Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys

by Tina Leonard

  He closed the door behind her when she stepped out. “On that one thing, the mayor and I completely agree.” He glanced around. “Where are the other two Belles?”

  “They went on ahead. I wanted to take a quick shower.”

  He walked her to her truck. “It paid off.”

  “Is that your awkward way of saying I look nice?”

  “No,” Trace said. “If I wanted to say you looked nice, I would have said that.”

  He was the most annoying man. She slid into her truck, switched it on. “Goodnight.”

  “You know, men outnumber women in this town five to one.”

  She stared at him, a brow rising. “And that means what to me?”

  “That Judy knew that if she brought in three hot ladies, she’d get whatever she wanted. That the men in this town would be eating out of her delicate little hands.”

  Ava looked into his deep, dark eyes and smiled. “What’s your point?”

  “After some reflection, it seemed to me that the mayor sent you my way pretty quickly.”

  “The point, please?”

  “I think you were intended to get me to go along with Judy’s ridiculous scheme. I guess I’m wondering why she picked you to do her dirty work.”

  “It wasn’t dirty work at all. It was like taking candy from a baby.”

  She backed up the truck and drove away, sneaking a peek at him in the rearview mirror. He stared after her, his hands in his jeans pockets, looking delicious and like something she should be driving away from as fast as she could.

  Maybe that will take that giant ego of his down a peg or two.

  * * *

  Trace watched Ava go, laughing to himself, noting that she checked her rearview mirror as she drove away. She wasn’t as immune to him as she claimed—but he’d definitely gotten off on the wrong foot with her.

  He considered that wrong foot as he drove to the barn. His point about the mayor bringing in hot women to get what she wanted was absolutely dead center, and the moment he’d mentioned it, Ava’s chin had gone up. Yeah, Judy had sicced Ava on him. Luckily for him, he was too wily a coyote to fall for it.

  On the other hand, once a guy knew what the enemy was thinking, he could plan accordingly. Men did not have to be putty in a woman’s supple hand, waiting to be molded. A man could do the molding.

  “Hey,” Saint said, meeting him at the barn door, going out as Trace was coming in, “any luck asking Ava out?”

  “It wasn’t going to be a date,” Trace said. “It was going to be a casual planning session.”

  “You owe me ten bucks!” Saint yelled over his shoulder to Declan, who was busy cleaning saddles, but not too busy to guffaw loudly at Saint’s comment.

  “No luck?” Declan asked.

  “He struck out,” Saint said. He looked at Trace, laughing. “That little lady isn’t interested in your macho act.”

  Trace grunted and pulled a hay bale from the back of his truck. “All good things come to those who wait. By the way, that redhead rider’s got a date with a Horseman.”

  Saint muttered something that sounded like, “Shit!” and Trace laughed.

  “I didn’t quite get that,” he said to Saint.

  Saint looked like he was in pain. “Which Horseman?”

  “Jake Masters. The son of Wild Jack himself.” Trace grinned. “The heir to the man who built Wild Jack’s horse business and the only reason that dump is still remotely a business at all.”

  “Damn it,” Saint said.

  “You moved too slow, my friend.” Trace enjoyed teasing his buddy, but privately he sympathized. Cameron had too many charms for Jake. Saint, on the other hand, deserved something sweet and fiery-hot in his life, and the redhead had caught his friend’s eye, which was something, because Saint hadn’t gone out with a woman in a long, long time.

  Now, Declan, he went through women like water. He liked them all. Tall, petite, carrying a few extra pounds or svelte, Declan loved all the ladies. He was a big teddy bear of a man who made a woman feel like she was a princess—Declan claimed it was a high art form that he understood and Trace didn’t.

  No one would ever catch his buddy Declan.

  “You gotta do something, Trace.” Saint looked gutted.

  “I have to do something?” Trace shook his head. “I don’t get involved in anything involving someone’s personal business. It’s a way to lose friends.”

  Declan looked at Saint sympathetically. “She probably won’t like him, man.”

  “Why should she?” Trace said. “There’s a reason we call them the Horseshitmen.”

