Once Upon a Cowboy

by Maggie McGinnis

  “What’s up, Cameron?”

  She hid something behind her back. “Not much.”

  Ah, wasn’t she cute. She thought she was going to get away with whatever her plan was. First thing she needed to learn in Hell was that she was no Mayor Judy Jasper when it came to effective manipulation—and he was no Trace Carter to be worked like an easy mark. “Something’s up. Unless you make a habit of hanging out at my back door.”

  Her chin went up. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  She definitely had something behind her back. There was only one way to solve this standoff, show her he was nobody’s fool. Saint jerked her toward him, a mistake he rued when a cloud of strawberry-scented red hair swirled around his face and sweet, round breasts bounced into his chest. Lust swept him like a heavenly river dragging him down.

  Oh, shit. She’s got me now.

  So delicate, yet lean and tight from all the riding she did. Cameron met him at almost eye level, which put him too close to her wide-eyed expression and moist, sweet lips.

  He had to avoid those lips.

  Just reach around her, find out what she’s holding behind her back. You know you’re getting set up for something. Puncture Judy’s plan so she knows just who she’s messing with—no way in hell is she going to spring the trap shut on you the way she did your buddy Trace.

  He kissed her, closing his eyes so he could absorb the impact of her soft mouth. Oh God, it was good, better than his dreams all those tortured nights in Afghanistan when he’d fantasized about the arms of a loving woman to save himself from the insanity of the war. He instantly returned to a rock-hard condition, only this time it was incurable—he had to have this woman. Possess every sexy inch of her.

  He felt Cameron’s mouth give under his, realized she hadn’t pulled away—though she wasn’t exactly trying to eat him up, either—but he couldn’t have relinquished the sweetness he’d hungered for so long if his life depended upon it.

  Bed. He had to get her into bed. Wasn’t that why she was really here? Wasn’t that why Mayor Judy had brought her so-called team of bullfighting riders here to Hell—to find unlucky, unsuspecting victims to drag to the altar?

  Saint didn’t release her. “Let’s continue this discussion inside, beautiful.”

  Cameron’s eyes widened. She didn’t look impressed with his invitation. She kneed him in the groin and Saint doubled over, gasping for air as his eyes watered against the pain.

  She tossed something at him, stomped off. He thought she’d called him something harsh but his ears had bells ringing in them the size of ships. Staggering into the den, he collapsed on the sofa, groaning. The woman had aim, and she was strong. She was also nearly as tall as he, and she was athletic as heck, all of which he had to grudgingly admire as the blackness began to recede. He glanced at the offering Prince brought over, the item Cameron had flung at him.

  A twisted-wood basket of cupcakes, with a card that had the words Happy Birthday written on it, and signatures of his best friends in the town: Mayor Judy, Sheriff Steel Durant, Declan O’Rourke, Trace Carter; even Cameron Dix and Harper Castleberry had signed it, among others from the town.

  Cupcakes. They’d sent cupcakes for his birthday, courtesy of the cupcake he really wanted. Prince went back to licking his ear, reminding him about breakfast and wanting to be rewarded for alerting him to his visitor, so Saint pulled himself painfully off the sofa, glanced at the pretty beribboned wood basket of now-smushed, chocolate-frosted cupcakes with tiny bulls atop them. Nice, no doubt delicious—but the one thing he really wanted had pulled out of his driveway, spewing dirt and tiny rocks from under her truck tires.

  He just had to have that woman.

  It was the only way to finally get her out of his mind—but there was no way he was falling for Mayor Judy’s diabolical plan of matrimony for all in Hell, Texas.

  —

  It was a very, very cold day in Hell.

  The weather itself was egg-frying hot, as July in Texas was never subtle about its intention to stay north of ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. But the sexy temptation Saint was watching school her horse seemed oblivious to the temperature, and unfortunately, to him.

