One Hot Cowboy

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  J.D. lifted his hat and resituated it squarely on his handsome head. “Lady, I ain’t got all day,” he warned, exasperated. “So either get yourself up here or eat my dust, if you get my point.”

  With the September sunshine beating down upon her head, Maggie was getting pretty hot. She didn’t want to be drenched with sweat when she met with the elusive Mr. MacIntyre, and she did plan to meet him today. As for her clothes, if they were a little worse for wear, she reasoned calmly, it would merely add to her damsel-in-distress appearance. And she did so want to be rescued—from the loneliness of her life.

  Her decision made, Maggie drew a bolstering breath. “Fine. But you scoot forward first.”

  Again, his brow lifted.

  “You have more grease and dirt on the front of you than on the back. I don’t want to ruin my clothes.”

  “Suit yourself.” Looking as if he could care less either way, he gripped her hand. She put a foot in the stirrup, swung herself up onto his horse’s back, and situated herself in the saddle, behind him. It was a tighter fit than she had imagined. Even with her hands out on either side of her for balance, her torso was snugly cossetted against the cowboy’s back. She felt every rock-solid muscle in his shoulders, back, waist, hips and thighs. And more disturbing than his solid male strength was his sizzling warmth. Being pressed against him was like stretching out on sun-warmed concrete after a swim; Maggie immediately felt all warm inside.

  If he felt a similar reaction, he did not show it. His manner brusque, he snapped, “Wrap your arms around my waist, unless you want to fall off.”

  Unable to see around the broadness of his shoulders, Maggie fumbled for something to hold on to, hitting his belt, her pinky grazing the top of his fly before she finally located the saddle horn and gripped it tightly. As the enormity of her error sunk in, she was glad he could not see her blush; her face must have been fireengine red.

  “Ready?” he drawled, the low husky timbre of his voice telling her he was as taken aback by her unwitting miscalculation as she was.

  Maggie nodded, swallowing around the unaccustomed tightness in her throat. “The sooner we get there, the better,” she said.

  THEY RODE IN SILENCE until they reached the stables. Once there, Maggie was quick to dismount. J.D. followed. The middle of the day, the stables were empty, save for a few horses down at the opposite end of the building. Looking completely unaffected by their enforced closeness on the ride back, J.D. strode into the tack room. His purposeful footsteps echoing on the concrete stable floor, he returned with a small ferrier’s box and knelt beside Buttercup. Picking up the horseshoe, he used a file to buff the tiny nick on the edge where it had been pulled off until it was smooth as silk.

  “You’re going to make the repair?” Maggie asked, not sure whether she was pleased or disappointed he was attending to her “problem with her horse” so quickly.

  “I’m trained to do simple repairs. Does it bother you?”

  “No, I’m grateful.” She paused, knowing if she did not act quickly the opportunity she had sought would slip away from her. “Shouldn’t we tell Mr. MacIntyre I’m here, though?” Maggie asked, edging slightly away from J.D.

  He regarded her with an irreverent smile. “Not if you know what’s good for you.”

  She watched him back, her gaze direct and cool. Something was going on here. Something more than he was willing to let on. “Why do I get the feeling you are trying to keep me from meeting your boss?” Even if it initially ticked off MacIntyre to find out she’d wandered accidentally-on-purpose onto his land, why should it matter to J.D. what happened to her? He didn’t know her from Adam.

  He ignored her question as he dropped his file in the toolbox, and brought out the appropriate size and numbers of nails with which to fasten the shoe onto Buttercup’s foot. “If you’re husband hunting, you’re going to be disappointed,” he warned, as if he could care less what she did. “Jake MacIntyre is not the marrying kind.”

  Those were famous last words, in Maggie’s opinion. Anyone could get married. It just took meeting the right person at the right time, which was, coincidentally, exactly what she was prepared to do, for her and her Mr. Right.

  “Nor is he the romantic fool you seem to expect him to be,” J.D. continued speaking respectfully of the man who employed him as he picked out a farrier’s hammer, too.

