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A Cowboy's Woman
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Letter to Reader
Title Page
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Copyright
John “Doc” and Lilah McCabe
Happily married for forty years and about to renew their wedding vows. Now they’re itchin’ for grandchildren—especially since they personally delivered every baby in Laramie, Texas!
Jackson
Texas tall and fit—the doctor every mother orders for a son-in-law.
Wade
Self-made millionaire oilman with the Midas touch in business—and in bed.
Shane
The “baby” of the family and the wildest of the four McCabe boys—“It’ll be a cold day in Hades before I ever settle down!”
Travis
The oldest, the most serious McCabe son is a single cattle rancher about to become an instant father of three....
Dear Reader,
Welcome to another month of wonderful stories at Harlequin American Romance—where you’ll find more of what you love to read. Every month we’ll bring you a variety of plots from some of the genre’s best-loved authors. Harlequin American Romance is all about the pursuit of love and family in the backyards, big cities and wide-open spaces of America!
This month you won’t want to miss A Cowboy’s Woman, the continuation of Cathy Gillen Thacker’s series, THE McCABES OF TEXAS. This family of bachelors is in for some surprises when their parents take to matchmaking. And talented author Muriel Jensen brings us Countdown to Baby, the second book in the DELIVERY ROOM DADS series. In this three-author, three-book series you’ll meet the McIntyre brothers of Bison City, Wyoming. They’re in a race to see who’ll have the New Year’s first baby.
Also this month is Mollie Molay’s Daddy by Christmas, a compelling story of blended families—just in time for the holidays. And Mindy Neff wraps up her TALL, DARK & IRRESISTIBLE duo with The Playboy & the Mommy.
Please drop us a note to tell us what you love about Harlequin American Romance and what you’d like to see in the future. Write to us c/o Harlequin Books, 300 East 42nd Street, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10017.
Happy reading!
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
A Cowboy’s Woman
CATHY GILLEN THACKER
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cathy Gillen Thacker is a full-time wife/mother/ author who began typing stories for her own amusement during “nap time” when her children were toddlers. Twenty years and more than 50 published novels later, Cathy is almost as well-known for her witty romantic comedies and warm, family stories as she is for her ability to get grass stains and red clay out of almost anything, her triple-layer brownies and her knack for knowing what her three grown and nearly grown children are up to almost before they do! Her books have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists and are now published in 17 languages and 35 countries around the world.
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
102—HEART’S JOURNEY
134—REACH FOR THE STARS
143—A FAMILY TO CHERISH
156—HEAVEN SHARED
166—THE DEVLIN DARE
187—ROGUE’S BARGAIN
233—GUARDlAN ANGEL
247—FAMILY AFFAIR
262—NATURAL TOUCH
277—PERFECT MATCH
307—ONE MAN’S FOLLY
318—LIFETIME GUARANTEE
334—MEANT TO BE
367—IT’S ONLY TEMPORARY
388—FATHER OF THE BRIDE
407—AN UNEXPECTED FAMILY
423—TANGLED WEB
445—HOME FREE
452—ANYTHING’S POSSIBLE
456—THE COWBOY’S MISTRESS
472—HONEYMOON FOR HIRE
483—BEGUILED AGAIN
494—FIANCÉ FOR SALE
506—KIDNAPPING NICK
521—BABY ON THE DOORSTEP
526—DADDY TO THE RESCUE
529—TOO MANY MOMS
540—JENNY AND THE FORTUNE HUNTER
556—LOVE POTION #5
568-MISS CHARLOTTE SURRENDERS
587—A SHOTGUN WEDDING
607—DADDY CHRISTMAS
613—MATCHMAKING BABY
625—THE COWBOY’S BRIDE
629—THE RANCH STUD
633—THE MAVERICK MARRIAGE
673—ONE HOT COWBOY
697—SPUR-OF-THE-MOMENT MARRIAGE
713—SNOWBOUND BRIDE
717—HOT CHOCOLATE HONEYMOON
721—SNOW BABY
747—MAKE ROOM FOR BABY
754—BABY’S FIRST CHRISTMAS
789—DR. COWBOY
793—WILDCAT COWBOY
797—A COWBOY’S WOMAN
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Chapter One
It was just after ten Monday evening when Shane McCabe let himself into the ranch house on his brother Wade’s Golden Slipper Ranch. Grinning at all he’d accomplished—and a day earlier than expected, too!—he kicked off his boots, leaving them where they lay. It didn’t matter how messy the house was, since Wade and Josie were still on their honeymoon and not expected back for a couple of days, so he headed up the stairs, ripping off hot, sweaty clothes as he went. His socks landed on the bottom tread, his Western shirt ended up on the banister, his jeans and briefs decorated the upstairs hall.