  He’d been keeping a respectful, wary distance between himself and her siren appeal for weeks, ever since the accidental encounter with the cupcakes and kiss for his birthday, and frankly, there were days he wondered how much more temptation he could take before he lost his good sense and made his move. It wasn’t easy. Cameron was tall, about five-seven in her boots, and was a great fit for him; she’d stand just right for cupping her sweet ass with his hands if he ever got to hold her. He could only imagine that the springy red curls that were even now sprouting out from a tight, high ponytail would feel great under his chin. She had a small nose that flared when she was annoyed, but most of the time she smiled a lot, with full, delicately shaped lips that drove him mad. According to gossip she was one of seven children, so this Hell’s Belles mission she was on was no joking matter with her. He’d also heard that most of her paychecks went back home to help the family, though to be fair, her beautiful black and white Appaloosa horse, Charlie, could not have been cared for better by the Queen of England. As far as he could tell from his months-long perusal of her, she was the whole package, with a saucy temper thrown in to keep a guy on his toes.

  Especially a horny guy.

  Like me.

  She’d spent a little time on the wrong side of town letting Jake the Snake take her out, but that had ended badly. Anything to do with Jake Masters—or any of their rivals, the Horsemen, of which Jake was a part—was guaranteed to end badly, so Saint hadn’t been worried. With a population of around two hundred on a good day, Hell was largely a man’s town, and ladies, especially a beautiful woman like Cameron, would be in demand. But then the Horsemen had once again overplayed their hand, having a little fun on the Outlaws by roofying Saint’s buddy, fellow SEAL, and part-owner of the Hell’s Outlaws Training Center Declan O’Rourke one evening while everyone was hanging out at the creek, and that had been the end of Jake the Snake’s getting anywhere near Cameron. She’d let Jake know in no uncertain terms that she considered him to be, indeed, a snake, of the lowest, most disloyal order.

  Saint’s respect for Cameron had hit a new level after that, with the unfortunate result that he seemed to be addicted to looking at her, watching her, wanting to be around her. Once he’d agreed to train her, which also kept Charlie learning, and in shape, he got to spend a lot more time around Cameron, which was good—and bad. He spent his days tied up like a pretzel, pretending he didn’t want her. His nights were hell on fire.

  Mayor Judy would have a fit if he hit on Cameron, and since he hadn’t been bawled out for the inappropriate kiss he’d stolen, he figured Cameron must not have shared their early morning encounter a few weeks back. Probably felt like the kneeing she’d given him had served as sufficient punishment, and truthfully, it had notched his respect up another level. Trace Carter, his buddy and the other co-owner of the Hell’s Outlaws Training Center, had gotten away with the seduction of one of Judy’s “Belles,” Ava Buchanan, only because Judy’d been dying to see some of the many men in Hell, Texas, married off.

  But Cameron was off-limits, because Judy had all her eggs stacked firmly in the redhead’s basket. Cameron was talented, she was tough and driven, and Judy felt strongly that, of all her current team, Cameron was the one with the toughness and the drive to make it in the world of bullfighting. Straight-up, right-there-with-the-boys bullfighting.

  It was enough to make Saint sweat, if the Texas heat wasn’t enough to leach the moisture from his body. He saw exactly the same thing in Cameron that Judy saw—but he had a special, damning curse: He saw Cameron as a hot, sexy, desirable woman. One he’d kissed. And after that brief taste of her, he knew there’d been no going back.

  Yes, it was a cold day in Hell. And today there’d be another cold shower, and maybe even a dip in the creek.

  “That’s enough for
me today,” Saint called. “I’m heading out.”

  Cameron turned. “Too hot for you?”

  Hell, yes, you are. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be interested in getting burned.

  “A beer will not do me wrong, I’m not gonna lie.” He waved, turned to go.

  “Saint, hang on.” Cameron walked her horse to the side of the arena where he’d been leaning on a short wall, watching her. “If you’re going to Redfeather’s, I’ll buy you that beer.”

  This wasn’t entirely out of the blue. Any night of the week might find several of their gang crowded into a black leather booth in the dark bar and grill. Friendly enough, he supposed. But as he looked into Cameron’s sparkling, clear blue eyes, Saint felt uneasy.

  She treated him like a friend, a brother, and he’d been friend-zoning himself ever since she’d arrived in Hell—except for his one momentary indiscretion. Trace and Declan said he was a dumb-ass to take himself out of the running, and that he was being unusually cowardly to consign himself to the just-friends category so soon.

