by JoAnn Ross
“I don’t know about every man. But I’ve never been one to waste words.”
He could have been a young Clint Eastwood come to life. Or Gary Cooper, with a touch of Jimmy Stewart’s Destry thrown in. Jude decided that in the event she might ultimately leave Hunk of the Month magazine, she definitely wanted to go out with a bang. And Lucky O’Neill was pure TNT.
Every man has his price, Jude. She could practically hear her father reminding her yet again.
“Did I mention what we pay our hunks?”
Lucky actually cringed at the word. “I don’t believe it came up. And it doesn’t matter because—”
“Why don’t you wait to hear me out before you make that stand?” she suggested sweetly. Then, although she’d briefly considered paying him less, since he was, after all, merely an amateur, she offered him precisely what she’d been willing to pay the superstud model Harper Stone.
CHAPTER FOUR
“LADY, YOU’VE GOT to be joking!”
For the first time since he’d walked into her office, Jude felt as if she’d managed to gain the upper hand. He was more than surprised, she realized, looking at his dropped jaw. He was stunned.
“If there’s one thing I never joke about, Mr. O’Neill, it’s money.” Actually, she’d never been one to tell many jokes, period, but that was beside the point.
“A guy can actually make that much just taking off his clothes for some magazine?”
“Not just any guy. And not just for any magazine. But I told you, we have a huge circulation that is growing every day—”
“Yeah, you’ve gone international.”
He frowned, wondering if she had any way of knowing that what she was offering would cover the ranch operating expenses for the next six months and let him pay off the mortgage he’d had to take out on the house to make up for last fall’s plummeting beef prices. He and Buck had argued about that, but he’d had no choice. Not if he wanted to keep the Double Ought in the family.
His father, who’d handed over the day-to-day running of the ranch to Lucky, had backed his son, but there’d been some hard words spoken and some uncomfortably silent breakfasts before the old man had finally given up his pique.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jude offered, pressing her advantage. “As I said, we have high expectations for this issue. And now, having seen you, in the flesh, so to speak, I’m willing to bet that with you as our centerfold hunk, we’ll sell out the minute the copies hit the streets.
“So, if we top last year’s construction worker issue by ten percent, I’ll pay you a bonus of an additional ten percent over what I’m already offering.”
Jude knew it was risky. If Tycoon Mary didn’t approve the increased payment, she could end up dipping into her trust fund. Perhaps it was merely a side effect of estrogen poisoning, but she was suddenly feeling recklessly like an old riverboat gambler.
He rubbed his square jaw again and gave her a long look. “There’s something I still don’t get.”
Jude took encouragement in the fact that he hadn’t rejected her new offer out of hand. “What’s that?”
“I don’t understand why women would want to look at pictures of naked men in the first place.”
“I suppose you’ve never glanced through a Playboy or Penthouse?”
“That’s different.” Lucky wasn’t exactly certain why. But it just wasn’t the same thing, dammit. “I always thought women liked guys to be...well, guys.”
“Women can appreciate all types of men.” She felt obliged to defend her gender. “However, I suppose it’s true that the readers who subscribe to Hunk of the Month are looking for a certain basic standard of masculinity. A man’s man, so to speak.” Which is why each of the ongoing “Working Man Blues” series had outsold the previous one.
In fact, just last month the ridiculously expensive—and, in Jude’s mind, redundant—focus groups Tycoon Mary had insisted on had revealed that issues featuring construction workers, cops or firemen flew off newsstands a lot faster than stockbrokers or bankers. Something Jude had figured out years ago. Which was yet another reason why she’d fought to use a real cowboy instead of a pretend one.
“Well, see now, that’s precisely my point,” Lucky argued stubbornly. “If a guy is getting paid to take his clothes off in front of a camera, he suddenly stops being a fireman or a cop. He’s a model. A male model.”
“Contrary to popular belief, male models aren’t necessarily gay.”
“I didn’t say they were.” Lucky swore, uncomfortable with this entire conversation. “It just seems, well...” He took off his hat and plowed his hands through thick chestnut hair that had been streaked silver and gold by the western sun. “It seems like kind of a sissy way to make a living.”
She laughed at that and felt her tension begin to dissolve. “Believe me, there’s not a woman in the entire world who could ever think of you as a sissy.”
As the cab pulled up outside the terminal, Jude, who was watching him closely, saw the flicker of reluctant interest in his eyes and decided it was time to go in for the kill.
“I can certainly understand how a man of your conservative background might have some misgivings about being featured in a magazine like Hunk of the Month—”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
“I can also understand that you’d have pride—and rightfully so—in the cowboy image. I’m not just offering money, Lucky. I’m offering you the opportunity to promote that unique, larger-than-life western image to the world.”
He shook his head and chuckled at that. “You know, Miss Lancaster, I think you were born in the wrong time. Because you definitely missed your calling.”
“Oh?” She followed him out of the cab with another flash of thigh that made Lucky’s mouth go as dry as high prairie dust.