Bypassing the guest room where he’d been bunking since returning to his hometown of Laramie, Texas, Shane headed for the bathroom and the glass-walled shower. He turned the brass knob as far left as it would go, adjusted the shower head to maximum massage and stepped beneath the spray. After a day spent inspecting every inch of the horse ranch he had his eye on, the hot steamy water was just what he needed. Luxuriating in the feel of the water pulsating against his skin, he washed himself from head to toe, rinsed off just as thoroughly and then stepped out of the shower.
Not bothering to dry off, he wrapped a towel around his waist. Exhaustion seeping into his every pore, he ran a comb through his just-shampooed hair, brushed his teeth, switched off the light and then headed down the darkened hall to his bed.
Before he’d left, a couple of days ago, he closed all the drapes in the house against the hot Texas sun. Doing so had left the guest room pitch-black, but Shane didn’t need to turn on a light to find his way to the rumpled covers on the bed. He dropped his towel on the floor, flung the covers back and hopped in. He had just grabbed his pillow and flipped onto his side when he caught a whiff of a delicate floral scent and encountered a very warm, very silky, very feminine-feeling body.
Abruptly realizing he was not alone, Shane swore roundly. And heard a soft, startled gasp.
“What the—” The woman beside Shane scrambled to the other side of the double bed, knocking a book to the floor.
“Heck?” Shane filled in the blank as the feminine interloper switched on the bedside lamp, temporarily blinding them both.
 
; “—are you doing here?” the woman beside him demanded.
Shane folded his arm behind his head and lay back against the pillows, all too aware he was buck naked beneath the sheet. Not that she was that much better off—given the brevity of her clinging lilac undershirt and matching bikini panties.
“I could ask the same of you,” he drawled, and lifted a brow as the beauty beside him snatched the sheet up over her waist, hiding the rest of her curvaceous body from view.
“I asked you first, Shane McCabe!”
Shane peered at her. He’d encountered many a groupie in his years on the pro rodeo circuit, but he sure didn’t remember her. And he was certain if he’d met this woman he would have remembered her. He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Have we met?”
The woman looked down her cute little nose at him. “Very funny.”
“I’m serious,” Shane persisted. “You do look... familiar.”
Especially around her eyes, which were a very pretty light-blue and framed by thick golden lashes a shade darker than her wildly curling pale-blond hair.
“I’m Greta Wilson!”
“Nah—” Shane focused on her pretty face and luscious lips, delicate cheekbones carved above a stubborn chin. “I remember little Greta.” She hadn’t begun to have such luminous skin. Never mind self-assurance and grace. Shane swallowed. “She was—”
“A nerdy little kid, always running around in some sort of dancer’s outfit?”
That was exactly what she’d been. Not this sexy beauty with full, ripe breasts, jutting nipples, slender waist and equally sensuous hips. Shane shifted slightly, trying to ease the growing pressure in his groin. “How come you’re sleeping here, instead of at your folks’ place?”
“Because I’m exhausted from trying to get my dance hall ready to open next weekend. And my mother’s having the whole bridge club over tonight.”
“Shane winced and sent Greta Wilson a sympathetic glance, knowing full well what that was like. Twenty-four chattering, chuckling women in one house was too many, in his opinion. Worse, their marathon sessions often went on to well after midnight, or whenever the food and beverages ran out.
Greta released a beleaguered sigh and continued, “My mom found out from your mom that Wade and Josie were on their honeymoon, so she got permission for me to sack out here for the night, as well as the keys to the ranch house, from your mom, and voilà—here I am!”
“Just how long have you been asleep?” Shane asked curiously.
“About two hours,” Greta grumbled, shoving a hand through the length of her hair.
Shane did his level best to keep his eyes away from her breasts and the way her nipples were jutting against the thin lilac fabric of her undershirt in the air-conditioned air. To little avail. His lower half was now rigid with desire. Which made getting out of the bed an impossible task. At least until that part of him settled down. Which left him with only one choice. Make conversation and wait for blood flow to return to normal.
“That’s awful early to go to bed,” he said, wishing he at least had some briefs within reach.
Greta rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I was exhausted.”
Shane lifted a brow. She didn’t look exhausted now. She looked all “het up,” as the old-timers would have said, to have found herself unexpectedly in bed with him. But then, Shane was all het up, too.
“What are you doing here?” Greta demanded.
“With the exception of the past few days, when I was out looking at property all over central Texas,” Shane replied, “I’ve been sleeping here, ever since I hit Laramie again. And furthermore, my mother knows that, too, because I called this morning and left a message on my parents’ answering machine to let them know I’d be back at the Golden Slipper Ranch a day earlier than expected.”
Shane glanced at Greta, realization of what this was all about dawning. He blew out an exasperated breath. “Are you married?”
Not surprisingly, she looked as annoyed by the question as he was at the set-up. “No. Not that it’s any of your business,” Greta snapped. “Why? Are you?”
“No.”
“So what does that have to do with anything?” Greta demanded, her blue eyes blazing.
“Everything.” Shane sighed. “You and I have been the victims of a matchmaking scam.”