  Maggie propped her hands on her slender hips. She couldn’t say why exactly; she just knew something was up. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” she asked casually.

  “Suit yourself.” Laconically, J.D. put down his equipment and strode toward the phone on the stable wall. He picked it up and punched in three numbers, then waited, his sizzling dark brown eyes locked with Maggie’s sky blue ones, until the person on the other end answered.

  “Harry, it’s me.” J.D. rubbed the back of his neck in an irritated fashion. “I got this woman down here. Yeah, the trespasser.” He paused to shoot Maggie a knowing look that made her flush. “She insists on meeting Jake personally. Yeah, I know. I told her he probably wouldn’t cotton none to bein’ interrupted in the middle of a workday, but she’s insisting, and I don’t think she’s gonna leave—not voluntarily anyway—without…” He paused, as if interrupted by the person on the other end of the line.

  Relaxing slightly, Maggie lounged against the post. Euphoria poured through her. She was about to get her wish. She was just that much closer to her goal.

  “Yeah. Five minutes would be fine. Thanks, Harry.” J.D. hung up the phone. Turning, he strode toward her, his strides long and lazy. “Uh…the boss’ll be right down.”

  Maggie smiled, glad her plan was getting back on track once again, after the slight detour of running into J.D.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked.

  Without warning, J.D. leaned impertinently close, one arm planted beside her, the other resting above her head. “Sure you don’t want to reconsider?” he whispered in a low seductive voice that sent shivers down her spine.

  “Reconsider what?” Maggie asked breathlessly, aware she couldn’t move a centimeter without their bodies touching.

  J.D. stroked a hand wantonly down the side of her face. “Going after something a little less rich.”

  Maggie jerked away from the disturbing warmth and sensuality of his touch.

  “How do you know I want someone rich?”

  “Honey, someone’s going to have to bring in the dough to support you in the style to which you’ve been accustomed. And since you just quit your day job—”

  “How do you know that?” Maggie demanded, outraged.

  “How could I not?” he countered cooly, “When your every move is documented by the press. Not that everyone believes you’re quitting modeling, though. Industry insiders claim you’re just announcing this faux retirement as a publicity stunt designed to get you even more money the next time around.”

  Maggie scowled. “You are totally out of line.”

  “Like I said, honey, your picture and the sad story of your breakup with your ex-fiancé is in all the magazines.” J.D. paused, repeating something else he had obviously heard. “Guess he wasn’t rich enough for you, was he?”

  Maggie would’ve liked to say the big discrepancy between her ex-fiancé’s annual income and hers had nothing to do with their breakup, but that wasn’t true. The truth was money—or his lack of it—had everything to do with the demise of their relationship.

  But, damn it, she was tired of the public speculation. “I’m not inclined to explain the intimate details of my private life to you or anyone else,” she informed him.

  His eyes darkened. “It annoys you that people think you’re shallow,” he guessed with mock sympathy.

  Maggie tossed her head indignantly. “Of course it does.”

  He lifted his dark brows in a speculative manner. “So why not prove the gossips wrong then and go after someone a little less hard to get,” he suggested in a low impertinent voice.

 
“Meaning you, I suppose?” Maggie countered, just as cooly.

  “Why not?” he taunted, ever so softly, wrapping both arms about her sides and shoulders and gathering her close. “I may not be in the market for a wife, but I sure enjoy a toss in the hay every now and then.”

  Incensed, Maggie planted both hands on his chest and pushed with all her might, in the process gaining nary an inch of freedom. “You, sir, have gone too far,” she told him, breasts heaving as she struggled to drag air into her lungs.

  “Really?” J.D. lifted his brow. “The way I see it, I haven’t gone nearly far enough.” That said, he hauled her all the way into his arms and lowered his head ever so slowly, ever so deliberately to hers. Until his lips were close. “But I could,” he murmured.

  “No doubt,” Maggie retorted, furious at the liberty he was taking. But that wasn’t going to happen because she was not going to let herself get sidetracked into forgetting her dream. It was someone as rich and successful as she was that she had her sights on. Someone who would not use her or take advantage, she reminded herself stoically as he drew her closer yet and she drank in the scent and feel and strength of him. Her knees grew weak and spirals of desire swept through her in overwhelming waves.