When she caught him looking at her legs again, she wondered if he was going to suggest that she would have made a good dance hall girl. Or, perhaps, a female outlaw. Like Belle Starr. Jude, who’d never experienced a single rebellious moment in her life, found herself enjoying that idea.
He hooked his thumbs in his tooled leather belt and shifted his weight easily—arrogantly, she thought—onto one hip as he studied her. His next words punctured her pretty little mental balloon.
“You would have made one dynamite snake oil saleslady.”
Irritation soared into the stratosphere. No one in her world—not even Tycoon Mary—would dare speak to her that way! Determined not to let him know he was getting to her, Jude managed, just barely, not to grind her teeth.
“If you’re attempting to insult me, hoping that I’ll take back my offer and walk away in a huff, it’s not going to work. Publishing is a tough business and I’ve had to develop a thick skin. Besides—” she flashed him her most controlled, most insincere smile “—I just happen to have an entire arsenal of arguments I haven’t used yet.”
That stated, she turned and began walking toward the terminal. Not knowing whether to curse or laugh, but thoroughly enjoying the sway of her hips in that short skirt, Lucky set off after her.
There was another brief argument over seating when he discovered she’d arbitrarily arranged to have him moved to first class. Lucky wasn’t about to be the first O’Neill in history to allow a female to pay his way. Apparently deciding to save her ammunition for more important battles, Jude opted to retreat from that little skirmish.
Unfortunately, the blue curtain separating them proved a damn flimsy barrier. In the same way her scent seemed to have slipped beneath his skin, thoughts of her had crept into his mind like a damn rustler sneaking through the night. He’d become all too aware that in her own way, Jude Lancaster could end up being as dangerous as Bodacious, the most dreaded rodeo bull alive, and the one that was responsible for breaking three of Lucky’s ribs, his shoulder and his nose on two separate occasions back when he’d bee
n foolish enough to believe that he could pick up some extra operating funds bull riding.
The money she was offering was admittedly appealing. And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t use it. But then again, it was looking to be a good year and Lucky wasn’t any more in debt than most ranchers before fall roundup and he sure had been in worse straits. And survived. In fact, even without the magazine money, it was looking as if by the time his taxes were due next March—for some reason that had never seemed fair, ranchers had to file a month ahead of the rest of the country—he’d end up in the black, even after paying off those bankers Buck was all the time bitching about.
No, if it was just the money, he’d pass on the entire cockeyed scheme without a second thought.
But the idea of Kate losing her job grated. The idea of her actually needing the money was cause for both irritation and concern. At least, despite all his earlier misgivings about Jack Peterson, Lucky had assumed he’d be able to support Kate and Dillon. The problem was, as much as part of him wanted to turn around and go back and punch his brother-in-law out again for complicating matters, another part—the part that had been brought up to respect his elders—couldn’t fault the guy for taking care of his parents. Lord knows, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his parents. Or for Buck.
Maybe he could use any money left after paying off the mortgage to set up some sort of college savings account for Dillon. Although he was typically a lot more concerned with cattle futures than Wall Street, Lucky knew that these stock market bull years were causing money to grow by leaps and bounds. The problem was, in order to get the money, he’d have to take his clothes off for millions of women all over the world.
Of course, it wasn’t exactly as if they’d be in the room with him, Lucky reminded himself. The only person who’d get to see him in the altogether would be that photographer who’d shown up just before the plane took off, who was, thankfully, a man, since there was no way he’d consider letting some female photographer take pictures of him in little more than his birthday suit. It’d probably be like the locker room at high school. Except, of course, nobody had taken pictures of his naked butt back when he’d been snapping towels after basketball practice.
Lucky dragged his hands down his face and wished that life was as simple as it had been portrayed in those old John Wayne westerns Buck was always watching on TV through that fancy new satellite dish.
* * *
BY THE TIME the plane finally began its descent into Cheyenne, Jude, who felt as if she’d been traveling for days, had new appreciation for all those stalwart women who’d climbed up onto buckboards and covered wagons and headed west with their husbands to carve out a new life. And they hadn’t even had a movie to watch while en route.
She looked out the window as the brown, wide-open land loomed closer. It looked so large. So empty. So lonely. Then she viewed a familiar green sight that flowed over the landscape like an emerald river.
“There’s a golf course,” she murmured to her seatmate, Zach Newman, the photographer who’d managed to reach the gate just before takeoff.
He glanced up from the latest issue of Outdoor Photography magazine. “I didn’t realize you played golf.”
“I don’t.”
She preferred tennis. Partly because it avoided direct competition with her golfer father and partly because its faster pace suited her better than a grindingly slow game that seemed to take all day to complete.
She’d also taken horseback riding lessons and enjoyed them immensely. And had made a stab at piano lessons only to quickly discover that she hadn’t an iota of talent. But all those simple recreational pleasures seemed as if they’d occurred in another time. Another world. She couldn’t remember when she’d last gone to the club. These past years, Hunk of the Month had taken over her life.
“A golf course is a good sign, don’t you think?” she asked, dragging her mind away from the surprisingly depressing thoughts concerning her less-than-scintillating private life. “I mean, it makes everything seem more normal.”
