Cowboy Most Wanted (Copper Creek Book 1)

by Stina Lindenblatt

  She then walks to a bale of straw that she had asked me earlier to put there. She bends down and starts dragging it toward me.

  “You need help?” I say, making a move toward her to do exactly that.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Yep, from the prime view of her ass I’m getting, I’d say she’s more than good.

  “Keep wiggling your ass like that and I’ll be so hard, you won’t be able to take photos for a while.” My voice comes out low and sandpaper rough—not at all like my usual voice around her.

  She peers over her shoulder and her gaze lands on my package—which doesn’t help my present situation. “Oops, sorry.”

  Except she sounds far from sorry.

  And that gets my cock even more worked up.

  Which is definitely an issue for the photo.

  I recite the chili recipe in my head. Not the most effective image but it’s preferable over the other option: dwelling on the ex-SEAL who shares her genetics.

  Once the bale is positioned near the wall, she straightens. “Put your foot on that.”

  I do as she asks, and she explains how she wants me to pose: one hand resting on my upper thigh, my head tilted slightly forward, hand on the rim of my cowboy hat.

  She gently places both of her hands on either side of my face. My heart hammers against my chest like a swarm of dragonflies trapped inside.

  She repositions my head, the movement negligible. “That’s perfect.” Her voice is soft and breathy, the sound of an angel’s song. “Don’t move, and I’ll get a few shots with you like that.”

  She lightly caresses her thumb across my cheek, further hyping up the dragonflies. Then she removes her hands from my face and measures the light falling on me—her explanation—with some weird-looking handheld device.

  Violet returns to her camera and starts clicking away. The entire time, she directs me on how to move.

  And when I say move, I’m talking tiny adjustments. Tiny adjustments in the way I’m standing. Tiny adjustments in the position of my head. Tiny adjustments in the way I breathe. I couldn’t imagine being a model and doing this full time. By the end of it, I’d resemble a crazed monkey caught in a factory of fake bananas.

  After she’s been snapping photos for several minutes, she asks me to lower my hand and look up at the camera.

  Those dragonflies in my chest? They go berserk at the vision in front of me. I suck in a sharp breath.

  The sun is shining on her dark hair, setting strands of it on fire with bursts of red. Her bare arms and shoulders also glow in the warm light. She resembles a dark-haired angel—and damned if I don’t need saving.

  “Oh, that’s perfect.” Her tone is more strained than it was a few minutes ago. “There’s going to be a lot of exploding ovaries from women checking out your pictures on the show’s website.”

  “Sounds painful,” I say, doing my best not to move, my eyes still locked on Violet.

  Her mouth slides up to one side. “Fortunately, it’s not fatal.”

  “Are your ovaries exploding?” My voice is even rougher than before. Rougher and heated.

  She walks slowly toward me, the way you do with a colt you suspect is going to bolt. Only she doesn’t have to worry about me going anywhere.

  She stops in front of me. “Maybe a little.”

  I smirk. “Just a little? I must be losing my touch.”

  She laughs. “Somehow I don’t think you’re losing anything.” She runs her hands along the collar of my white western shirt, brushing her fingertips against my skin.

  A shiver of anticipation rolls through me, but I don’t move. I just gaze at her, barely breathing.

  “I’m going to undo your shirt now, but keep still.”

  I couldn’t move if I tried. I’m starving for more of her touch. Starving to inhale her sweet scent. Starving to spend more time with her, to enjoy her company.

  Because that part hasn’t changed over the years. I love hanging out with her. Not because she’s sexy and gorgeous and gets every part of me running hot. She’s funny and smart.

  She’s Violet.

  With slow, measured movements, she slides the top button through the hole. Her fingers slip beneath the shirt’s edge and skim along my skin. A tingling I’ve never experienced before vibrates from the spot, leaving my body humming with need.

  While I watch her face, she continues unbuttoning my shirt. My fingers itch to touch her skin, but I keep still, worried that if I even flinch, she’ll vanish.

  Her breath comes in fast, much like my own. I feel like I used to, seconds before a rodeo competition, when I was on my horse, waiting for the calf to be released from the shoot. My body strums with anticipation, strums from both nerves and excitement.

  Once she’s finished unfastening the final button, she glides her hands between the fabric of my shirt and my abs. Her thumbs trace over the ridges of my muscles.

  Her face turns up to mine, her lips parted. Her eyes are now dark with need, dark with challenge. “Stay exactly like this.”

  She then pulls her hands out of my shirt and walks back to her camera, the swell of her hips taunting me as they move.

  At the absence of her hands on my body, disappointment crashes into me like a rogue wave. But as much as I want to complain, I can’t. These photos are important to her. Not because of the show, but because of what they mean for her career.

  She shoots more pictures and then returns to stand in front of me. “Now you can remove your shirt.”

  “What—you’re not gonna help me?”

  I smirk. She rolls her eyes.

  “You’re a big boy, TJ. I’m sure you can figure it out yourself.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing.” Like she did when she unbuttoned my shirt, I take my time, shrugging it off my shoulders.

  I drop the shirt to the ground.