  But as Declan wasn’t being brave and declaring his secret undying passion for Harper Castleberry, Cameron’s housemate and also a member of the Hell’s Belles, Saint figured his friend had no business masquerading as a romance adviser. Trace had finally gotten around to letting himself fall hard for Ava, but the process had been long and painful for all, and Saint prided himself on having learned from that experience. Safe was better than sorry. Better a woman who called you a friend than a woman who didn’t want to be in the same room with you.

  Hell was a very small town. Awkward was best avoided.

  Who was he kidding? Awkward had happened the moment he’d stolen a kiss. Not that he regretted what he’d done—even the shot to the balls she’d dispensed couldn’t make him regret kissing her. No, the regret was due to the tight overhang of discomfort that clouded his every encounter with Cameron now. And since they worked closely together, every day was uncomfortable. He stayed uncomfortable, stuck in a dimension of wanting her, remembering how sweet her mouth was, and realizing she was totally, completely off-limits.

  “Isn’t it my turn to buy the beer?” Saint asked, his voice carefully casual.

  “It might be, but I want to talk to you. Privately.”

  This was a first. He mentally reminded himself that smart men waited for the move to be made before they showed their cards. “Sure, no problem.”

  Relaxed and casual. Easygoing Saint. No problem, because he had everything under control.

  —

  Two hours later, sitting in Redfeather’s in their gang’s favorite black leather circular booth, Saint understood that he had absolutely nothing under control. Cameron was sitting very close to him, as they waited for their friends to show up for their regular gathering. The smell of burgers and beer hung in the air in a comforting cloud, and the slight scent of Stephen Redfeather’s long pipe occasionally wafted across the well-ventilated restaurant. Smoking was specifically not permitted in here, but this was Stephen’s restaurant, and so his pipe was just one of his quirks everyone had accepted so long ago that no one even thought about it anymore.

  Bottom line: The regulars were happy to have a place to sit and chat after a long workday. This was the watering hole, the gathering place, and he and Declan and Trace had promised themselves back in Afghanistan that they’d see this cracked black leather booth again, eat Stephen’s comfortably questionable cooking, and enjoy their friendships.

  The woman next to him kept him from feeling his normal Zen. Now that she and the Hell’s Belles had been in Hell town for over a year now, the Outlaws knew a bit more about Mayor Judy’s team. Ava was steadfast and determined, and had married Trace after a sort of scattershot courtship. Trace hadn’t been happy at all about Ava’s learning to bullfight with the Hell’s Belles on Judy’s team, and his resistance had been more than token—though he’d happily caved at the end on all counts. Then there was Harper, and her young son, Michael, whom she loved more than anything. Harper was the hardest to read of the three teammates, and Saint feared Declan was in for a serious bruising of his heart over the gorgeous blonde. There was something about her that spoke of quiet resolve and toughness—and of absolute zero interest in his buddy. She was an excellent horse rider, one of the best he’d ever seen, even possessing a fine repertoire of trick riding skills. Far too busy with her son and her horse to have even casually glanced Declan’s way, Harper had friend-zoned him right off the bat. Declan had enough shit going on in his life that the last thing he needed was a blonde with a die-hard independent streak rocking his world, but there you had it. Love stunk on ice.

  Of the three women, Cameron had the reputation for being the wild child. She was unafraid, and a daredevil. She was tough, and the occasional brawl in Hell—usually out at Ivy Peters’ Honky-tonk and Dive Bar on the wrong side of town—didn’t seem to concern her at all. He happened to know that Cameron sneaked out to the Honky-tonk on occasion to hang out, in direct violation of Mayor Judy’s rules. He also knew that before Michael had come to live with his mother, Cameron had been able to drag Harper out there with her. In the past few months, he knew, Cameron had made a couple of stops out at the Honky-tonk—he could always tell when she was going because she’d tell Harper, Harper would tell Declan, and Declan would mention it to him just to see his blood pressure hop. Cameron wasn’t one to let anybody tell her what to do, and he supposed he could see why a twenty-five-year-old wild woman would be drawn to the dubious fun of the Honky-tonk, when the big excitement in Hell proper was sitting right here in this booth at Redfeather’s every night. But her late night excursions were exactly what kept him on his toes, and were exactly why Judy was betting on her to be her star bullfighter.

