Shiiiiit. Whipping a bandanna out of his back pocket, Lance mopped sweat from his forehead. “You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?” he asked, backing off to give Wild Willy some space.
The bull tossed its head and snorted a confirmation.
“Don’t forget who feeds you. I own you.” And he needed this big guy right now. Only a few weeks until World Finals, and he had a hell of a lot of work to do to get ready. This season had pretty much sucked. Only one title and a whole lot of back talkin’ from fans about how he should’ve retired two years ago.
“Well, maybe I’m not ready to retire,” he said to the bull. Hell, he was only thirty. He could still go out on top. Even with his joints creaking the way they did. He’d ignored pain before, especially when he had somethin’ to prove. This wouldn’t be the first time.
But it might be the last.
No. Couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t think about how everything he’d worked for his whole life would likely end after this competition. What would he have after it was over?
Instead of dwelling on that fun question, he faced the bull. He’d rather face a lethal bull than uncertainty any day. “Steady now.” He ripped the bull’s halter off a nearby nail in the wall. “Don’t make me get the tranquilizer—”
“Lance?” A woman’s voice echoed from outside the stall. Not just any woman, Naomi Sullivan, the ranch’s bookkeeper and all around caretaker of the whole lot of them. “Are you in there?” she called again. And she didn’t sound calm.
Raising a finger to Wild Willy’s snout, Lance tried to match the crazy in the bull’s eyes. “This is not over.” He tossed down the halter and stepped outside into the early morning sunlight. The sky was still pink. It cast a bluish haze over the hand-hewn log buildings that made up the Cortez Family Ranch. Smoke still puttered out of the main house’s chimney from the fire he’d started in the woodstove last night. That’s how early it was. Too damn early for another crisis, but from the looks of Naomi’s bedraggled reddish hair and wide green eyes, something had her panties all bunched up.
Naomi had been a family friend forever. The sister they’d never had. So he could tell when she was stressed. And now would be one of those times. “What’s up?” he asked, thinking of nothing but the steaming hot coffee waiting in his kitchen.
“Sorry to bother you.” She was heaving like she’d run all the way up the hill from her house. She lived with them on the ranch. After her husband had taken off and left her with a baby girl ten years ago, Lance had offered her a job and invited her to move into the guesthouse on the property. Not that she was a charity case. She was damn good with numbers. Always had been. However, she did tend to run high in the drama department.
He gave her a smile to simmer her down. “You’re not bothering me. Everything all right?”
She looked around as though torn. “I’m worried about your dad. I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” In addition to doing the books for the ranch, she kept an eye on his father, which had become a heroic task as of late. As if she hadn’t already proven herself a saint, the woman had offered to cook and clean for Luis. She was the one who made sure he took his blood pressure meds.
“He said he was going for a hike and wouldn’t need dinner,” Naomi went on. “But when I brought over his breakfast this morning, he wasn’t around.”
Of course he wasn’t. Because lately his dear old dad had taken to wandering off without bothering to tell anyone where he was going. If he wasn’t volunteering at that animal shelter in town, he was somewhere out on the mountain, head in the clouds as he relived better days.
Naomi wrung her hands in front of her small waist. “I noticed his backpack was gone. Along with his sleeping bag.” She reached into her pocket and held up a prescription bottle. “But he left his medication behind.”
Which meant a thousand things could’ve happened to him out there. He could’ve gotten disoriented. Could’ve passed out. Could’ve lost his balance and fallen off a cliff. He was sixty-seven years old, for shit’s sake. A fact Lance had to keep reminding him of over and over. He didn’t belong out on that mountain alone.
“I’m worried about him.” Naomi was on the verge of tears now, and if there was one thing he hated more than having to act like his father’s babysitter, it was a woman crying. “Should we call out search and rescue?”
