Cowboy For Hire

by Isabelle Drake

  A Cerridwen Press Publication

  www.cerridwenpress.com

  Cowboy For Hire

  ISBN 9781419917493

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Cowboy For Hire Copyright © 2008 Isabelle Drake

  Edited by Helen Woodall.

  Cover art by Syneca.

  Electronic book Publication September 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc., 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.®

  COWBOY FOR HIRE

  Isabelle Drake

  Dedication

  For KD, long time friend. Thanks!

  Acknowledgement

  With appreciation to PH for the fortunate mishaps.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Chippendale dancers: Chippendales USA, LLC. LTD LIAB CO

  Cosmopolitan: Hearst Communications, Inc.

  Gunsmoke: CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  Jell-O: Kraft Foods Holdings, Inc.

  Mustang: Ford Motor Company

  New York Times: The New York Times Company

  Playgirl: Playgirl Key Club, Inc.

  Stetson: John B. Stetson Company

  Thunderbird: Ford Motor Company Cowboy For Hire

  Chapter One

  Lang Thompson eased his foot off the worthless brake pedal and waited for the red Arizona dust to clear. A board swung above the cab of his truck, once, twice, three times. The rusty nail holding it gave up the fight and the weathered two-by-four smacked across the hood with a weary thump.

  One more dent wasn’t going to matter.

  He pushed back his beat-up Stetson, mumbling a string of words that in his childhood would’ve earned him an afternoon in the milk house. He didn’t need this.

  Outside his window a hairy, black Australian shepherd barked and waved its tail.

  “You don’t need to tell me, I see the mess.”

  For a split second he considered backing out and leaving. The way the place looked, the owner probably wouldn’t even notice the new gaping hole.

  No, he didn’t want any unfinished business hanging over his head when he hit the highway again to head south, away from the miserable memories he’d left behind. There was that and the fact that his conscience had an unfortunate way of popping up at the worst times.

  He glanced down at the animal now sitting among the rubble that used to be the side of a barn. A tired, seen-better-days barn but a barn nonetheless.

  For the sake of his furry witness, he held back another string of words unfit for delicate ears as he shoved the door open and stepped out. He leaned against the truck and yanked his hat down to block out the afternoon sun. The owner had to be around somewhere.

  “I guess I should’ve hung a no parking sign there.”

  Lang turned to the shapely outline in the shadows. His bad luck kept getting worse. A woman. He didn’t want to shoot the breeze with a bored rancher’s wife.

  “If you’ll tell me where to find your husband, I’ll straighten this out with him.”

  As she moved into the sunshine Lang tried to convince himself he didn’t see her thick blonde hair or clear, blue eyes. He didn’t notice the way the way her breasts strained against that plain white t-shirt tucked neatly into her faded jeans, either. And that bolt of physical awareness that shot straight to his cock? It didn’t exist.

  A blindingly bright smile spilt across her sun-kissed face. “I can’t do that.”

  No, those sweet lips didn’t really have an effect on him either. But just to be sure, he stepped away as she came closer. “Do what?”

  Raising her hand to shield her eyes from the desert sun, she glanced over her shoulder toward the mess. “Did you plow into my barn because you suffer from memory loss?”

  Lang turned toward his truck. He had indeed plowed into the barn. Her barn. “Your barn?”

  She nodded, then reached down to rub the dog’s ears, giving him the perfect opportunity to look down her shirt. Was that a white bra with pink lace trim?

  Damn he loved lace.

  Forcing his gaze back to her face, he asked, “You don’t have a husband I can talk things over with?”

  Sunlight blinked off the golden strands of her hair as she shook her head and scratched under the animal’s chin. Her silence didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t she pissed? “Look, ma’am, I’m really sorry—”

  While waving her hands to cut him off, she moved closer, her sexy, long legs making short work of the distance. “You don’t need to explain right now.”

  Judging from the tilt of her head and the welcome in her eyes, he was missing some piece of a puzzle.

  But what?

  He stamped out his curiosity. He only wanted to take care of business, then get back on the road and find that ranch for sale his cousin Cole had badgered him into looking over. With that out of the way, he’d get back to his real goal, which was putting as much distance between the remnants of his old life and himself as possible. He tugged his gaze away from her all-too-easy-on-the-eyes face, glanced around but soon found himself looking her way again. “Where am I anyway?”

  Her delicate eyebrows knotted together and her shoulders dropped. “You didn’t come about the ad for work?”

  “Work?” He shook his head. “No. I was trying to turn around, get back on the freeway.”