  They laughed about that, but Trace thought Saint’s laughter seemed a bit forced. “Hey,” he said, “I’m going out with them tomorrow night. I’ll keep an eye on things for you. If things start looking cozy, I’ll mention that Jake’s been known to stiff women with the dinner bill.”

  “Has he done that?” Saint asked.

  “I don’t think so, but it won’t look good on his resume,” Trace said.

  “You’re supposed to be the honorable one among us,” Declan pointed out. “Almost as honorable as me.”

  “Although I’m not exactly opposed to your plans,” Saint said, “we’re just pointing out that you’d be falling real low if you sabotage the guy, even if he is one of the town baddies.”

  Trace sat on an old stool and shrugged. “Do you want Cameron, or do you want her figuring out that Jake’s the son of Wild Jack, who’s got a mansion and a helicopter and gold-plated horse manure in his backyard?”

  “Shit, I don’t know.” Saint shrugged. “It’s just a girl, right?”

  Declan and Trace glanced at each other. Trace studied Saint, knowing his scars, knowing the darkness he’d brought back from war. Saint hadn’t shown interest in any female since the war. He spent all his time with the horses, the rest running the books for the training center. He didn’t drink to speak of, beside the odd beer, and he didn’t chase tail. Trace sighed. “I’ve got your back.”

  “You do?” Saint looked up.

  “I’ll probably regret this, I’m probably dangling dangerously close to Mayor Judy-ville shenanigans on this one, but come with us tomorrow night.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?” Saint asked.

  “I think it’s a helluva idea, the best I’m going to get on short notice, and if I was you, I’d run with it.” Trace shrugged. “What can he do? Kick your ass? Cry?” Knowing Jake, he’d flash a little bit of daddy’s money and expect everything to work out.

  Depending on what type of woman Cameron was, it just might.

  “Okay,” Saint said.

  “And then,” Trace said, warming to his plan, “after we’ve solved the problem of Jake Masters tomorrow night, you’re going to take yourself straight to Cameron, and you’re going to charm the boots off that redhead, so she won’t even think about anything so stupid as crossing the town line again. It does me no good whatsoever that I rescued those women from training out there if you let one slip through your fingers,” he said sternly to Saint. “Buck up.”

  “All right, all right. Sheesh,” Saint said, disappearing into the office.

  “Think it’ll work?” Declan asked Trace.

  “Depends on what cards I have up my sleeve tomorrow night. Be prepared for anything to happen.”

  Trace had enough problems of his own with a pixie brunette with a heart-shaped ass and a mind of her own. Sighing, he dialed Steel, knowing very well the sheriff would have a very good idea of how the hen session was going at Judy’s.

  “Steel, man,” Trace said.

  “You coming over?” Steel asked.

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “Just thought you could help me spy on the girls. If we both do it, I can only get in half as much trouble. See how I worked that out?”

  Trace laughed. “You have your binoculars out?”

  “I may have used them once. Twice.”

  The sheriff’s place and Judy’s were connected, separated only by a
wood-and-wire corral fence. Steel liked to say they were actually living together on one big property, only with a dividing line for Judy’s peace of mind. Judy said that was nonsense, and that she was raised too well to live with a man at her age.

  Trace thought Judy just liked to give the sheriff acid reflux every night except Saturdays. “What are they doing?”

  “Sitting on the back patio drinking something with straws and umbrellas in it. Judy’s strung white lights on her patio, and I think she has some citronella candles burning.”

  “How do you know they’re citronella?”

  “Because,” Steel said patiently, “she said she was shopping for citronella candles, and they’re all sitting around in bikinis—”

  “I’ll be right there,” Trace said, hanging up his phone. “I’m out of here, fellows,” he called to Declan and Saint.

  They yelled after him, but Trace was already in his truck. He wasn’t a strong enough man to miss the sight of Ava Buchanan in nothing more than a few pieces of fabric. He’d been close to those breasts of hers and that tight, shapely body the other night, as he’d lain on top of her in her bed. He would never have pulled that prank to teach her a lesson if he’d known he was the one who was going to get taught a lesson. Ever since then, he’d thought about the accidental feel of breast he’d gotten, and it was pretty much something he didn’t think would be leaving his mind anytime soon.