  And no matter how powerful the chemistry between them, she could not give in to it, or let the reckless, ill-mannered cowboy further it with the kiss he seemed dying to steal…

  Breathing hard, she shoved away from him. Something she was able to do only because he loosened his possessive grip. As she stared up at him with a mixture of anger and confusion, she caught sight of the smug look on his face. Clearly, he thought he had won this brief battle of wills.

  Deciding it was a mistake to let the rakish cowboy get away with anything, she lifted a hand and slapped him hard across the face. To her frustration, his expression altered only slightly.

  Shocked by the ferocity of her feelings and the passionate nature of her behavior, she dropped her hand to her side. She’d had plenty of passes come her way—in her business it came with the territory—but she had never slapped anyone before, never mind with such unbridled force. What had gotten into her? What had gotten into him, or was he—the rascal—always this way? Was that why he was able to take her slap in stride?

  Though his face had to be stinging unbearably, J.D. merely grinned and rubbed his jaw. “Like me that much, huh?” he drawled, the corners of his dark mustache quirking up.

  “I like you that little,” Maggie corrected hotly as footsteps sounded behind them. They turned in unison, and found themselves facing a slightly dour-looking barrel-chested man in an incredibly expensive doublebreasted suit and tie. At a height of a little under five and a half feet, he barely came to Maggie’s shoulder. Worse, he looked at least two decades older than either Maggie or J.D.

  “J.D.!” the man demanded irately, looking first at Maggie, then at the arrogant hired hand with the red mark across his cheek. “Just what in blazes is going on here?”

  Chapter Two

  “Sorry, boss,” J.D. replied with a proper amount of chagrin. Looking not the least bit apologetic as he swung back around to face her, he locked eyes with Maggie again and slid a hand in the back pocket of his jeans. “Guess I got carried away.”

  “And then some,” Maggie muttered, beneath her breath, so just J.D. could hear. But then, so had she, letting him hold her that close, even for a second! Darn it all, what had gotten into her? It was seeing that fortune-teller Sabrina again, hearing she was meant to marry a cowboy, that was predisposing her to all sorts of crazy things, Maggie reassured herself. Now that she was aware of it, she could and would curtail such behavior at once.

  “Are you all right, miss?” J.D.’s boss asked.

  “I’m fine.” Maggie forced a smile, unable to completely contain her disappointment over the way things were turning out. “My horse was in trouble.” She pointed to the palomino still standing calmly in the stable aisleway. “Buttercup threw a shoe.”

  “I see.” The boss looked at Maggie’s horse, then the ill-mannered cowboy in his employ. “J.D.—?” he began expectantly, in a tone that brooked no disobedience.

  “I’ll get Buttercup reshod in a hurry,” J.D. promised.

  His boss frowned and advised curtly, “See that you do. We would not want to delay Miss—?”

  “Porter. Maggie Porter.”

  “—any longer than absolutely necessary.” Jake MacIntyre’s voice was heavy with meaning. He lowered his bifocals and looked down his nose at her. “I trust in the future you’ll take pains to stay off the Rollicking M, as this is private property.” He stressed the last words to a censuring degree.

  Maggie flushed with embarrassment over the many mistakes she had made since sauntering onto Rollicking M property, the least of which was passionately tangling with one of Jake MacIntyre’s hired hands. She wished she had never come here. Never mind put one Jake MacIntyre at the top of her list of potential husbands.

  She gathered her composure around her like a protective cloak. “No problem,” she retorted breezily. “I apologize for any inconvenience I may have caused you.” I’m on to the next man on my list already. To heck with what the fortune-teller Sabrina had said.

  Nodding in satisfaction, assured that the situation had been resolved, J.D.’s boss left.

  “I told you that you’d be disappointed,” J.D. remarked, the moment they were alone again, as he swung around and surged toward her. “The boss is not exactly your type, is he?”