  Her kissable pink lips curved weakly, the glimmer in her eyes faded but didn’t go out completely. “You’re at The Circle Cat Ranch.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Cactus Junction.” She dipped her head the other way and a few tempting strands of silken hair slipped over her shoulder. “You do know what state you’re in?”

  Arizona. Only a couple of hours from the Mexican border.

  Her gaze circled his face, considering, then dropped lower, assessing. He straightened, planting his legs wide enough to place the bulge in his pants front and center. If she insisted on getting a good look at him, he might as well give her a view worth the effort.

  As though she realized she was rudely looking him over like he was a colt on the auction block, she brought her attention back to his face and tried to cover her actions with a smile as she spoke. “You look like you could use a drink. I know I could.” She brushed past him without waiting for a reply. “Come on up to the house and have some lemonade.”

  That place his cousin was so hot for them to buy was in Cactus Junction. At least he didn’t have much farther to go.

  Not that he wanted to buy a place and start all over but Cole had cajoled him until he’d agreed to at least look it over. A promise is a promise. Even to a cousin like Cole.

>   The woman’s hips swayed invitingly as she strode toward the house. Each determined stride called to some better left unspoken part of him.

  He grumbled and tore his gaze away. He’d written complicated entanglements with women off. For good.

  The screen door smacked shut after she disappeared inside.

  Why did it seem like the last shred of control he had over his life was slipping away? The hot wave of lust pooling in his gut shouted a warning, telling him to forget his so-called integrity and take the chance that once he got on the road he wouldn’t need brakes anytime soon. He could always coast to a stop.

  He groaned. All those hours in the milk house taught him more than to mind his tongue. He had to stick around and settle the issue at hand. That ranch for sale wasn’t going anywhere. With a quick glance down to be sure he wasn’t wearing any of his fast food breakfast on his shirt, Lang headed after the woman and the dog.

  —

  Victoria Moore dug through the half empty boxes covering her kitchen floor. The moving company had delivered them days ago. She hadn’t unpacked because she’d been too busy hauling wood and pounding nails. Having things like pitchers handy hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  She twisted to peek out the window. With each slow swing of his long, lean legs, the cowboy ambled closer to the house. Worry nagged her and she frowned.

  The want ad for a ranch hand had been in the paper for two weeks and not one person had stopped by. When she’d spotted the man looking around, she’d been sure he was there about the job. Admittedly, his actions so far didn’t recommend him, but he looked strong and capable and she didn’t have time to be picky.

  She turned back to her search, pushing kitchen utensils out of the way until she found a plain glass pitcher. As she shoved aside some half-full grocery bags, she admired the newly installed stainless steel counter tops. They gleamed in the sunlight with promise for the future.

  Success dangled in front of her, giving her just enough encouragement to hold tight to the hope that The Circle Cat would be ready to open on schedule. Though she’d been working hard for weeks, the list of necessary repairs never seemed to shrink. She and Hank, the old man who came with the place, could only do so much.

  Heavy footfalls on her porch, followed by what she’d come to recognize as the squeaky hinges of the swing, made her heart pick up speed.

  If only the cowboy had come about the ad. One more person would make such a difference. As she picked through the groceries looking for the lemonade mix, she realized her father was right. Running a business was a lot harder than she’d expected.

  Her determination could only get her so far. She needed another pair of hands to get her the rest of the way. After carefully measuring the mix, then adding the water, she grabbed a long wooden spoon and stirred.

  She could charm the cowboy into staying. He definitely had the look of a single man. Bachelors loved attention, right?

  Sex appeal always worked for her sister. Why wouldn’t it work for her? So she’d never tried to charm a man into doing anything. That was no reason to reject the idea. She was desperate and an able-bodied man sat on her porch.

  Before she could talk herself out of the notion, she pulled in a deep breath, put on a smile, grabbed the glasses with one hand and the pitcher with the other. There was just enough space between the kitchen and the door to practice a sexy, you-know-you-want-it walk. The exaggerated sway made droplets of lemonade splash onto the planked floor.

  She pushed the screen door open with her hip, then arched against the door jamb to offer him a clear view of the outline of her breasts. She’d read enough of her stepmother’s copies of Cosmopolitan to know he was supposed to be ogling her just then. But he wasn’t.

  Instead, he was staring at the freshly whitewashed porch railing. Apparently he didn’t read Cosmo. Clearing her throat to get his attention didn’t seem very alluring.

  Obviously, he wasn’t going to cooperate easily. She let the door slam behind her as she stepped over to the table and set the glasses down. She filled them then dropped into the chair across from him.

  Promise chose that moment to reappear. The dog climbed up the steps, padded across the porch and settled by the cowboy. Eyeing the dog, the man muttered thanks as he picked up one of the glasses and then took a long drink. Victoria watched the greedy way he swallowed, wondering vaguely why she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The muscular arch of his throat, his suntanned fingers curved so strongly around the delicate glass.