Hell no. He didn’t say it, but he wasn’t about to call out search and rescue. They’d called those guys six times in the past year, all because Luis Cortez had taken to wandering off alone somewhere on the three thousand acres they owned. God only knew how much of the taxpayers’ money they’d already wasted. Not to mention he didn’t want to put any lives at risk for a man who was probably just out for an extended stroll.
Lance laid a hand on Naomi’s shoulder and steered her back toward her house. Looked like his training would have to wait. Again. “I’m sure Dad’s fine. Probably just wanted a night under the stars.” That’s what he usually said when Lance dragged him back home from one of his impromptu camping trips. A new layer of sweat burned his forehead. If the man kept wandering away he swore he would implant a GPS chip into his father’s arm so he could start tracking the old coot.
“What if he’s hurt?” Naomi asked, grabbing his arm like she needed support. “Oh God, Lance. I should’ve checked on him last night. After everything he’s done for me, I hate to think of him out there alone.”
“Hey.” He stopped and turned her to face him. She seemed to worry about everything. Everyone. And he knew the weight of that burden. She didn’t need it. She had a daughter to raise. Much as she mothered him, he took it upon himself to protect her, to make sure she didn’t have to worry.
“He’s fine. Don’t forget, he does this all the time.” His father was worse than an untrained Labrador the way he got distracted and roamed away. “I don’t want you to worry, got that? I’ll take care of it.” The same way he always did.
“How do you even know where to look?”
“I don’t. But Jessa might.” She spent more time with Luis than pretty much anyone. If it was any other woman, he’d worry she was on a gold-digging expedition, but Jessa didn’t exactly scream temptress.
Naomi’s face brightened. “Great idea. Jessa will know how to find him.”
“Sure she will.” He prodded her up the porch steps. “Now you go on in and take care of Gracie. Tell her we can do a riding lesson this afternoon, if she’s up for it.” Naomi’s ten-year-old was currently the only female he chose to spend time with and that was just fine with him.
Naomi shook her head with a wide smile. “If she wants to? Are you kidding? You should hear her bragging to all of her friends about how she has the most handsome riding instructor in the whole wide world. She actually told them all you look like Ryder from Tangled. You should’ve heard the squealing.” She trotted up the steps to her modest guesthouse and turned back to him with a smirk on her face. “Me? I’d take Gerard Butler. No offense.”
“None taken.” They’d determined long ago that they’d be a bad fit. Course, he’d be a bad fit with pretty much anyone.
“See you later.” Naomi waved him off. “Tell Jessa I said hey. And be nice to her, Lance. I saw her at book club…”
He happened to know that book club was a fancy way of saying wine and chocolate club, but whatever.
“She got dumped again.”
Shiiiiit. Wasn’t this his lucky day? “As long as she’s not crying,” he muttered, heading down the road. Boots pounding the packed dirt, he passed the main house, passed that steaming hot cup of coffee waiting in his kitchen, and kept right on movin’ until he’d reached his truck, cursing the whole way.
* * *
This couldn’t be right. Jessa turned to get a profile view of her body. Hello! When she saw that the label on the bra said Bold Lift, she’d had no idea what it meant. In a matter of two minutes, she’d somehow gained at least two cup sizes. She gawked at herself in the mirror. Wow. Those babies were really
out there. When she looked down at her toes, her chin practically hit her cleavage. Not to mention the straps were already digging into her skin. Why did satin and lace feel so itchy compared to cotton?
Turning her back on the spectacle in the mirror, she gazed longingly at an old cotton bra hanging on the knob of her closet door. But no. No. It was time for her to kick it up a notch. She had a lot to offer and she was about to show it to the world.
When she’d called her mother last night to inform her that she’d lost her main donor (carefully omitting the fact that he’d also happened to be her boyfriend), the woman had gotten right down to business. “You’ll only appear as professional as you feel,” she’d said. Then she’d advised her on how to build a wardrobe that would help her “dress for success.”
Jessa had written everything down.
Expensive undergarments. Check! Even though the bra squeezed her tighter than a corset, she’d wear it. Along with the new thong she’d bought to match. Because smart, stylish women apparently wore uncomfortable undergarments.