  Boy, was that an understatement, Maggie thought, unable to help but be disappointed in a romantic sense by the man she had just met. Talk about a lack of chemistry! J.D.’s boss was stuffy, out of shape, overdressed, and, judging by the ridiculous way he combed his hair to try to camouflage his bald spot, hopelessly out of touch with current thinking. Bald men were sexy: Sean Connery had proved as much.

  Aware J.D. was waiting for an answer, Maggie shrugged. There had been no pictures of Jake MacIntyre in any of the articles she had read, as the reclusive millionaire did not like the Houston party scene. And she couldn’t find one person to share any details about the man. “I just figured your boss would be different, that’s all.”

  J.D. lifted a curious brow. “Different,” he drawled in a low jealous tone. “How so?”

  Maggie hesitated, not sure whether to answer or not. Then, figuring it didn’t matter since she was leaving the Rollicking M anyway, she forced herself to answer confidentially, “From what I know about Jake MacIntyre—”

  “Which is—?” J.D. asked impatiently, dark eyes blazing.

  Maggie drew on her research. “He inherited this ranch from his father and spent the last fifteen years or so building the Rollicking M into one of the bestrun ranches in Texas.”

  J.D. shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “A lot of people have made more of ranches than their folks.”

  “True,” Maggie agreed, leaning against the post, “but not many also have a chain of Houston businesses that make them a millionaire several times over. Nor do they have reputations for donating so generously and continuously to local hospitals and children’s charities.”

  J.D. folded his arms across his chest. “You have done your homework, haven’t you?”

  Maggie tore her eyes from the bunched muscles of his biceps.

  “Enough to know that your boss is a determined bachelor who avoids the party circuit like the plague and allegedly pays a public relations firm to keep his photos, what few there are of him, out of the press.”

  “Jake MacIntyre likes his privacy.”

  “Apparently.”

  Half J.D.’s mouth curved into a taunting grin. His teeth flashed white against his sable brown mustache. “You thought he’d be handsome, didn’t you?”

  “More rugged, actually.” Ruggedly handsome. She shook her head in wonderment. “For goodness sake, he’s a rancher and he doesn’t even have a suntan!” Since when was that the norm?

  “Tending to business keeps the boss indoors a lot,” J.D
. explained.

  Maybe so. Still…The paleness of his boss’s skin seemed a little peculiar to Maggie. “What about the ranch?” she asked resolutely. “Doesn’t that take him out in the sun?”

  J.D. picked up the newly buffed and smoothed horseshoe, he fitted it against Buttercup’s foot and nailed it on. “He leaves the running of the ranch to me, which as it happens, is the way I like it.”

  Maggie stroked Buttercup’s mane to keep her calm. “So you’re the boss around here?” J.D. was so difficult to deal with, she found that hard to believe.

  He nodded at her affirmatively as he finished nailing the shoe and studied his handiwork, finding it satisfactory. “Most of the time, I’m the one here telling them what to do.”

  “Hmm.” Maggie watched Buttercup test out the newly refitted shoe.

  “What’s that ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.” Satisfied Buttercup was okay, Maggie let go of her mare’s halter and turned back to J.D. “Just hmm.”

  Silence fell between them as they sized each other up. J.D. closed his farrier’s toolbox and carried it back to the tack room. “Figure out you’ve wasted your time here yet?” he said over his shoulder as he washed his hands.

  Maggie joined him at the rough metal sink as she washed her hands, too. “Any time you learn something it is never a waste of time.”

  And this afternoon she had learned a lot, she thought as they reached for the paper towels at the same time. For starters, her foolproof plan to find a mate might look good on paper, but the reality was it had more holes than Swiss cheese. She’d gone to far too much trouble just to meet someone who wasn’t even her type.

  “But you’re right,” she continued, as they left the tack room with her in the lead. She started toward Buttercup. “I should be going.”

  He reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Not so fast.”

  She whirled to face him, anger sizzling in her sky blue eyes. He felt her stiffen beneath his touch. “Now what?” she demanded, jerking her gaze away from his.