  Her gaze fell to the collar of his shirt, then lower to the tiny buttons holding it closed. She could pop those open easily enough and run her fingers across the hard planes of his chest. Circle around to his back.

  Hold on, girl.

  She pulled her thoughts together and back to the problem at hand. Convincing him to stick around and work. She’d better act fast. He didn’t look like the kind of man who waited long for anything.

  Hoping to snag his attention, she shoved her shoulders back and ran her tongue across her lips. But now he was staring at the glass.

  “About the barn…” He rambled on about the brakes in his truck and how he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately.

  Victoria tried to listen but she had a hard time understanding his explanation about fluid and lines while her own problem pressed in. Valuable time was slipping away. If only he’d stop going on about his stupid truck and look at her.

  Catch his eye!

  Shoving her ribcage forward, she crossed her legs in a slow, seductive way but nearly lost her balance in the process. Instead of being properly—silently—embarrassed, a nervous chuckle slipped out.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “No, um, yes?” What had he been saying? The empty cloud in her brain didn’t hold that bit of information. All she could think about was the solid line of his jaw covered by the stubble of a two-day beard. Instead of making him look scruffy, it made him rugged and appealing. Set off his dark eyes, even drew attention to the unruly locks of hair curling around his muscular neck.

  With his solid arms set across his sturdy chest, he looked as powerful as the workers on her father’s carpentry crews except this man had raw sex appeal packed into every square inch.

  He wasn’t a collection of good parts—he was the whole package. How had she not noticed that he was a walking ad for sex? The only explanation was that she’d been distracted by her plans for The Circle Cat. A worthwhile cause but still…

  This guy could take on wild forces of nature and come up the winner every time. Her gaze slid down the length of his powerful thighs to his worn Ropers, curved up, lingered on the solid bulge under his zipper, paused to take in his taut, flat stomach and then inched its way back up.

  Curiosity tugged at her heart and anticipation quickened her blood. Her eyes met his and for a split second she was sure he was thinking something—about her. Caught up in her own revelations about him, she didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. Long seconds ticked past, awareness sizzled in the warm desert air.

  Sure, she’d written marriage off but spending time with a man like him, on her own terms, well…that had plenty of appeal. She had promised herself some fun and this guy had fun written all over him, in big, Las Vegas style, neon letters. The muscles in his jaw flexed, hard and determined. Maybe not fun, exactly, a good time—yes, definitely that.

  He shoved his hat back and the tiny trace of a smile lifted his capable, kissable mouth. The gaze of his liquid brown eyes met hers, causing a jolt of electricity to skim across her nerves, swirl down her stomach and settle between her legs.

  “Which is it, yes or no?”

  His question. Right.

  Did she think what was funny?

  To keep his thoughts going in the right direction and cover up the fact that she wasn’t listening to the business about his brakes, she tilted her head and lifted her eyebrows. “How about maybe?”

  She widened her smile. His dropped.

  What was she doing wro
ng?

  “Listen. All I want to do is straighten out this barn problem, Miss—”

  “Moore,” she said, lowering her voice, “But you can just call me Victoria.”

  His eyes narrowed and his shoulders tensed. He leaned back, efficiently rolling the glass in his competent hands. The harder she tried to win him over the more he pulled back. If she weren’t so frustrated, she would’ve laughed.

  Never one to give up once she got settled on an idea, she ignored his lack of cooperation and kept leaning toward him invitingly.

  He shifted sideways. “As in Moore Construction from Phoenix?”

  “That’s my father’s company,” she replied, putting emphasis on father. That easy life she’d eagerly left behind was a thing of the past. She’d come to The Circle Cat to be her own woman, to make her own dreams come true and have some unrestricted fun in the process.

  She was done letting herself be defined by her father’s reputation and controlling personality and ready to uncover what she’d been missing out on with members of the opposite sex. Simply put, she was tired of experiencing fun, spur-of-the-moment flings and hot, fast-paced affairs through friends.

  All she needed was the right man…and fate may have just delivered him.

  Chapter Two

  Lang held in a groan as he set the glass on the table and stood. Dealing with Victoria Moore was worse than dealing with a stir crazy rancher’s wife. At least a rancher’s wife would understand about broken dreams and an empty wallet. There was no way he could explain to a pampered rich girl that he had no money to pay for the damage he’d done. She’d laugh in his face.

  He knew that much and a lot more, when it came to women who were used to getting whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted it. All that high maintenance didn’t come cheap. And it wasn’t easy to deliver.