Sorry. Got busy for a minute,” he confessed. “My God, woman. I think I’ve been struck by lightning.”

  11

  “Oh, good. I thought I’d jarred you out of the flow when I dropped my phone.” Diana shook her damp waves around her face. It wasn’t as good as having Michael play with her hair after they stepped out of the shower, but she could imagine him gazing intently at her, as though she were the only woman in the world. Never mind that after he won today, he had scads of female fans making all kinds of offers. Right now, while she had Michael White Horse on the phone, whispering in her ear, she could believe she was the only one.