COWBOY FOR SALE--A Second-Chances Spicy Romance

by Janet Wellington

  Her cheek had felt flower-petal soft and she had smelled of orange blossoms. More surprisingly, it was the first kiss that had made him feel something since Calida had died. He wasn’t used to feeling anything, and he liked it that way.

  Feelings simply complicated things. He’d had his one love; he didn’t expect anything more. Besides, the blond, too, was probably some up and coming executive. Nothing he would be interested in. Ever.

  Her Mercedes S-Class, her Gucci watch, her cream-colored designer pantsuit—all of it pegged her for a lifestyle he had no use for. Her look was way too familiar, bringing back too many painful memories he’d worked hard over the last four years to suppress. At thirty-nine he’d accepted his new life and embraced his new goals, and his single lifestyle suited him just fine.

  Except her hair. Her hair hadn’t fit the corporate image the woman obviously worked hard to project.

  To him her hair had looked like angel hair; gossamer fine, baby waves of a natural honey blond. Nope. Didn’t fit.

  Jason grabbed the watering can from the seat next to him and mentally shook away any lingering thoughts as he made his way up the flagstone walkway to his house.

  He paused at the front door of the two-story custom log house to glance at the acre adjacent to it. What had begun as a whim had definitely taken on a life of its own.

  The front and back yard had been easy. He’d painstakingly landscaped the front to feature drought-tolerant native plants, then put edible landscaping in the back along with several rows of wooden raised beds now overflowing with seasonal vegetables. He’d finished by planting fruit trees along the perimeter. The property was a showcase of plants locals could put on their property or in their gardens, and a perfect small-scale version to show neighborhoods what a community garden could look like.

  But the empty space next to the house had kept nagging at him.

  Finally he’d given in to the idea of a lavender field. No real maintenance. It would seed itself. He didn’t even have to trim the bushes unless he wanted to harvest the fragrant buds. He’d planted a dozen types of lavender in circular rows separated by wide, pebbled paths. He’d built it in a kind of labyrinth that ended with a private hideaway in the very center. The field symbolized his new way of life.

  Relax. Smell the flowers. Keep it simple. Slow down.

  And he’d worked diligently to keep this daily mantra going, glad he’d decided to sell the business after Calida had died. First he’d made sure her parents were taken care of for the remainder of their lives, invested what was left, took a sabbatical cruise for six months, and volunteered a while with Heifer International. He’d taken himself as far away from the hustle and bustle as he could, concentrating on returning his hands to the soil.

  Then he’d sold the penthouse apartment and concentrated on finding the perfect property out in the country, east of San Diego. A piece of land he could putter around with, maybe grow a few things, and, most of all, enjoy the solitude.

  He was done with the fast pace and the stress of owning a wildly successful landscape architecture firm. Creating his new company, called Green Zone, had given him a perfect way to keep himself just busy enough.

  Turning the key in the lock, Jason stepped into the foyer, shoved his keys in his pocket, then hit the play button on the answering machine that sat on an antique gate leg table next to the huge oak staircase that climbed to the second floor.

  “Hello, Mr. Macdonald...Derek at KSUN...we still don’t have that final decision for you. We’ve got a new reporter starting today and, unfortunately, she’ll have to give the final okay about the Up Close and Personal segments. She’s got some other ideas...and...well, I’ll keep in touch.”

  The message ended with a beep and Jason hit replay to make sure he’d heard correctly.

  So, yet again, another delay. Even though the slick news anchor had already promised Green Zone would be selected for the popular community segments.

  Jason had drawn up plans months ago for the latest neighborhood garden he knew would be perfect for the segments, but had convinced the community to wait to break ground. The publicity would be critical in helping take the program to the next level, and countless other neighborhoods would directly benefit from the coverage by KSUN. They’d agreed, but were naturally getting impatient.

  He was beyond impatient.

  Now there was another person in the mix keeping an entire neighborhood waiting. And she had other ideas?

