Rodeo Baby

by Mary Sullivan

  That might have been true in the past, but these days, he sure held a grudge against Tiffany. She had chosen an indecent, difficult way to end their marriage.

  Success is the best revenge.

  True, but today he had time with his daughter on a spectacular Sunday morning and a little girl named Tori had mellowed Chelsea’s ’tude somewhat.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” he said, “and I’m riding into town to have breakfast with a beautiful girl.”

  “Feeble, Dad,” she said, but humor lurked in her tone and it made him feel good.

  As he and Chelsea entered the diner and found a table near the back, they continued a running argument about flirtation between the sexes, started when Chelsea had ordered him in the car to not flirt with Violet today.

  “Dad, when you flirt it’s your lizard brain talking, not your refined, reasonable man brain. Stop flirting. It’s embarrassing.”

  “We’re all hardwired to find each other attractive. It’s what we do.”

  Violet approached. Sam smiled. She scowled. He sighed. She hadn’t gotten over last night.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked, the question was appropriate but her tone not so much.

  Chelsea ordered and then he did, too. Without a backward glance, she left the table.

  Sam frowned.

  He loved laughter and silly jokes. Not cut out for espionage, this tension made the whole screwed-up situation hard on him.

  “What I want to know,” Chelsea said, “is why you have to flirt? Why not skip the games and just get to know each other?”

  “Because it’s hard to do that. When you start from scratch, you can’t just sit down as strangers with a notebook and a list of questions and say, ‘Okay, tell me who you are, what you like to do and what you expect from a relationship,’ as though you can put it all into a computer and find your ideal mate. I know about online dating and that it works for some people, but it doesn’t suit me. I like to play. I like the games. So I break the ice. I flirt. Flirtation is fun.”

  “But—”

  “How else do you think the species propagates?”

  “What about love?”

  “I tried that once. Remember? It didn’t work out so well.”

  After being quiet for so long Sam thought she’d dropped the conversation, Chelsea eventually said, “So you did love Mom when you married her?”

  “Yes. I thought it was love, anyway. I was young. I bought into my culture wholeheartedly. Your mother went to all of the right schools. She came from money. We had the same conservative views.” Sam sipped his coffee. “It didn’t do us a heck of a lot of good, did it?”

  Glumly, Chelsea said, “You got me out of the marriage, Dad. Aren’t I worth something?”

  He dropped his cup onto his saucer with a clatter, sloshing coffee over the rim. Grasping Chelsea’s hands in his, he said, “You are everything. You are worth every single speck of heartache I went through with the divorce. I don’t regret a moment of the marriage, because it produced you.”

  “Really?” Her voice cracked. She looked so hopeful. Surely she knew how much he loved her?

  “I love you with all of my heart.”

  “I love you, too, Dad.” Flustered by how deep and heavy the conversation had become, she gave him a tiny smile. “But not your lizard brain and your weak flirtations.”

  “Hey, I’m a free agent these days. I get to have fun and flirt all I want.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes.

  “Leave my lizard brain alone,” Sam said. “It appreciates the beauty of the woman who’s about to deliver our pancakes.”

  “After last night, she still looks furious.”

  “Yeah, she does, but I find it strangely appealing. It makes her eyes flash purple.”

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. Sam took out the change purse.

  “Rolling eyes.”

  Chelsea dropped a quarter into the purse. “Just don’t say anything dumb.”

  Sam watched Violet approach. “Man, she has great calves.”

  A second later, Violet plopped their meals onto their table.

  “Chelsea, are you looking forward to watching Travis’s herd grow?” Sam asked loudly. “Don’t you think it would be cool to watch calves being born?”

  Chelsea kicked him under the table.

  “Thank you, Vy, that will be all,” Chelsea said, dismissing her with a spot-on imitation of her mother at her most snobbish. The girl should be an actress.

  Violet frowned and walked away.

  “Don’t you think you were rude?” Sam asked.

  “Are you kidding? I didn’t know what was going to come out of your mouth next.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  “Oh, me of justified cynicism.”

  Sam nodded in positive assessment. “That’s a sophisticated line for a thirteen-year-old.”

  Chelsea grinned. “I’m smart, you know.”

  Sam, in blessed harmony with her, smiled warmly. “Yeah, I know, possum.”

  “Let’s make a deal,” Chelsea said, still with a smile on her face. “You keep making me put change into the dumb purse. How about if every time I think your flirtation is dumb, you have to add a quarter.”

  Sam thought about it. Feeling expansive at the moment, he said, “Okay. You’re on. Fair is fair.”

  Chelsea’s happy smile looked good on her. Sam responded in kind.

  He was still smiling when Violet brought their bill. He reached for it. Someone from another table had snagged Violet’s attention so she hadn’t yet let go of the bill.

  Their hands collided. He jumped as though stung. She did the same. There hadn’t been any sort of static electricity. Violet hadn’t just walked across a carpet in the middle of winter, but Sam had felt electrified.

  Good Lord, what was wrong with the two of them?