  He supposed any woman tough enough to bullfight wasn’t going to be the kind of woman who’d meekly follow Judy’s rather arbitrary set of rules. The only reason she didn’t like her team going out to the Honky-tonk was pretty much because she despised Ivy with a passion, and the sentiment was returned in full. He didn’t like Cameron going out to the Honky-tonk because he knew how many men would be looking for a good time, a pursuit Ivy cultivated. Even the college kids liked to drive to the Honky-tonk from the big city, more frequently than was probably good for their GPA’s.

  He wanted to protect Cameron, but the thought of other men asking her to dance or hitting on her also activated a stubborn streak of jealousy he hadn’t been aware he’d possessed. And he wasn’t too happy to have located this rich vein of “concern,” as he liked to term the nagging feelings he experienced over Cameron.

  He’d get over those renegade emotions with a little time. He had to. They were about to gnaw a hole in his gut.

  Of course, Trace and Declan loved to razz him about Cameron. Gave him hell for not asking her out. But since Trace had never asked Ava out, finally just giving in and following her up to Colorado when he couldn’t take her being gone anymore, Saint figured his friends weren’t the authorities on a woman’s heart they wished they were. And while his fellow SEALs wouldn’t let him walk into an ambush, and had had his back in some pretty dangerous places around the world—and vice versa—they would gleefully encourage him to jump right into the frying pan of love, on top of a red-hot stove, just to enjoy his misery.

  No, he couldn’t count on his buddies in the dilemma he was suffering.

  “I need your help,” Cameron said to him, and Saint stared into her beautiful deep-denim-blue eyes, knowing that whatever it was she needed, he was going to move heaven and earth to provide it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said politely. “How can I help you?”

  “Judy’s arranged for me to start training to be a bullfighter out at Judge Rory Nunez’s.”

  He raised a brow. “Good for you.”

  Cameron shot him a look of disgust, and he laughed. He raised his beer, drinking deeply, unable to tear his gaze away from her in spite of himself.

  “Look, eventually you guys are going to have to respect
the fact that you were wrong about Judy’s idea for a team of female bullfighters in order to put a new face on Hell. Ava won that argument when she proved she could do it.”

  “Maybe. The thing is, she gave it up to follow Trace around.”

  Cameron snorted. “I think you have that backwards.”

  “So Judy’s got her eye set on you.” He shrugged. “Cupcake, if you want to get squashed flat, that’s your business. Don’t ask me to help you.”

  “I am asking you to help me. Because I know you trained Ava out at Rory’s when Trace wouldn’t.”

  He didn’t even have to think twice about this. “While I would help you any way I can, Cameron, I won’t train you to bullfight. That’s not my thing. I only helped Ava to get under Trace’s skin. We decided long ago, before your team was even a twinkle in Judy’s eye, that we didn’t train anything but riders. And we don’t train women to bullfight, which Judy knew before she ever dreamed this project up.”

  “You’re the best rider around. No one knows better than you how to stay on a bull, stay on a horse.” She gave him an intense stare that hit him right in the gut. He took another swig of beer for protection. “If anyone knows what a cowboy needs from a bullfighter, it’s you, Saint.”

  “Maybe. But no. Sorry, gorgeous. I’m not cut out to be an instructor.”

  “You trained Ava.”

  He nodded. “I did. She was a great student. But I’m not training you.”

  His little redhead had quite the glare on her when she decided to crease those delicious lips into a displeased frown. He laughed because she was so darn cute, then stopped laughing abruptly when she put her lips against his.

  He went absolutely still.

  She kissed him, and his mouth felt like it had just reached heaven. My God, she was soft. Sweet. When that mouth was used for something other than sassing, it was a miracle surely blessed by angels.

  He shut his eyes, hanging on for the ride. Didn’t dare pull her into his arms and make the most of it, because quite clearly she was sending a message, and oh God, he wanted to receive this message in all its glory.