Arizona Cowboy

by Marin Thomas

  “What subject do you teach?”

  “I’m not a teacher. I’m a school psychologist.”

  “Whoa!” Lauren raised her hands in the air and backed up a step. “Did my dad ask you to come here?”

  Caught off guard by the outburst Rachel asked, “What do you mean?”

  “He thinks because I dyed my hair pink and pierced my eyebrow and nose that I’m going to join a gang or start doing drugs. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To—” Lauren made quote signs in the air “—straighten me out.”

  “I’m not here to straighten anyone out. P.T. asked me to help with his rodeos while he’s in Phoenix.”

  Rachel’s statement knocked the wind out of Lauren’s sails. “Really? ’Cause I wouldn’t put it past my dad to—”

  “Put what past me?” Clint asked.

  Lauren pointed at Rachel. “She’s a shrink.”

  “So?”

  “I’m not letting her inside my head no matter what you or she thinks about my hair color.”

  “I don’t mind the pink.” Rachel ignored Clint’s shocked stare. “I’m all in favor of individuality.” Most teens experimented with different identities until they found where they fit in best.

  “I might add neon-green highlights before school starts. Avril did that once and she looked—”

  “Enough talk about hair. Are you ready to head into Yuma?” Clint asked Lauren.

  “Do you want to come, Rachel? Yuma’s a decent-size town with name-brand stores. There’s a Starbucks—”

  “I doubt—”

  “I’d love to go.” Rachel cut off Clint’s objection. Love was stretching it, but she was determined to show Clint that she didn’t intimidate easily.

  “Might as well follow in your car,” Clint said. “We’ll drop it off at the repair shop.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Rachel faced angry teenagers on a daily basis, so handling a good-looking, disgruntled cowboy should be a piece of cake.

  Or not.

  “SHE GETS MY HAIR,” Lauren said to Clint as they waited in his truck outside Mel’s Auto Repair in Yuma.

  Rachel had been discussing repairs with Mel for the past fifteen minutes. “Her opinion doesn’t count.” His gaze shifted to the side mirror on the driver’s door. As far as women went, Rachel was damn easy on the eyes, but too… Several adjectives came to mind—opinionated, self-assured, serious, uppity and educated.

  “What do you have against Rachel?”

  “Nothing,” Clint protested.

  Lauren sipped her designer coffee. “I think she’s okay.”

  What was taking Rachel so long? She probably believed Mel was trying to rip her off. The shop owner was a fair man and had worked on Clint’s truck twice—after the front fender had collided with a boulder and the back fender with a water tank. Rachel wouldn’t find a better deal anywhere. “Wait here.” He strode across the parking lot and entered the business.

  “I refuse to leave my car without a written estimate.” Rachel pursed her mouth, the seductive pout drawing Clint’s gaze to her lips. He really wanted to discover for himself if the pink gloss tasted like cotton candy or bubble gum.

  The mechanic sent Clint a pleading look. “Mel does the best work in the area. His prices are fair and he doesn’t overcharge for labor or parts.”

  “That’s fine but I’m not letting him touch the Prius without a written estimate.”

  “I’m swamped today, but I’ll contact Toyota tomorrow and find out how long it will take to order the paint,” Mel said. “Those sissy colors are hard to come by.”

  Rachel glared. “He won’t stop mocking my car.”

  Clint pressed his lips together to keep from chuckling.

  “I want a second opinion on repairing the Prius.” Rachel stormed out the door. If she didn’t trust Clint’s advice about car repairs, he doubted she’d accept his suggestions on running P.T.’s rodeos.

  “Whoo-wee. The little lady’s hell on wheels.”

  “That’s Rachel Lewis, P.T.’s daughter.”

  “Didn’t know P.T. had a daughter.” Mel shook his head. “I don’t mind working on her car. I could use the money.”

  “She won’t find a better deal than your garage. We’ll be back.” An hour later, Clint parked the truck at Mel’s Auto Repair and Rachel pulled the Prius into a spot next to his truck and headed for the mechanic’s office.