  * * *

  VY ARRIVED AT the ranch on Sunday afternoon because Rachel had called her.

  “You need to smooth things over with Sam,” her friend said when Vy stepped into the kitchen.

  “No way.” She’d slept poorly and Sam had waltzed into her diner in a good mood this morning.

  “Do you know he was actually smiling when he came to the Summertime this morning?”

  “People do enjoy coming to your diner, you know. Maybe he was putting on a good face for his daughter.”

  “Nope. He was making comments that made his daughter smile, but that I didn’t understand at all. They weren’t even fighting this morning. I think he was making fun of me. He seemed to be in a genuinely good mood.”

  “And you aren’t, so you need to criticize him.”

  “Whose side are you on, Rachel?”

  “Believe it or not, yours. But Sam seems to be able to shake things off. You don’t. You need to get over whatever is going on with this man.”

  If only Vy could wave a wand and all of her ridiculous sexual attraction to Sam would be gone. “You make me sound unlikable.”

  Rachel reacted quickly, reaching to hug her. “You are opinionated and tough, but you are so likable. Never doubt that, Vy.” Rachel pulled back. “In this situation you, the Queen of Common Sense and Good Behavior, aren’t behaving rationally at all. Examine that.”

  She was afraid to.

  “Sam’s in the barn doing chores. Go out there and fix this situation,” Rachel ordered. “He lives in my house and you are my friend. I don’t need this tension around me. I don’t need you two fighting in front of my daughters.”

  Guilt kicked in, whether Rachel wanted guilt or not. Vy knew she had to rise above her feelings and at least try to get over her attraction—and thus her bad mood—to Sam.

  She trudged out to the barn and stepped inside.

  It smelle
d faintly of manure but also of warm horseflesh. Almost comforting and not altogether a bad scent, it calmed Vy. Somewhat.

  Dust motes danced in a sunbeam streaming in from a high crack in the ceiling. The sunbeam landed on Sam’s handsome head, setting off the highlights in his blond hair, as if he was the prize at the end of the rainbow.

  When unwelcome desire shot through her, her resistance shot up. Thinking of Rachel, she cautioned herself to relax.

  She could relate to this man without her emotions getting strung up like a bunch of Christmas lights.

  She stepped down the aisle.

  He glanced her way. His hand stalled. The horse huffed out a breath and Sam resumed his brushing.

  “You don’t look like you belong in a barn.”

  “Neither do you,” she retorted.

  “My boots are covered in crap, my clothes are dusty and my hat’s sweaty. I belong here a whole lot more than you do.” He glanced her way. “What brings you out here? Come to make fun again?”

  “No.” She gathered her courage. She wasn’t a woman who apologized easily. “I’m sorry I behaved so badly last night.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Behave badly.”

  Like she would ever admit to him that she found him attractive. “I was tired. I work long days, you know.”

  “Yeah. I can guess. Let’s not kid each other, though. That had nothing to do with it.”

  Vy’s breath backed up in her throat. “What do you mean?”

  “You weren’t put out because you were tired.” He tossed the brush to the floor. “You weren’t angry with me.” He hauled off his leather gloves. “You were upset because of this.”

  Before she realized his intention, he grasped the back of her neck and pulled her close. His mouth descended on hers, harsh and hard and taking a lot more than she wanted to give.

  Or than she thought she wanted to give.

  She gave, all right, igniting in fury and desire. And then she gave more, as much as he demanded of her.

  When a fire burst inside her, she angled his head so she could take from him. And take.

  And he gave. And gave.

  Breathing roughly, they pulled apart. Vy stared at the new man in town. His gray eyes, not the least bit cool, dared her to complain that he’d taken control.

  Nope. No complaints. Not a one. She liked it.

  She’d been the one in control for too many years, through every incident, every problem, feeding the town during snowstorms, blackouts, ice storms and every other emergency that befell Rodeo.

  Being the town go-to for solving problems had exhausted her. She hadn’t realized how much.

  Her body leaned toward him for the relief of abdicating control to someone else, even if only briefly.

  Bad idea, Vy. But she allowed it, just for these few precious moments.

  His heat along the length of her body curdled her insides and turned her knees to jelly. He didn’t feel soft. His body didn’t feel unused. Who was this man, this noncowboy, who was no pushover no matter how much she wanted him to be?

  “Mmm,” he said, kissing her neck. “Fried onions. My favorite aphrodisiac.”

  She laughed and tried to push him away, but he held on, and maybe she hadn’t pushed very hard.

  “Now that we’ve acknowledged our attraction to each other,” he said, “do you want to tell me why you hate me so much?”

  His warm breath, coffee-scented and sweet, ruffled the small hairs around her face.

  “You’re a phony. You’re no more a cowboy than I am.” Funny that she criticized him, even while she still held him against her with her arms around his neck. Funny that she tightened her grip so he wouldn’t move away. Funny that he didn’t seem to take offense to her words.