  It’s not like Violet hasn’t seen me shirtless. But the way her gaze is drinking me in, it might as well be the first time. The girl is practically panting at the sight of me.

  And that’s not my ego talking.

  “I didn’t plan to be part of this show,” I tell her after she’s taken a few more photos.

  The clicking pauses. “So why did you apply? Because I’m thinking that if you apply to be on a reality show, it means you’re hoping to be selected.”

  “I didn’t apply. Noah applied on my behalf and didn’t tell me until it was too late.”

  She bites her lip, clearly struggling not to laugh.

  I frown. “It’s not funny.”

  She bursts out laughing, my words having the opposite effect of what I’d intended. “You have to admit—yes it is.”

  “How exactly do you think it’s funny? What happens if I make it to the end of the season, and the woman expects me to propose to her?”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, TJ.” Her mouth twitches as she fights back another laugh.

  Her comment only makes me frown again. “Why not?”

  I have no clue why I said that or why I frowned, because proposing to anyone—never mind a stranger—isn’t on my to-do list. Ever.

  “I didn’t say it to hurt your ego,” Violet says. “This show isn’t like The Bachelorette, where the woman and the men spend maybe six or more weeks together. And during that time, the woman is expected to fall in love with one of the men…and he her. That’s bad enough. In Cowboy Most Wanted, you only get to spend a total of five weeks with her. One week alone with her on your ranch—well, as alone as you can be with a camera crew following you everywhere. And then the final five guys will spend four weeks on a ranch with her—vying for her attention.

  “So first there have to be sparks between the two of you before you even advance to the final round. And the odds of her falling in love with you and you with her are extremely low.”

  “But she still has to pick one guy from the final five,” I point out. One out of five is a lot worse odds than one out of fifteen.

  “That doesn’
t mean you have to marry her. You propose to her and a few months later, you guys break up.”

  “You sound like Noah.”

  Violet laughs. “I’d say Noah is a smart guy, but since he signed you up for the show when you obviously don’t want to do this…” She leaves the sentence hanging, letting me fill in the blanks.

  “So why did he do it anyway?” she asks. “Did you guys have a brotherly spat and he entered you as payback? Because if that’s the case, I’d hate to see what the fight was about.” She visibly shudders—faked of course.

  I remove my foot from the bale of straw and place it on the ground. “Sorry to disappoint. There was no fight. The dumbass just figured it was a great way for people to find out about our ranch. He thought it would be great marketing.” I grab my shirt off the grass.

  This time when Violet bursts out laughing, tears fill her eyes. I grunt, which only makes her laugh harder.

  I slip my arms into the shirt sleeves. “Glad you find it so amusing.” How did we go from things getting heated between us to this? I’d rather go back to when I was seconds from kissing her senseless.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, appearing anything but apologetic. “It’s just I never would’ve guessed that as a reason for why you decided to be on the show. And when you think about it, it’s not that great a plan.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m the one who has to be something he isn’t.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Eager to settle down.”

  She nods thoughtfully. “I can see why that would be a problem. Thanks to the show, people around here assume you’re looking for love. So if you don’t end up with the girl, and unless you look broken up over her picking someone else, I’d say you’re screwed.”

  She tilts her head slightly to the side. Not in flirting mode. More like she’s figuring out what makes me tick. She then removes her camera from the tripod. “If you want, I have time right now to look at your website and discuss some ideas with you.”

  “Even though Jake and Noah are heading out after they get the horses in for the night?” I’d go with them, but I’m not in the mood to go to Joe’s with cameramen in tow.

  Violet grabs the brim of my hat, lifts the Stetson off my head, and sets it on her own.

  And the image of her wearing the hat and only the hat now keeps me company.

  “What’s wrong, cowboy?” Violet asks. “Don’t you trust me?”

  I jerk the brim of the hat down over her eyes.

  “The question is…do you trust me?”

  11

  The house is quiet when Violet and I enter.

  We head to the office and close the door behind us. A few minutes later, the computer on the oak desk is booted and the ranch’s less-than-stellar website is on display.

  Only a couple of inches separate us. A rose-and-vanilla-scented heat rolls off Violet, mixing with my own body heat…like lovers getting all hot and heavy.

  A battle wages in my head, debating the pros and cons of touching her. Of kissing her. Of telling her how much I want her.

  Right now, the sides are evenly matched, but I suspect the pro side is planning a sneak attack to takeover logical reasoning. And the con side will be left waving the white flag.

  “I haven’t had a chance yet,” Violet says, “to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your knee.”

  I shrug as though it’s no big deal when in truth, it is. I miss the competition within the rodeo circuit.

  “Injuries happen all the time,” I say. “It’s the nature of the sport. It’s not like I would’ve been able to do it forever. There’s a reason you don’t see ninety-year-old cowboys sitting on the back of some crotchety old bull during a rodeo event.”

  Violet laughs. “I guess you have a point there. But I’m still sorry. I know how much you loved the sport.” My favorite sweet smile slides onto her face. “I used to love watching you compete. The way you were one with the horse. The way you were able to block out the entire world like nothing else mattered. The excitement in your eyes when you won or did really well. I miss all of that…I’ve missed you.” The last part is said on a whisper.