  Lauren groaned. “Oh, my God. Is Rachel ever going to make up her mind?”

  “We’ll see.” Even though he’d vouched for Mel’s work, he admired Rachel’s thoroughness in comparing prices—wasteful spending drove him nuts.

  Clint’s stomach growled. Lunch had been seven hours ago. “Where do you want to eat?”

  “Chili’s. I like their Cajun pasta.”

  “Maybe we should ask Rachel, since she’s a guest.” More guest than family, in his opinion. A few minutes later Rachel opened the passenger-side door and hopped into the truck.

  “Any problems?” he asked.

  “Mel’s charging an extra ten dollars.”

  “What for?” Clint asked.

  “He tacked on a nuisance fee.”

  Clint stared and Lauren giggled.

  “Laugh all you want but for the extra ten bucks I got a written estimate.” Rachel waved the piece of paper in the air.

  “We’re going to Chili’s for supper. Is that okay with you?” Lauren asked.

  “Sure. They’ve got decent salads,” Rachel said. “I try to avoid eating too much red meat.”

  Go figure. P.T.’s daughter was a health nut. A half hour later, Rachel changed Clint’s mind when she ordered a salad with chicken meat and devoured her share of chips and salsa.

  “More chips?” the waitress asked, stopping at their table.

  “Sure.” Lauren handed over the empty basket.

  “Don’t eat too many chips or you won’t finish your supper,” Clint said.

  Lauren made a tsking sound. “I think I’m old enough to monitor my food intake.”

  “Then you’d better finish your meal, since I’m paying for it.”

  “If you’re going to make a big deal out of a few chips, I’ll pay for my supper.” Lauren tossed her napkin on the table and said, “Move. I have to use the bathroom.”

  Clint slipped from the booth then exhaled loudly after his daughter walked off.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” Rachel said.

  “Do what?”

  “Let your daughter disrespect you.”

  Clint’s hackles rose. “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  “Then you shouldn’t be doling out advice.”

  “I work with angsty teenagers. You have to stand your ground and demand their respect or they’ll walk all over you.”

  He opened his mouth to tell Rachel to mind her own business but was cut short when Lauren returned to the table. With half an ear he listened to the females chat, fuming over Rachel sticking her nose into his and Lauren’s business.

  The check arrived and he insisted on paying for Rachel’s meal, even though she protested. When they hit the outskirts of Yuma, Lauren put in her earbuds and listened to music on her iPod. Clint focused on the road, ignoring Rachel’s stare. Ignoring the clean, fresh scent of her perfume was more difficult. It had been forever since he’d sat next to a nice-smelling female. Assuming she had more parenting suggestions to offer him, he said, “Spit it out.”

  “Spit what out?”

  “Whatever’s bugging you?” When she remained quiet, he said, “You’ve been staring at me since we left the restaurant.”

  “We need to clear the air between us.”

  “I didn’t know it was polluted.”

  “Funny. I’m being serious.”

  What was it with females—always overanalyzing or making a big deal out of nothing?

  “You’re not comfortable with me running P.T.’s rodeo company.”

  He should have known a woman with a psychology major would find a way ins
ide his head. “P.T. has his reasons for choosing you.”

  “But you don’t like me.”

  He liked plenty about her physical appearance.

  “There’s annoyance in your eyes when you look at me,” she said.

  Really? Rachel must not have had much experience with men if she misinterpreted his appreciative glances as irritation. “I apologize for being rude.”

  “I wasn’t asking for an apology.”

  Jeez. Following the woman’s train of thought was like trailing Curly into the desert—he never knew which direction the bull might mosey. Honesty was the best course of action. “You want to clear the air? How about this—P.T. made a mistake handing over the reins to you.”

  She stiffened. “You know nothing about me.”

  Exactly. “Have you ever been to a rodeo?”

  “No.”

  “I rest my case,” he said.

  “Just because I’ve never seen cowboys ride bucking stock doesn’t mean I lack business sense.”

  “Do you have experience putting on large events?”