  He frowned at his reflection in the hall tree mirror, and rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. Before he changed his mind, he grabbed a butter-yellow suede shirt off a hook, threw it on over his T-shirt, then walked out the door and to the edge of the lavender field to cut some of the fragrant flowers. His experience with receptionists who guarded front desks like they were CIA agents had taught him well the importance of walking in with a peace offering.

  With an armful of lavender, he jogged back to the bright green F-150 he’d left in the driveway.

  He’d find this new reporter and demand she get the filming started once and for all.

  Chapter Three

  Angie pulled to a stop in a reserved parking space next to the building, grabbed her briefcase and the newly acquired rosebush, hurrying as quickly as her throbbing knees allowed through the lobby toward the conference room.

  She pushed open the door and slipped into the empty seat next to Derek. His father was finishing a PowerPoint presentation of year-to-date ratings and viewer demographics.

  Good. She could at least sneak a copy of the presentation from Mr. Ethan’s secretary later and get completely caught up.

  Will waved at her from across the huge cherry wood table, blew her a kiss, then mouthed congratulations.

  She smiled back. Her heart still thumped in her chest from her hurried walk through the building, and her knees were starting to really ache from the strain of her run from the parking lot.

  “You’re really late, darling,” Derek whispered in her ear. “And what happened to your hair?”

  “Tell you later...sorry I’m late.”

  He leaned in a little closer to her. “You missed the big announcement.”

  A few more co-workers gave Angie the thumbs-up as she straightened up and opened her briefcase to retrieve a pad of paper.

  “What’s with the scrawny plant?” Derek asked

  Angie looked at the tiny yellow blooms on the rosebush. Young, a little immature, but definitely not scrawny. She’d mentally already picked out a spot on a sunny window ledge in her office where she knew it would thrive after she repotted it and gave it a little fertilizer.

  “You want me to toss it?” he asked.

  She watched as he picked up the pot and dropped it into a nearby wastebasket. “Wait—”

  “You have something to add to the presentation, Ms. Fletcher?”

  All eyes turned toward her while Angie looked up at her boss. He stood with his finger poised in the air above his laptop, ready to change the slide on the screen at the front of the room.

  Quickly she scanned the slide that was meant to be used in the evening newscast, then said, “No numbers have been completely verified yet on exactly how many people were affected by the wildfire...and...I think we should hold off one more day so we release an exact figure on the air.”

  “Point taken. Let’s move on, then. Last on the agenda is the Up Close and Personal spring season. Ms. Fletcher, do you have a report?”

  “Actually, I’m recommending we take another look at two other businesses besides Green Zone. I’m not convinced it’s our best choice.”

  “Hmm...I see. Let’s say we table the discussion for now?”

  “Sure thing.” She forced a confident smile as her boss clicked off the LCD projector and everyone rose to leave.

  Well, that went over like a lead balloon.

  Derek joined his father at the front of the room while she gathered her briefcase and then leaned toward the nearby wastebasket to retrieve the plant. She tamped d
own the soil that had loosened when Derek dropped it, still feeling a little irritated Derek had assumed she didn’t want the tiny rosebush.

  Derek and his father both glanced her way as she got up from the table and walked gingerly toward the door.

  Derek caught up with her halfway down the hall. “I’ve got to go return a phone call.”

  Angie frowned at him. He hadn’t missed their Monday morning cup of cappuccino since they’d become an “item” last year.

  “And lunch is off too. Hair appointment.”

  “I think it looks fine,” she said, staring at his perfectly coiffed hair.

  “Zeke says it’s looking a little shaggy on-camera, so he adjusted some appointments to squeeze me in over the noon hour.” He shrugged his apology before he pivoted to head back toward his own plush office down the hall.

  She couldn’t decide if Derek was acting strange or if her perception was tweaked as a result of her weird morning. A morning that had given her a pounding tension headache that rivaled the pain in her knees, a morning spoiled in every way.