  No, he wasn’t strong at all.

  * * *

  “What did I miss?” Trace demanded, hurrying into Steel’s rustic house.

  “I’m not sure,” Steel said, his head in a football game rerun. “The binocs are on the table, but in all fairness, I can only allow you to look once. Otherwise I’ll have to arrest you for being a Peeping Tom. Anyway, if you look more than once, you’ll probably pop a coronary. Save yourself, is my advice.”

  “Damn,” Trace said, “I think they’re smoking pot.”

  Steel barreled off the sofa, snatching the binoculars away from Trace. “You asshole,” he said, putting them on a shelf where they couldn’t be easily reached. “That’s incense they’re burning, and some of those fruity candles.” He slumped onto the leather sofa as Trace chuckled, pleased with himself for putting one over on Steel.

  “I just wanted to see if you’re as cool as you’re acting.” Trace helped himself to a beer and let himself fall onto the sofa. “You’re a devious soul, Steel, spying on women.”

  Steel sighed. “Judy bought the damn things. She said she uses hers to bird-watch. But then I realized she was also using her binoculars to keep an eye on me because she called me up one night when I was out grilling. She saw two steaks on my old grill and decided to make certain I wasn’t going to have a lady friend over.” He chuckled. “My grill may be an old-fashioned charcoal outfit, but my girl still doesn’t want any other woman near it.”

  Trace was born and raised in Hell. He’d known Judy most of his life—he knew exactly how she was about what she considered hers, and Steel was hers.

  Trace looked at Steel. “Turnabout is fair play. So you keep an eye on her now?”

  Steel brushed a palm across his jaw. “I guess.”

  “Who was the other steak for?”

  “Look,” Steel said. “I see Judy on Saturdays. That’s all she’ll grant me. Says I’ll lose interest otherwise. That means there’s six days a week I’ve got to feed myself. I make two meals every night, and take one the next day for lunch. As you know, the rest of the nights I’m at Redfeathers, which is enough to kill a moose. True survival of the fittest, if you eat at Redfeathers. And that, my friend, is how a single man lives.”

  Trace shook his head. “Steel, you put the extra steak on the grill to bring Judy running.”

  “Damn right,” Steel said, “but she’s too smart for me, and I didn’t get an early Saturday Night Special. She did, however, give me those fine binoculars.”

  Trace grunted. “Why are women so difficult?”

  “What the hell are you beefing about? You don’t even bother with women.”

  Trace chuckled. “Judy lobbed her well-chosen girl-bomb my way, and I think I feel myself succumbing.”

  “For the little brunette? Judy said she thought Ava was right up your alley.”

  “Scares the hell out of me.” Trace picked up the binoculars and went back to the window. “My God, those ladies are beautiful,” he said, staring at Ava, wishing he could strip that bikini off her and kiss her all over. Follow a trail from curve to smooth curve with his tongue, then his hands. Taste paradise.

  The fantasy was staggering, enough to make him feel like he was going to blow a fuse.

  “Sit down, Trace,” Steel said. “You’re going to do yourself a mischief.”

  “Yeah, I am.” Trace peered at the rest of the gathering, then returned to Ava. He came to a decision, the only decision he could come to when gazing at pert breasts wrapped by a piece of red spandex. “I’m going to crash a party.”

  “You can’t do that.” Steel sat up. “Judy’s training.”

  “Judy’s teasing. She’s teasing you because she knows you’re sitting over here eating your heart out.” Trace realized he had a way to solve two problems at once. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Saint. “Hey, Judy’s invited us over for a late-night swim. Bring my boardshorts and wear whatever you’ve got, even if it’s cutoffs. And maybe bring a bouquet of flowers. Declan, too.”

  “Where the hell would I get flowers now?” Saint demanded.

  “Get creative,” Trace said. “The party may depend on it.”

  He hung up, grinned at Steel. “You coming? Or are you going to let me bear the burden of party-crashing on my own?”