  “I organized a fundraiser for the weight room at the high school. We collected four thousand dollars for new equipment.”

  “You got any idea how much money is involved in producing a Five Star Rodeo?”

  “No.”

  “The average cost runs between a hundred-fifty and two hundred thousand dollars.”

  Rachel’s face paled.

  “Like P.T. stated earlier, the rodeos have to turn a profit or there won’t be enough money to support the sanctuary ranch the following year.”

  “My father never mentioned his business was struggling.”

  “Things are tight, leaving little room for mistakes. That’s not to say there isn’t more competition in the rodeo business these days, because there is. Some of the production companies are using expensive gimmicks to increase attendance.”

  “What kinds of gimmicks?”

  “Drawings for free vehicles. Time-shares in the Bahamas.”

  “Can you recommend a dealership that might be willing to donate a truck to one of our rodeos?” she asked.

  He could but why should he help Rachel look good in P.T.’s eyes? “Sorry, I don’t have any connections to car salesmen.”

  “There has to be a way to increase attendance without breaking the bank,” she said.

  “Guess you’ll figure something out. That’s why P.T. put you in charge, right?”

  Chapter Four

  6:00 a.m. Monday morning Clint stood next to P.T.’s truck speculating whether or not Rachel would haul her backside out of bed and wish her father good luck with his cancer treatments.

  “Maybe her alarm clock didn’t go off.” Clint took one step toward the house before P.T. snagged his arm.

  “Leave her be, son.”

  “She’s your daughter.” Clint ground his back teeth together.

  P.T.’s shoulders sagged.

  In the ten minutes they’d hee-hawed with goodbyes, P.T. had aged before Clint’s eyes. “Lauren’s wanted to shop at the outlets in Phoenix. We’ll drive you up there, check you in at the medical center, then we—”

  “No.” P.T. stared at the front door. “Rachel needs you here.”

  If your daughter needs my help, why did you ask her to run the business? Had P.T. considered what might become of his deceased wife’s dream if the rodeos failed? If there wasn’t enough money to feed the livestock next year, the animals would end up at the glue factory.

  “Are you sure you want Rachel to manage the rodeos?” Clint asked.

  “You don’t believe she can handle the responsibility.”

  That’s right.

  “Never underestimate my daughter. She inherited my bullheadedness.”

  Inherit… The word reminded Clint that he was an employee, not a family member. “Is that why she didn’t get out of bed to say goodbye to you?”

  “There are two sides to every story and often neither one is right.” P.T. climbed into his truck, started the engine then lowered the driver-side window. “I’ll phone after I’m settled in.”

  “Let us know what day of the week would be good to visit.”

  P.T. shook his head. “You and Rachel will be too busy with the rodeos.”

  “Lauren won’t stand for not seeing you all summer.”

  The mention of Clint’s daughter made P.T. smile. Clint swore P.T. had yet to crack a smile when he spoke of Rachel.

  “You keep that youngun’ busy so she stays out of trouble.”

  Lauren had balked at spending the summer in Stagecoach but as soon as she’d arrived she’d taken to P.T. The old man doted on her like an adoring grandfather. He had patience with the cranky teenager and Lauren made P.T. laugh with her outrageous comments on ranch life.

  “Make sure she reads the Zane Grey novels I left on my desk. I told her I’d read that sci-fi romance she never stops talking about.” P.T. lifted his eReader off the front seat. “Got the book downloaded right here.”

  The old man wasn’t afraid of technology. P.T. had the most up-to-date software programs installed on his computer and this past Christmas, Clint had given him a GPS gadget for his golf game. The salesclerk at the store had attempted to explain how the device worked, but gave up after Clint asked too many questions. When P.T. had opened his gift he’d figured out how to use it in less than five minutes.

  Even though P.T. kept the company’s financial statements and records on the computer, old habits die hard. The boss spent hours writing duplicate information into a ledger. As much as he embraced technology, P.T. didn’t trust what he couldn’t see or hold in his hands.

  “I’m sure Lauren will call you to discuss the books.”