  And what was that little discussion between Derek and his father after the meeting broke up? And that look they’d given her? Had to be about Green Zone. It didn’t matter. She had no intention of tramping around in freshly fertilized soil to talk about the greening of inner city neighborhoods. Not when Cassondra could easily cover Green Zone in one of her noontime All About Town pieces. Sure, the business warranted some KSUN airtime, it just wasn’t what she wanted for her special spring segment.

  She’d worked too hard to stay as far away as she could from anything remotely like down-on-the-farm stories. She’d be using her stint as community reporter to groom a nice path toward a regular field reporter assignment, where she really belonged, covering serious news and not doing fluff pieces. Then, if all went as planned, she’d end up an evening anchor in a couple of years.

  She’d just have to convince Derek to back her up. And he would once she explained her reasoning that Green Zone belonged in Cassondra’s segment and not hers.

  On her way to her office, Angie paused at the reception desk to pick up her messages. She waved at Claire, who was busy on the phone, then turned to walk away. Just as she did, she felt both bandages lift free from her knees and fall out the bottom of her pant legs. When she stooped down to retrieve them, fresh pain shot down both shins.

  With difficulty, she rose to her feet and tossed the bloody evidence of her horrible morning into the trashcan in the lobby.

  As she limped toward her office, she groaned out loud as she read the first one. Zeke had called to apologize that he needed to cancel her hair appointment so he could get Derek in for an emergency cut, but he could squeeze her in tomorrow night instead. Obviously, Derek’s hair came first.

  Next was a message from a “Ms. X” who said not to bother to call her any more.

  Darn it. She’d been counting on the scoop to elevate her hard-news potential. Her plan had been to add another serious news story to her résumé. No one else had been able to get close to the woman whose politician brother was about to go to court.

  The third one was from her father, but he’d left no message.

  Angie stopped and leaned against the wall for a moment, checking the time noted on the slip. Five minutes after he’d called her at home. Could something really be wrong? He’d never told her the result of his annual physical...could that be it? She felt her stomach knot-up in response.

  On the last message, Claire had written that a man had called asking if the new Up Close and Personal reporter was there because he was on his way in to see her. A mean-looking frowny face had been drawn at the bottom, Claire’s depiction of the man’s attitude.

  Was her world falling apart or did it just feel that way? Her father had called twice in one day. Her career felt like it was teetering in the wrong direction. Her future husband and her boss were ticked off at her, and she was pretty sure her knees were about to bleed through her Armani slacks.

  When she finally dropped into her chair, Angie put the messages and the plant on her desk, placed her briefcase on the floor, toed out of her new Sergio Rossi taupe leather sandals, and pulled both pant legs up to her thighs. She flipped her wastebasket on end and propped her feet on it to take a look at her wounds.

  “Jeez, Angie, what happened?”

  Angie shook her head without looking up at the sound of Claire’s voice. She knew it was the receptionist’s morning break time and, with any luck, maybe she was going on a coffee run, which would be lovely since Derek had canceled their cappuccino date. Maybe Claire could get her a tall coffee and some fresh Band-Aids while she was at it. “Claire, don’t even ask. It’s been a morning.”

  Angie scrutinized her knees, which seemed a lot worse. “And don’t send that cranky guy back here. Just tell him I’m busy. I’m gone. Whatever.”

  It was then that Angie glanced up just enough to notice another pair of shoes parked next to Claire’s perky red-sequined platforms. A pair of honey-colored, definitely Tony Lama elephant skin...at-least-four-hundred-dollar...cowboy boots.

  Angie closed her eyes, certain she had to be seeing things. This isn’t happening. When she opened them again, only the Tony Lamas were there. Slowly she lifted her head, forcing a cheerful smile and trying desperately to think of something intelligent to say.

  But as she prepared to look at the man standing in front of her, he had already lowered himself to one knee and was staring at her legs.

  “Did you ice them?”