Carefully avoiding a glance at the backside of her body, she backed out of her bedroom and into the small bathroom. When it came to how she looked in a thong, she subscribed to the ignorance-is-bliss mentality.
After doing her makeup the way she’d learned on Pinterest last night, she dashed to the closet to select one of the new outfits she’d bought. Today was a big day. She’d set up meetings at the local real estate office, the bank, and the town chamber to see about developing some partnerships with businesses in town. Not that any of them had seemed particularly excited to talk to her, but she’d change their minds. Which meant she had to look her best.
To her credit, her mom had never nagged her about the way she dressed, though it was obvious that style had never been important to Jessa. It’d never mattered what she wore, seeing as how she spent her time with animals. She’d been bled on, vomited on, pooped on, peed on…so she’d never actually had a reason to wear nice clothes. Most of her life, scrubs, yoga pants, and T-shirts had suited her just fine.
But Dr. Carla Roth was refined, elegant, brilliant, and incredibly sophisticated. Even as a professor, her mother wore beautiful silk blouses and wrap dresses with heels. At a cocktail party, the woman glittered like royalty. She’d won three of the university’s largest grants by simply charming old men at various university functions.
Unlike Jessa, her mother had never had her heart broken. Not once. And that was exactly the kind of woman Jessa needed to become.
Her book club friends—Naomi Sullivan, Cassidy Greer, and Darla Michelson—had been all too eager to help her craft a new look.
The whole group had led her down Main Street, parading through the clothing boutiques, arms full of adventurous new garments for her to try on.
But now, hanging in her closet, the skirts and brightly colored tunics didn’t appeal to her the way they had last night when everyone was oohhhing and aahing at her in the dressing rooms.
She snatched a flowery blouse off a hanger. What did that go with again? Was it the blue skirt? The red capri pants that her friends swore made her look exactly like Katharine Hepburn? All the new colors and patterns in her closet started to blur together in a whorl of confusion. Whoa. This could take a while. She needed coffee. Stat.
Leaving the clothes behind, she dashed through the living room to the kitchen and scooped heaping tablespoons of coffee into the French press. The familiar scent of her morning routine soothed the mounting tension from her hands. She could do this. She could match a shirt and shorts, for the love of God. It wasn’t rocket science. She had an MBA, Cam it!
After filling the kettle, she set it on the stove and cranked the burner. It was the flowery shirt that went with the capris, right?
Shit. She had no idea. It was time to call for backup. Snatching her cell phone off the counter, she summoned her mother.
“Hello?” Her mother sounded a bit out of breath, which meant Jessa had probably interrupted her morning yoga practice.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, glancing down at her body. Come to think of it, she might benefit from a morning yoga practice, too. The only morning practice she embraced regularly involved pastries.
“Jessa?” her mother wheezed. “Is everything all right, honey?”
“Everything’s good!” she said, trying to sound chipper. “I bought all those clothes you told me to get.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.” Her mother sounded more relieved than happy. “You’re finally investing in yourself. It’s going to make such a difference. You won’t believe what new clothes can do for your self-confidence.”
“Yeah. Um. It’s pretty exciting.” But it’d be even better if she could actually dress herself in the new clothes. “So listen. I have some important meetings today and I’m not sure what top to wear with my red capri pants.”
“Hmmm…” Her mother mused as though this decision ranked right up there with purchasing a house. “Were you able to find a white asymmetric blouse?”
“Uh—” What was an asymmetric blouse again?
A knock sounded. At the front door. Yes, that would be the door, which was neatly centered between the two large bay windows a mere twenty feet from where she stood. In the kitchen. Wearing only a bra and thong.
Okay. She edged her back against the refrigerator. Sheer curtains had seemed like a good idea when she’d picked them out last year, but she was starting to regret that decision. Clearly, she hadn’t thought through the implications of what would happen when she wanted to make herself a cup of coffee dressed only in a thong and Bold Lift bra.