  “Don’t pester the girl. We’ll talk when I return in August.”

  For some reason P.T. was determined to undergo his treatment without family support. Stubborn man. “Drive safe and…” What the hell did you say to a man who stared his own mortality in the face? “Stay well.”

  “Will do.”

  Clint didn’t know how long he stood in the yard watching the taillights of P.T.’s truck when the front door burst open and Rachel rushed outside. Wearing sandals, a skimpy pair of shorts, a tank top and her blond hair snarled, she appeared frantic. Then she saw Clint and trotted toward him, her small, braless breasts jiggling beneath the shirt. He couldn’t remember any of his high-school teachers looking as hot as Rachel. The closer she came, the faster his pulse raced. Her fresh-from-bed rumpled appearance sent his libido into overdrive. Steady, man. Finding himself sexually attracted to a pretty woman wasn’t unusual—as long as he didn’t allow that attraction to evolve into something deeper.

  “Where’s P.T.?” she asked, stopping a few feet away.

  “He already left.” Clint pointed to the dust in the air a mile down the road.

  “For Phoenix?”

  “Yep. Nice of you to get out of bed and wish him well.” Rachel gasped but Clint refused to feel remorse for his biting comment. What kind of daughter didn’t care enough to say goodbye to her father? He and Lauren hadn’t always been on the best of terms but he believed she’d stand by his side in the face of adversity.

  “He did that on purpose.” Rachel’s eyelashes fluttered. Was she blinking back tears?

  “Did what?” Clint crossed his arms over his chest, determined to resist the sudden urge to hug Rachel.

  “He left before I got out of bed.”

  “P.T. couldn’t wait forever.”

  “Last night he said he’d leave at eight o’clock. I offered to cook him breakfast.”

  Clint checked his watch. 6:46 a.m.

  “P.T. left early because I insisted on going with him today,” she said.

  Certain she was all talk and no action, Clint pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Feel free to use the truck in the barn.”

  She snatched the key ring from his fingers and dashed off, leaving him gaping. A moment later she put the pedal to the metal and zipped past Clint.


  “I’ll be damned. She does care.”

  What the heck was Rachel going to do if she caught P.T.—escort him to Phoenix in her pj’s? He’d made it to the porch of the cabin when he spotted her heading back to the ranch. She parked near the barn.

  “Well?” Clint said the moment Rachel opened the driver-side door.

  “He doesn’t want company.” Her indifferent shrug was at odds with the pinched expression on her face.

  Feeling compelled to offer a token of sympathy Clint said, “I insisted on going, too, but he’s a prideful man.”

  “Will he be okay driving by himself?”

  The note of concern in her voice bothered Clint. Had he misjudged her relationship with P.T.? There are two sides… A mad dash down the road wasn’t proof she cared about a man she’d ignored all her life. “P.T. will be fine. He promised to call once he checked into the clinic.”

  “You’ll let me know when you hear from him,” Rachel said.

  “Sure. I’ll be in the barn most of the morning if you run into trouble.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t foresee encountering any problems.” Head held high, she walked off.

  Clint stared at her firm fanny, unsure what to make of P.T.’s daughter. When the front door shut, he did an about-face and retreated to the barn, fearing this would be a hotter-than-normal summer if he didn’t rein in his attraction to Rachel.

  Two hours later Rachel entered the barn and announced, “We’ve got a problem.”

  Clint set aside the pitchfork and studied her. She’d changed into khaki shorts and a green T-shirt. And a bra. He preferred her without one. Forcing his gaze from her sexy legs he focused on her face. Blue eyes clouded with worry and her teeth nibbled her lower lip, drawing his attention to her very kissable mouth.

  “What do you mean, we have a problem?” he asked.

  “The rodeo secretary called and—”

  “Barb Hamilton?”

  “She retired as of today.”

  “You’re joking?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Losing a rodeo secretary two weeks before the first event was a disaster. Barb would never leave P.T. hanging without a good reason. “Is she ill?”

  “Barb’s fine. Her daughter had a baby recently but suffered complications.”