  “I’ve missed you, too.” My words come out strong, husky. Not the way you would sound if you missed hanging out with someone who is just a friend.

  Our gazes remain locked for a heartbeat, and my breath stalls. I could get lost in her beautiful brown eyes.

  But then she blinks and turns back to the computer as if the moment between us never happened. She clicks on another website page. “Granny said you’re hoping to appeal to customers interested in buying horses that have the potential of becoming champion rodeo horses. You should mention on the website that you were a state champion calf roper. And you should also mention Thor’s and Odin’s pedigrees and winning titles.”

  I nod, even though I’d rather be tasting her lips for the first and second and fourth time than discussing the website.

  “I’ve studied the websites of your competition within Montana and Texas. The solid ones state the horse breeds that are part of the ranch’s program and the roles they’re being trained for. That needs to be part of your mission statement on the first page. And that’s a great place to include a photo of you competing.”

  Can you tell that Jake is more a numbers guy than a marketer? From what he told me, marketing hadn’t been his thing back in college.

  Hence our website.

  “Except I don’t have any photos,” I say.

  “That’s not a problem. I have some I took at the rodeos I attended. You can use those.”

  An unfamiliar heat flickers inside my chest. Was I aware that more photos existed, other than the one on Grandma Meg’s wall? Not at all. I also wasn’t aware that Violet had attended other rodeos where I’d been competing, or that she’d kept track of my career.

  “We’ll make sure you get credit for the photos,” I tell her, channeling my inner Jake…complete with his all-business tone. “That way you can benefit, too.”

  The smile she gives me is soft and shy. A craving to pull her into my arms dances through me—pull her into my arms and kiss her sweetly on the temple, on the tip of her nose, on her lips.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Right now, my photography career is based on word of mouth and the right people at the right time seeing the photos I’ve taken.”

  “And that’s why you agreed to work for the show? So the right people see your photos?” It makes sense.

  “Yes. It would’ve been different if one of those other reality shows had asked. I still want to focus on horse photography—both the ones where the horses are running free and the posed shots with their owners. Even with the cattle ranches on the show, I’ve been able to do that. The photos will be on the website and in a special edition magazine that will be released. I’m hoping both will help me out.”

  “There’s going to be a special edition magazine?” That’s news to me.

  “After seeing my photos from the earlier ranches, the executive producers decided they could do something with that. It’s not to promote the show’s drama, but rather to highlight the beauty of the land and the horses.” She shrugs, but her excited tone has already betrayed her lack of indifference. “They’re trying to broaden their target market by focusing on more than just the hot men on the show.”

  An eye-rolling laugh escapes me. “I was beginning to think that’s all the show was about. A bunch of shirtless men looking for love.” Despite what Camilla told me earlier.

  Violet’s mouth curves into a smirk. “Well, that’s the major gist of it. But they want it to stand out from The Bachelor and Bachelorette a bit more. I was hardly going to argue with that when it could help my photography career. Especially when it’s a chance for me to showcase parts of America that people don’t know about.”

  “Does that mean you plan to pursue it full-time now?” Because once upon a time, she believed it wasn’t an option. Let’s just blame it on her lawyer father. To him, being
a photographer was akin to being a starving artist.

  “I still believe it’s hard to be a full-time photographer and make a steady income,” she says, echoing the same thoughts her father had hammered into her head. “Plus all the traveling I’d have to do wouldn’t be fair to Deacon. He was staying with a nanny who agreed to be live-in while I was gone for the show. But that’s expensive, and I miss him like crazy when I’m not around.”

  She clicks on another website page. “This is slightly better. But the horse photos aren’t great. They’re stagnant. Anyone can shoot a picture of a horse just standing there. It’s fine for a few photos. But it gets boring when they’re all like that.”

  “So, what are you suggesting?”

  “Horses in motion.” She grabs her phone from the desk and taps on it. “Something like this.” She holds it out for me to see. On the screen, a white horse is frozen midmotion while cantering in a field. There’s a wildness about the photo that is captivating.

  I take the phone from her and continue studying the picture. “You took this?” I already know the answer. I just want her to admit it out loud.

  She smiles, but it’s not a full out smile. It’s trampled on with uncertainty. “Yes.”

  “It’s perfect. You always were an amazing photographer back in high school. But this is a whole new level of amazing.”

  Her smile becomes less uncertain and more relieved. And then it’s the sun at sunrise. Stunning. Gorgeous. Breathtaking.

  I can’t help but absorb its heat, greedy bastard that I am.

  I’m storing it for when she’s gone again and I’m back to missing her.

  I return the phone to her. “Do you have a website?”

  “That’s the funny thing…despite doing this for my clients and despite my marketing background, creating a website is still on my to-do list. Once I get home from work, Deacon is my number one priority.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I always knew you’d be a great mother.” Except not once did I imagine she’d be raising a child by herself. “Does his father at least provide child support? Or will I have to get Thor to kick his ass?”

  Violet rolls her eyes and sets her phone back on the desk. “One thing you guys should consider is to pick a color scheme and maintain it throughout. Same goes for the font. Select something that speaks to the underlying message you wish to convey.”