“Jessa?” her mother said loudly. “Did I lose you?”
“No. I’m still here,” she whispered.
Another round of hearty pounding pried a squeal from her lips. What the hell was happening? Who’d knock on her door before seven? Was her house on fire or something?
“Honey? Is everything all right?” her mother asked.
“Yes,” she hissed. “But I’ll have to call you back.” Before her mother could answer, she clicked off her phone and set it down. Holding her breath, she stood perfectly still and quiet—minus the loud drumbeat of her heart.
The knocking didn’t stop.
“Hello?” A man’s deep rumbling voice sent her heart off to the races again. There was something vaguely familiar about it…
“It’s Lance Cortez. I need to talk to you.”
Lance! Oh. Holy. No. This was not happening. She gazed longingly at the other side of the living room to the safe darkness of the tiny hallway that led to her bedroom. There was no way she’d get through there without him seeing something. Like her ass, maybe. Cam it!
Get the front door with the windows, the ignorant Home Depot salesman had advised. It’ll let in the most light. Yes, and now it would also give Lance a clear view of a very full moon.
She flattened her body against the cabinets, craning her neck, and sure enough, he stood right there on her front porch, now peering through that lovely window on the door.
Oh, God. Her lungs heaved so hard it felt like the Bold Lift Bra was about to bust at the seams. Calm down, she instructed herself. He’ll go away. He had to go away.
“Jessa! I know you’re in there. Your car’s here,” he called again, rapping the door with that big manly fist of his. “I need to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”
Tell me about it! Maybe she could call 9-1-1 and have him escorted off her porch…
Footsteps thudded on the front porch, moving closer.
Sweet lord! Lance Cortez was peeking through the bay window!
“Hang on a sec!” she yelled, then hit the deck, pressing her body against the wood floor. Lifting her head, she assessed the distance to the hallway. It might as well have been twenty miles.
Okay. Think. What would Naomi do? That was an easy one. She never would’ve gotten herself into this situation in the first place because Naomi had the ability to get dressed without the assistance of co
ffee.
“Jessa, I really need a word,” Lance called again.
“Be there in a minute!” Despite the fact that she was basically naked, sweat itched on her back. Her room. She had to get to her room. And there was only one way. She’d have to army crawl. As long as she stayed on this side of the couch, Lance probably wouldn’t be able to see her from the window. It was risky, but what other option did she have? He obviously wasn’t going away.
Here goes. Trying to remain one with the floor, she squirmed forward, shimmying past the bookshelf. Squirm, pull, squirm, pull. She edged against the couch, bare skin grazing the cold wood planks.
Yes. Yes! It was working. Almost halfway now…
A scratch stung her hip as something sharp caught the delicate strap of her thong.
Uh oh. Contorting her body, she tried to get a better look. A loose staple from the re-upholstery job she’d done on the couch had hooked her adorable brand-new panties. Cam it! She should’ve known a staple gun wasn’t enough to hold a couch cover together. Thanks a lot, Pinterest.
“Jessa!” More pounding.
“Hold on! Give me a minute!” she called, trying to wring the panic from her tone. What the hell was his problem, anyway? Couldn’t he take a hint? She pushed onto her side to free herself from the staple, but her legs smacked into the end table. The whole thing toppled over with a deafening crash. Ow! Shit! She rolled over, gripping the backs of her calves. At the same time, the thong stretched, ripped, and snapped, falling to the floor underneath her.
“Jessa?” Lance yelled through the door. “What was that?” The doorknob clanged like he was trying to get in. “Is everything okay?”
Hot tears filled her eyes. “Fine!” Minus the throbbing in her legs and the fact that she’d just shredded a fifty-dollar thong.
“Are you sure?” he persisted, the sonofabitch. “That sounded bad. Is the key still out here?”
The key? Oh, dear God, the key! Her dad had always left a house key underneath the flowerpot…
Luckiest Cowboy of All--Two full books for the price of one Page 30