“More like home?”
“Exactly.” She was relieved he understood.
She was also mistaken. He laughed at that, a rich, warm laugh that drew appreciative looks from the two first-class flight attendants who were polishing up the galley in preparation for landing.
“Only you would consider your high-powered, workaholic New York lifestyle normal.”
It was not the first time he’d accused her of parochialism. Jude lifted her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with work. And although people are always focusing on the negative aspects of New York, in many ways it’s just another small town.”
“Your little privileged East Side-Hamptons sphere of it, perhaps,” he allowed. “But take it from a guy who grew up outside Laramie, sweetheart, you’ve never had a normal day in your life.”
While she was trying to decide whether or not to take issue with the statement that sounded suspiciously like an insult, something else he’d said captured her attention.
“You grew up outside Laramie?” She skimmed a look over the man wearing the Manhattan uniform of black linen slacks, a black Calvin Klein T-shirt and loosely structured jacket. “Laramie, Wyoming?”
“It’s the only Laramie I know of.”
“But I don’t understand.” She studied him more closely, as if actually seeing him for the first time. “I’m certain I remember your résumé stating you come from Santa Barbara.”
“That’s true, so far as it goes. I studied photography at the Brooks Institute there. The way I figure it, that’s all that’s relevant to my work. Why should it make a difference where I was born? Or where I attended third grade?”
“I suppose none,” she admitted. “But I still can’t understand why you felt the need to edit your biography.”
“Can’t you?”
There was a faint challenge in his voice. A harsher tone Jude had never heard before. “No,” she insisted, holding her ground.
“It’s all a matter of perception. Take our hunky cowboy back in coach.” He jerked his dark head toward the blue curtain separating the cabins. “What’s the first thing you thought when you saw him?”
“That he was the answer to my prayers.”
“After that.”
“That he was going to send sales figures through the roof.”
“I’d say that’s a given. You haven’t had a hunk this good-looking since that Philadelphia pipe fitter.”
Who had also been, Jude recalled, in a long-term relationship with a female impersonator who looked more like Diana Ross than the diva of Motown did herself.
“If you can get O’Neill to agree to pose, readers will undoubtedly find him about as intoxicating as a stiff shot of Wild Turkey,” Zach said, bringing her thoughts back to the matter at hand. “What else did you think?”
“Nothing,” she hedged.
Jude felt her newly discovered temper flare when he had the nerve to laugh again. “Liar. I’d bet my new macro lens that you felt the exact same instantaneous lust that hit me when I first came face-to-face with his sister.”
“You and Kate?” Jude glanced at him in surprise. “I never knew.”
It was his turn to look chagrined. “There isn’t really anything to know. She was engaged to Peterson, and although I’ve never been all that wild about rules, poaching another guy’s girl is one line I’d never cross.”
“Okay, now I believe you’re from Laramie.” She folded her arms, tilted her head and shook her head in amusement. “That remark sounds amazingly like Lucky O’Neill’s so-called Code of the West.”
“Go ahead and scoff all you want, but the truth is that there is a code, of sorts. It’s not like it’s written down or anything—”
“I know. Lucky and I have been through that, too. A man just knows what’s right and wrong. Then does what he has to do.”
&nbs
p; He shrugged. “That’s about it. But you need to keep in mind that things are different out here. People don’t respond to the same triggers that work in New York.
“I’ll bet, when you and Kate came up with your cockeyed scheme to trick the guy into being your Hunk of the Month, you figured a simple cowboy from Cremation Creek, Wyoming, would be an easy sell.”
“Well, perhaps I thought he’d be a bit more open-minded—”
“Malleable, you mean.”
“Open-minded,” she repeated firmly.
“Easy,” he corrected mildly. “Which is why I tend not to broadcast where I’m from. People in our business only want to work with the big hitters. They want to feel they’re paying for the best and the brightest. The most creative. And they’re sure as hell not going to believe they can find that in a guy who grew up on a Wyoming ranch.”
“You’re probably right.” Feeling a bit like Alice after she’d taken that dive down the rabbit hole, Jude decided this would undoubtedly go down as one of the strangest days of her life. “But there’s still one little thing you’re overlooking.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re on this plane, about to land in Cheyenne. And O’Neill still hasn’t said no.”
“That’s not what Kate said when she called me and told me to get my cameras out to the airport. She said he’d turned you down flat.”
“He might have not found my first offer exactly to his liking—”
“Nor your second, I’ll bet.”
“We seem to have reached a bit of an impasse,” she admitted reluctantly. “But my point is, that as soon as we land, I can take another shot at him.”
“On his turf. Which effectively gives him control of the situation.”
Good point. And one she was determined to ignore.
“Ah, ye of little faith,” she said, patting his arm as she flashed him a quick, self-assured smile, not quite certain who she was trying to convince—Zach or herself. “The cowboy’s too polite—and chauvinistic, which fortunately also translates to chivalrous—to leave me alone at the airport. Especially since I’m his baby sister’s best friend. Which means he’ll have no choice but to take us out to his Boot Hill ranch with him—”