  “Considering how obvious it is that I can’t even fake it, well, yeah. I am not a real cowboy, but I have my reasons.”

  His nearness and heat, his height, his insightful gray eyes disconcerted her.

  People came to her for her cool head under pressure. She needed to reestablish her independence.

  She pushed away from him harder and he let her go, her latent defenses kicking in at last, as they should have done before he’d kissed her.

  But, oh, she’d wanted that kiss. That spectacular kiss.

  “Does Travis know you’re not a real cowboy?”

  He snorted. “What do you think?”

  Then he did the oddest thing. After frowning, he took a small, glittery purse out of one pocket. He unzipped it and rummaged in his other pocket until he came up with a quarter, which he dropped into the purse. He put the thing back into his pocket, all without seeming to realize what he’d done.

  “What was that about?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “That.” She pointed to his pocket.

  He glanced at his crotch and back at her, as if checking to make sure he didn’t have a hard-on or that his zipper wasn’t open.

  She rolled her eyes. “Not that. That.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “It’s something between Chelsea and me. I got tired of her attitude on the drive out here. Her snorting, indignant teenage huffing and puffing and her eye-rolling bothered me so I make her pay a quarter every time. Not that she really snorts but it’s for any rude noise she makes. Or that I make.”

  “On your drive out from where?”

  He opened his mouth, closed it and appraised her with an approving eye. “Good one. Nice try. Do you know what the most useless word in the English language is right now?”

  “No. What?”

  “D’oh.”

  “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don’t know. Okay?”

  He smiled. “No. I mean the word d’oh.”

  She smiled, too.

  This strange, unprecedented harmony with him ruffled her feathers so she rushed to change the subject.

  “Why are you here?”

  His expression flattened. “That’s private.”

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “Can’t.”

  “You are the most frustrating man. How can I trust you if you won’t confide in me?”

  He actually looked pained. “I just can’t. Okay? It’s private. Don’t ask again.”

  “Okay, but in that case, no more kissing. No more manhandling.”

  “Is that what I was doing? Manhandling you? You participated in that kiss willingly.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. His touch thrilled her. “It was great, wasn’t it?”

  She spun away from him. Yes, she had participated and it had been wonderful.

  But she’d made one doozy of a mistake once with an untrustworthy man and wouldn’t do it again.

  “I need to get home.”

  She stomped out of the stable and straight to her car without entering the house.

  As much as she loved Rachel, Vy couldn’t see her right now, not after that kiss and how much might still be showing in her expression, like desire, temptation and need.

  Sam Michaels crept closer and closer. She shouldn’t allow it. It ended now. Today.

  She’d been kissed many times before. Sam’s kiss wasn’t anything special.

  Well, yeah, it was. That kiss had sent her spiraling in a whirlwind of sexual need.

  Damn. This called for another cold shower to rein in her unruly, rowdy desire.

  * * *

  SAM SHOULDN’T HAVE kissed her. He cursed his lack of self-discipline.

  It had been amazing, though.

  The woman was passionate with a capital P, all locked up tightly inside her as though passion was a dirty word. Maybe kissing her hadn’t been a bad thing.

  What if they started an affair? With that kiss as an e
xample, Violet must be fantastic in bed.

  And then what, Sam?

  Combing Storm roughly, which the horse seemed to like, Sam caught himself. Having an affair with Violet was nothing more than fantasy with a good dose of wishful thinking thrown in, and utterly unrealistic considering that he investi­gated her as part of the fair committee.

  Another impediment loomed and that was Violet’s character. There was more to her than he had first thought. She might be ripping off his grandfather. On the other hand, she might not be.

  She sure had the respect of the community.

  Despite the animosity between them, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. He wasn’t a man who used women, and she didn’t deserve to be used.

  Her self-control impressed him or would have if it didn’t also thwart him from getting to know her better.

  But he had a life to return to in New York. He stepped out of the barn and headed for the back door for a cold drink.

  No, he wouldn’t use Violet in that way, but remembering that kiss, he wished he could.

  * * *

  AFTER BREAKFAST ON Monday morning, Sam headed out to the stable to saddle Storm. The second half of the cattle shipment should arrive at any minute. The horse might love being brushed, but he hated being ridden.

  Sam was fit. In New York, he boxed most nights after work at the local gym. He rode his horse every weekend. He and his friends participated in amateur polo events.

  But he couldn’t ride this damn horse he’d been saddled with. Not well, anyway.

  The devil waited for him patiently in the barn. After a couple of aborted attempts, Sam managed to get the horse saddled. He got himself up into the saddle and rode out of the barn.

  The shipment arrived moments later.

  Again, in a deeply aggravating déjà vu of Saturday’s debacle, both the horse and the cattle made a mockery of his attempts at authority.

  When he returned to the yard sooner than he’d intended because Storm decided he should, laughter from the back porch provoked him. When he recognized the laughter as Violet’s, his temper shot through the stratosphere.

  She stood with her hands on her hips, her teeth a broad slash framed by red lips, watching him attempt to control Storm.