  Angie chewed on her lower lip as unwanted tears sprung to her eyes. It was the last straw. Total embarrassment washed over her and she started to jerk her legs off the overturned wastebasket.

  But before she could, she felt the rough palms of his hands against her ankles, preventing her from moving.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” She watched as he released one of his hands to reach into his shirt pocket, retrieving a small tin, then looked at her. “May I?”

  As she stared into his eyes, any words she might have said were stuck somewhere between her brain and her lips. At least she’d managed to keep any tears from escaping.

  How could it be him?

  Odds were astronomical in a city the size of San Diego against running into the handsome plant-man again, let alone within an hour on this horrible Monday morning.

  “It’s just an herbal salve,” he explained. And taking her silence for permission, he used his little finger to dab some of the ointment onto her knees.

  “Ow!”

  He looked up at her, his eyebrows pulling together. “Should I stop?”

  A little voice in her head whispered, “No, don’t ever stop.” What was it about this man, and more specifically, this man’s touch? She shuddered, then forced her best business smile to her lips. “I’m fine. Sorry. Low threshold.” He looked away, but not before she noticed the change in his eyes. There was something painful there, something dark.

  “These are pretty nasty abrasions; the salve should help soothe the pain in a minute or two. You should really keep your legs up for a while if you can.” He stood, slipping the tin back into his shirt pocket.

  Not caring if the salve stained her slacks, she dropped her feet to the floor and stepped back into her shoes and stood up, stretching her five-foot frame as tall as she could. She didn’t intend to have him baby her. She felt ridiculous enough. “I’m Angie Fletcher.” She stuck out her hand, waiting for him to get to his feet.

  His hand swallowed hers and he grasped it firmly, holding onto it a few seconds longer than necessary. His dry, callused hand felt familiar, somehow. Then she identified the feeling. It was the hand of someone who worked with his hands, probably outside—a dramatic contrast to the smooth, cool skin of Derek’s hands. No, this man’s hands were used to physical labor and not opposed to getting dirty to get the job done.

  “Jason Ryan Macdonald,” he said as he finally let go. “I’m here to pick a fight with you.”

  Angie drew her
brows together as she stared up at him.

  “I understand you’re the new reporter for the Up Close and Personal segments, and the latest roadblock to getting filming started on Green Zone.”

  He was Mr. Green Zone? Angie swallowed hard. “It’s nothing personal, Mr. Macdonald. It’s normal for the new reporter to come in with other ideas that seem better suited—”

  “To what?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Better suited to what? Your career? Your image? Don’t like the idea of walking around in your Italian shoes looking at compost piles and drip irrigation?”

  “Look. Every Up Close and Personal reporter puts his or her stamp on the show. I’m considering your business along with a couple others.”

  Jason deepened his glare. Then he started to pace the floor in front of her desk, looking like he was about to blow a gasket, looking like he definitely wasn’t used to hearing the word no.

  “Not personal?” His voice rose a notch. “Of course it’s personal. I’ve put an entire neighborhood on hold waiting for something that has been all but promised to me already. You enter the picture and now I’m not supposed to take it personally?”

  Before Angie could begin to try to calm him down, the cavalry arrived. Derek walked in, made a beeline straight to her, and gave her a light peck on the cheek. Then he turned and extended his hand to Jason, who’d stopped his pacing and now stood in front of her desk.

  Jason’s hands stayed defiantly on his hips, his glare now shifting from her to Derek.

  “I’m Derek Ethan.”

  “Jason Macdonald from Green Zone.”

  “Ah, yes—we’ve spoken on the phone. I see you’ve met our new Up Close and Personal reporter.”

  Jason continued to ignore Derek’s extended hand and, instead, crossed his arms against his chest. He stood tree-straight, and looked like a man with his heels dug in and ready for battle.

  “I’m sure Ms. Fletcher will give her nod of approval on Green Zone—”

  “Actually,” Angie interrupted, “I just explained to Mr. Macdonald that I haven’t finished exploring all the alternatives—”