by JoAnn Ross
“It’s not Boot Hill. The O’Neill spread is called the Double Ought. It’s located outside Cremation Creek.”
She waved the correction away with her hand. The diamond on her watch face flashed, reminding her yet again of the promotion she’d worked so hard to achieve. “Whatever. The bottom line is, one way or another, whatever I have to do, I’m going to convince that hunk of a cowboy to sign on the dotted line.”
They were, admittedly, brave words. As the wheels of the jet touched down, Jude only hoped she could live up to them.
5
IT DEFINITELY WASN’T EASY keeping up with Lucky’s long-legged stride as they made their way through the terminal, passing the standard gates, bars, newsstands and a display of historic airport memorabilia that at any other time Jude might have enjoyed stopping to study. She was practically forced to run on the high heels that were horrendously impractical for work, but gave her a few important inches in height. But since she had a feeling that he was somehow testing her, she refused to give him the upper hand.
There was a short wait at the luggage carousel for Zach to retrieve his bags. Although he never let his camera and lenses out of sight while traveling, the two oversize metal boxes filled with tripods and lighting equipment were too large to be carried on.
Jude was looking around for a skycap when, without a word, Lucky simply lifted one of the boxes off the carousel, hefted it onto one shoulder as if it were a bale of hay, and began walking toward the terminal exit.
“Oh yes,” Zach murmured to Jude as he grabbed the second box, “he’ll definitely do.”
“Lucky O’Neill will more than do. That cowboy’s going to set the standard.”
Even more reason, she considered, for resigning after this issue. It was, after all, always best to go out on top. Cosmo had been trying to recruit her for years. Maybe when she returned to town, she’d call the managing editor and casually suggest lunch. Then, of course, there was Vanity Fair, which had also begun courting her. Going to work for the slick publication would also give her an opportunity to hang out with movie stars and politicians.
Remembering her father’s edict about the importance of always moving forward, Jude decided to definitely give a great deal of thought to making a major change. Right after she saved this all-important issue.
Myriad sensations flooded over her as she walked out of the terminal. She was vividly aware of the pungent scent of evergreens, the endless vastness of the clear blue sky and most of all the heat that hit like a fist in the solar plexus.
“I thought Wyoming was cold.” In her mind’s eye she’d pictured postcard scenes of jagged, whitecapped mountains and swirling blizzards. She also remembered long-time friends Chip and Sissy Cunningham waxing enthusiastic about a trip to Jackson Hole, where they’d been invited to a dinner with the President and First Lady.
“It gets chilly enough, in the winter. But this is summer.”
Sweat popped out on her forehead like a sudden attack of the measles, her panty hose felt as if they were melting into her flesh and her high heels were sinking into the hot asphalt. The sun was blazing a brilliant yellow in a sky so blue it resembled a robin’s egg. Jude squinted as she dug into her briefcase for her sunglasses.
“Thank you so very much for pointing that out to me.” The heels of her Italian leather pumps made little suckling sounds as she struggled even harder to catch up with him. “At least we don’t have to worry about you getting any vital parts frostbitten while we’re photographing the layout.”
Her jibe hit home, just as she’d intended. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder as he waited for her to catch up.
“I haven’t agreed to be photographed for any layout,” he reminded her. “As for vital parts, I seem to recall you promising that they’d stay covered.”
“That’s our editorial policy,” she assured him yet again.
“That’s good to hear. Although, if I do agree, I suppose it probably couldn’t hurt to have you check me over for sunburn afterward. Just to make sure.” Lines crinkled outward from his brown eyes as he flashed her a grin hotter and potentially more dangerous than the huge western sun beating down on them.
“I suppose I could do that.” She pulled the glasses back off and aimed a cool glance at the vital parts in question. “Since I doubt it would take all that much time. ”
He laughed at that. A rich, appealing laugh that came from deep in his chest. “Damned if you don’t have a smart mouth, Jude Lancaster.” Reaching out the hand that wasn’t holding on to the metal trunk, he skimmed a finger down her nose. “Makes a guy want to lock lips with you just to shut you up.”