  “Nothing good can come of this,” Steel said, rising from the sofa, “but a man who only gets Saturday nights probably has little to lose.”

  “That’s right,” Trace said. “With any luck, one of us may get a kiss tonight.”

  “It’s not going to be me after we pull this stunt,” Steel said morosely.

  Yeah, well, if I have my way, it’s damn sure going to be me.

  Chapter Seven

  Saint and Declan pulled up at Judy’s and hopped out of Saint’s camo-painted truck, dressed for the occasion. Steel made a distressed sound as he eyeballed the men’s wildly patterned swim trunks.

  “Judy’s going to kill me,” Steel said.

  “No she won’t, because we have these.” Trace pulled an armload of flowers from the truck. “Did you buy out the store, dude?”

  Saint nodded. “Hell, yeah. First of all, I figured we weren’t invited, because I know you too well, and he who crashes a party had better bring a reason to make himself welcome. Second, I caught Madame Chen at closing time, and she gave me a closing-time discount.”

  Declan grinned. “She was trying to get us out of her hair.”

  “Good work, good work. See, Steel, nothing to worry about.” Trace marched to the door, his buddies following.

  “Just Saturday nights,” Steel said glumly. “Judy’s going to slam the door in your big ugly faces.”

  “No guts, no glory,” Trace said cheerfully. He rang the doorbell, hoping he was right about this unscheduled visit. As he heard the ladies on the patio talking and giggling, he realized the fact that he was so close to seeing Ava in a bathing suit was rendering his thinking a bit cloudy.

  But what else could a man do?

  Judy opened the door, looked out at the four men. “Yes?”

  “The sheriff mentioned you were having a party, Mayor. We thought we might get down on our knees and beg you to let us join the fun.” Oh, hell, he hadn’t meant to say that; he sounded like a first-class dumb-ass. But the frown lines cleared right off Judy’s face.

  “I’ll save your knees this time. But only because I’m in desperate need of some tree cutting and because I’ve run out of propane for the grill.” She smiled and took the flowers from Trace. “Are these for me or Ava?”

  “Why, you, Miss Judy,” Trace said, in major suck-up
mode, and all the men relinquished their offerings to her.

  “My, you really did want a steak, didn’t you?” Judy said, glancing at the flowers and then studying their swim trunks. “Or maybe you wanted something else.”

  “Well,” Trace said, realizing his nervous buddies weren’t going to work up more than a squeak and that the sheriff was practically hiding behind the hydrangea bush, “you do have all the girls over.”

  “I meant, perhaps you’ve come for a beer,” Judy said, laughing. “Come on in, but be on your best behavior. No cannonballs. The girls don’t want to get their hair wet yet.”

  “No, ma’am. No cannonballs.” Trace hurried into the house and onto the patio, eagerly looking around for Ava.

  The siren-red bikini was even hotter up close. No matter how nice a pair of binoculars Judy had given Steel, they didn’t do the job. He gawked at the tight red spandex suit wrapped around Ava’s body, a gold heart holding the fabric together between her breasts. He’d always known she had a beautiful body, but her legs were even better out of riding wear.

  She was just plain gorgeous, and he had to keep his hand by his side so he didn’t flop it over his hard-beating heart.

  I want to sleep with that woman so bad it’s like an alarm goes off in my head every time I get near her.

  “Hi, Trace,” Ava said, and all the other girls greeted his buddies, and Ava smiled at them, too, and Trace thought that though he might not be the world’s smoothest operator, he’d damn sure gotten his crowd in the door, and now he was within inches of that red-hot bikini.

  Life was good.

  A sudden splash sloshed water over the poolside, eliciting squeals from the ladies as they tried to evade the fallout of water droplets.

  “Steel!” Trace said. “Judy said no cannonballs!”

  The sheriff grinned. “Sorry. I was standing too far back. I thought she said everybody had to do a cannonball for their steak. And I sure didn’t want to miss out.”

  “No,” Saint said, laughing. “She said if you cannonball, you don’t get a steak.”

  “Damn.” The sheriff looked at Judy like a lost puppy. “Sorry, Judy.”