Irritated on principle, annoyed at that taunting male smile, and wary of the way his light touch once again lit internal sparklers, Jude slapped his hand away.
“Let’s get one thing straight, cowboy. I’m admit tedly willing to do just about whatever it takes to convince you to be my hunk. Including giving you a piece of the action.” She tossed back her hair and lifted her chin. “But I draw the line at locking lips, or any other ideas along those lines you might have.”
He cut a glance toward Zach who, laden down with camera equipment, was watching the exchange with obvious male amusement.
“Little lady’s got a short fuse.”
Zach had the discretion to cover up his chuckle with a cough. “Never known her to rile so easily,” he said, dropping into a lazy, unfamiliar western drawl that caused Jude to glare at him. “You must bring out the worst in her, O’Neill.”
“Yeah.” Lucky tilted his hat back with his thumb. “Always did like a female with spunk, though.” He tilted his head again, his brown eyes brightening like newly mined copper as he gave her another perusal. “She’s a mite skinny—”
“It’s a city thing.” The photographer couldn’t quite keep his lips from twitching. “The scrawnier the better, back east, it seems.”
“Scrawny?” Jude’s hands were at her hips, her eyes shooting flaming arrows at this colleague she’d come to think of as a friend.
“Well, no matter.” Lucky ignored Jude’s outburst as he continued the conversation with Zach. “Buck’s cooking is bound to put some curves on her.”
“I have curves!” Jude couldn’t believe she’d just been put in the position of defending the body she’d worked like hell to tone and harden. “But that’s irrelevant, since my body is absolutely none of your busi ness.”
“You didn’t seem to have any problems with discussing my body. In detail,” Lucky reminded her. “I was just returning the compliment.”
“I merely, in a strictly professional manner, pointed out your, uh, assets.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And perhaps we’re using a different dictionary, but I’ve never considered scrawny to be a compliment.”
“It was your friend here who used that word. Personally, although I usually tend to prefer a bit more meat on a lady’s bones, there’s no denying that what little you’ve got is definitely prime, darlin’.”
His quick, cocky-as-hell grin caused a three-alarm fire to blaze upward from the collar of her blouse. Damn the man! She’d never blushed in her life! Why, until Lucky O’Neill had strode into her office, like a Brahma bull let loose in Tiffany’s, she hadn’t even been aware that she could blush.
“This is a ridiculous conversation.” She let out a frustrated breath and jammed her sunglasses back onto her warm face. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to Cremation Creek before I melt into the pavement. I still have to check into a hotel—”
“Now that’s going to be a bit hard to do,” Lucky said.
“Oh?” She arched a brow in a challenging gesture learned from her father and folded her arms across the blouse that was beginning to stick to her damp body. Her damp, scrawny body. Whatever Lucky was driving, she desperately hoped it had air-conditioning. “And why is that?”
“Because there aren’t any hotels in Cremation Creek. Or any of the high-fashion boutiques or fancy beauty salons you’re undoubtedly
used to. In fact, there aren’t even any supermarkets. Just Johnny Murphy’s Feed and Fuel. And market. And chain-saw art gallery,” he added as an afterthought.
“Isn’t that droll,” she muttered, not even wanting to guess at the artistic quality of chain-saw art. “And I find it difficult to believe that even out here in the middle of nowhere, it’s possible for a town to have only one building. You wouldn’t be pulling the scrawny city slicker’s leg now, would you, Mr. O’Neill?”
“I thought we’d already determined that I’d rather bite it, Miz Lancaster.” His answer drew another smothered cough from Zach. “But I doubt if I’m alone in that idea since I saw more than one man walk into the wall when you sashayed through the terminal in that short tight skirt.”
“Now you’re accusing me of wearing my skirt too tight?”
“Darlin’, there is no such thing as a skirt being too tight,” Lucky responded with easy humor. Lord help him, he really was starting to enjoy the woman. Which was, he feared, even more dangerous than merely lusting after her.
“The point I was making was that skirt—and the sexy lady wearing it—would make any healthy man’s mind start painting pictures.”
“Dirty pictures.”
“Erotic pictures,” he corrected easily. “Even a dumb wrangler like me knows the difference.”
She gave him a long, probing look. “I don’t believe you’re dumb at all. In fact, I think your aw-shucks, Roy Rogers cowboy act is exactly that. An act you pull out whenever it suits you. Such as when you want to put people off guard in a negotiating situation.” Jude decided that her father, who’d always prided himself on his negotiation skills, would have appreciated Lucky O’Neill’s unorthodox tactics.
“Now that’s a right interesting idea,” he drawled. “I’ll have to think on it. After we get you settled in at the Double Ought.” He turned and started walking toward a fire-engine red pickup.
“Surely there’s somewhere else to stay other than your ranch?” This time he wasn’t even attempting to hold back his stride. Lifting her skirt even higher, wishing she’d worn slacks to the office today, she took off after him again
“Sure.” He stopped in front of the huge red truck boasting four tires in the rear, two in front, and a roomy back seat with its own door. A metal rendition of a ram’s head adorned the wide hood in what she took to be a macho version of the Jaguar her father had always kept garaged at their summer home in the Hamptons. “You’re more than welcome to stay in the bunkhouse with the hands.”
He tossed the trunk in the back and opened the doors with a click of the remote on his key chain. “I can’t guarantee much privacy, but you’ll undoubtedly be the most popular roommate any of those homy wranglers have ever had.”
Her heart sunk right down to the toes of the impractical high heels she’d had the misfortune to wear today. “There really isn’t a hotel or motel in town?”
“I already told you—”
“I know. The Feed and Fuel. And marker.” Her frustrated sigh ruffled the blond hair that the high country breeze was blowing across her brow. “And chain-saw art gallery.” Her sarcastic tone revealed what she thought of that last item.
“Don’t knock it until you’ve seen it,” he advised. “Clint McLaury creates the best grizzly holding a fish of any carver in the state. Johnny sells so many out of the store that Cint’s had to give up cowboying to keep up with demand.
“Johnny also runs the movie theater on the week ends,” Lucky revealed while Jude was still trying to decide if he was actually serious about the chain-saw grizzly bear art. “It was built as an opera house back in the early part of the century. The mayor—tha’d be my great-granddaddy Virgil—had been lobbying for the railroad to come through and he wanted to be ready to invite Lillie Langtry to perform in Cremation Creek.
“Unfortunately, the politicians in Laramie pulled more weight, and old Virgil never did get his railroad. And Lillie never came. But the entire fiasco did leave us with a mighty fine theater.”
This had to be “The Twilight Zone.” Jude stared up at him, momentarily speechless, positive he was teasing her again, equally afraid he just might not be.
“Surely there’s another town—”
“Not within fifty miles. Which would make your daily commute back and forth to the ranch a bit of a long haul. Especially during afternoon thunderstorms.”
She’d seen a television movie of the week about a family getting washed away in a flash flood somewhere in the remote west. Wyoming? Montana? Arizona ? Whatever. The idea was definitely less than appealing.
It was when she finally decided to concentrate on what Lucky wasn’t saying, instead of what he was, that Jude felt a renewed burst of optimism. She could survive this, she assured herself.
“You wouldn’t be inviting us to stay at your ranch if you hadn’t decided to pose for us.” He would have just left Zach and her at the airport to catch the next plane back to New York
“I told you, I haven’t made up my mind.” Knowing that there was no way she was going to be able to climb up into the seat in that skirt and those spindly little shoes without some help, Lucky put his hands on her waist and lifted her with ease. “I want to make certain that when I do, I’ve considered all the options. I’ve al ways believed that when a cowboy climbs into a saddle, he’d better be prepared to ride.”
Jude assured herself that it was only the stress of the day, uncharacteristic jet lag, and the disorienting feel ing of finding herself in such an alien place that had her imagining she could feel the imprint of each of his fingers through her blouse. Hear the scrape of rough calluses against the silk.
“I think the heat must be melting my brain,” she muttered when he joined her in the cab of the truck, leaving the back seat to Zach. “Because I almost under stand that one.”
He slanted her a lazy look as he twisted the key in the ignition, bringing the huge truck to life. Air even hotter than outside the cab began blasting from the dashboard, ruffling her hair, feeling like a desert sirocco against her face. His lips tilted in a devilish grin that she imagined most women—women not nearly as focused and controlled as she—would find impossible to resist. His eyes, as they skimmed over her face, which she feared was undoubtedly dripping makeup, had turned that warm copper hue again.
“Now you’re getting it.” He reached out a large dark hand, ruffling her hair in an almost fraternal gesture. “We’ll make a cowgirl out of you yet, New York”
She folded her arms and turned to look straight out the windshield. “I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that, cow boy.”
He chuckled as he pulled out of the parking lot. “You’ve definitely got spunk. Buck’s flat-out goin’ to love you.”
“That would be your grandfather. The Wyoming Will Rogers.”
“Now there you go, bein’ sarcastic again, but the fact of the matter is that Buck’d probably enjoy that description.”
“I assume he’s a cowboy, too?”
“Used to be. These days he’s kind of chief cook and bottle washer. But in his time, there wasn’t a better cowpuncher than Buck O’Neill.”
The honest affection in his voice reminded Jude of how she’d come to be here in Wyoming in the first place. If Lucky hadn’t been the type of man to value family, he never would have rushed off to New York to rescue his sister. He might be chauvinistic and frustratingly brash, but there was no denying that deep down inside, he was the kind of man who deserved his sister’s admiration.
“Dammit, O’Neill, after all the grief you’ve put me through these past hours, I’d just about made up my mind not to like you.”
He laughed at her muttered words. “Now that’s undoubtedly the first totally truthful statement you’ve made since I walked into your fancy white office.” He slanted her a friendly look. “And I’ve gotta admit, New York, you’re startin’ to kinda grow on me, too.”
Once again, Jude uncharacteristically allowed hope’s sweet song to sing in her veins. “Enough that you’d agree
to be my hunk?”
“You just don’t give up, do you?”
She thought she heard a grudging respect in his tone and decided that since Lucky was obviously the kind of man to appreciate honesty, it could only help her cause if she told him the absolute truth.
“Not when it’s something that matters a lot to me.”
“Like your magazine.”
“No. Well, of course I feel strongly about Hunk of the Month. But it’s more my reputation I’m thinking about. And living up to expectations.”
“Since your daddy owned your magazine, I suppose we’re talking about his expectations. ”
It was not a question, but Jude answered him anyway. “Yes.”
Silence settled over the cab of the truck as Lucky mulled that one over. He was definitely a man comfortable with lengthy conversational gaps. Which made sense, Jude decided, since although she didn’t have the faintest idea what a cowboy really did on a day-to-day basis, she suspected he’d spend a great deal of time alone out in the pastures. Or the range, or whatever they called it. She also strongly doubted that cows would make scintillating conversationalists.
Just when she’d begun to wonder if he’d forgotten they’d been having a conversation of sorts, he finally responded.
“Trying to live up to someone else’s expectations is a lot like wearing another man’s hat or riding his horse. With a few concessions, you can make it work, but neither one will ever fit like those you break in yourself.” His tone was serious. Thoughtful.
“You sound as if you might know something about that ”
“Some people around here still call my dad—who’s in his fifties, by the way—Buck’s Boy. Part of the reason Dad took up working as a rodeo stock supplier was he knew he’d never live up to my granddaddy’s rodeo fame. And to hear Buck tell it, he took up rodeoing because he didn’t have my great-granddaddy’s knack for gentling horses. And none of us have Virgil’s skill at politics...