Greta eyed him warily. She leaned against the headboard and brought her long, dancer’s legs up to her chest. She wrapped her arms about her knees. “What are you talking about?”
Shane rolled onto his side. “My parents are celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary by renewing their marriage vows next week.”
“I know. My parents and I were invited to attend the ceremony and the reception afterward, at. their ranch.” As she frowned, a sexy little pleat appeared between her delicate golden eyebrows. It was all Shane could do not to smooth it away with his thumb. “But I don’t see what that has to do with us.”
Shane’s eyes tracked the soft silky curls falling over her shoulders before returning to her face. “My mother has gotten it into her head that my brothers and I should all be married, too, as soon as humanly possible.”
Greta rolled her eyes and shook her head grimly. “Sounds like my folks.”
“They want you married off, too?” he asked, wondering why she wasn’t. Women as sexy and sweet and appealing as Greta were usually taken off the market way before now. She had to be—what? He was thirty. She’d been two years behind him in school. That made her twenty-eight now, he guessed.
“They want it so badly I can’t begin to tell you.” Oblivious to his reverie, Greta continued talking about marriage.
She froze at the sound of several cars moving up the lane to the ranch house. Without getting out of bed, Greta leaned over to lift the edge of the drape and peer out the window. “I don’t believe it,” she murmured unhappily.
Shane was annoyed, too. He was enjoying this little tête-à-tête of theirs. He didn’t want it interrupted. He didn’t want anything happening that would force them to get out of this bed. “Who is it?”
Greta’s slender fingers tightened on the edge of the drapes. “Both our mothers!”
It figured, Shane thought resentfully. Wasn’t it enough that he’d been the only McCabe son to disappoint his parents almost from day one? Did they have to make things worse by interfering in his life with their match-making?
“Here to gloat, no doubt, at the ‘success’ of their romantically motivated manipulations,” Shane muttered as the arc of car lights swept their window.
“And—oh, my heavens—it looks like the entire bridge club,” Greta continued with a moan of dismay.
“No doubt about it,” Shane said, his jaw set. “It’s time I set my mother straight, once and for all.”
Greta dropped the edge of the drape. “Lots a luck.” “You should read your mother the riot act, too,” Shane advised.
Greta shook her head. “My mother hasn’t listened to anything I’ve said for the past twenty-eight years! There’s nothing to indicate she’s going to start now.”
Shane thought about the clothes he’d left tossed here and there. He knew what it would look like. Knew the conclusions his mother and her friends would likely make. “Maybe she just needs a wake-up call.”
The front door opened. Feet tromped across the wooden floor. “Yoo-hoo! Shane! Greta!”
Greta slid her legs over the edge of the bed. Shane looked at Greta, a plan already forming. He grabbed her wrist, preventing her from leaping from the bed. There was no time to spare if they wanted this to work. “You with me or not?” he demanded.
Greta hesitated, delicate color blooming in her cheeks as her bare feet touched the floor. “I—”
“Play along with me on this, Greta,” Shane tucked a hand around her thighs and gently guided her legs all the way back onto the bed, “and I promise you—something like this will never happen to either of us again.”
GRETA RECOGNIZED the wicked gleam in Shane McCabe’s silver-
gray eyes. It meant trouble with a capital T. Just as did the warmth of his big, callused palm on her bare legs. Hadn’t her childhood fantasy always been to be part of one of Shane’s wild and crazy schemes? Wasn’t it a lifelong dream of hers to have the reckless rodeo star in bed with her?
The footsteps of their mothers—and indeed their entire bridge club—were already moving up the stairs. Telling herself her days of being cautious were over, Greta met Shane’s sexy grin with a reckless one of her own and said, “Count me in.”
The next thing she knew she was on her back and Shane’s muscular, six-foot-plus frame was draped over top of her. She barely had time to draw a quick breath, and then his lips were locked on hers in an overwhelmingly deep, sexy kiss that took her breath away. He caught her head between his hands, and she melted against him, completely caught up in the warm, minty taste of his mouth, the unhurried pressure of his lips and the liquid stroking of tongue. The hardness of his chest pressed against the softness of her breasts, then lower, the washboard flatness of his abs and tummy, and lower still he was even harder. Velvety smooth. Hot to the touch. And naked. Naked as could be. Her pulse increased at the realization, while inside of her desire swirled and caught flame. Tremors of arousal swept through her as she moved against him, every inch of her surging to life. Shock and surprise warred within her, and she knew, as their tongues continued to twine and parry and stroke that it was the most exciting, sensual embrace she’d ever experienced. Even if it was all for show.
“Shane McCabe!” Lilah McCabe’s shocked voice resounded from the upstairs hallway.
“Greta Wilson!” Tillie Wilson’s voice exclaimed in utter mortification. “For heaven’s sake!”
To Greta’s chagrin Shane took his sweet time about ending the steamy kiss, and ever so slowly unlocked their lips. For one brief second she thought—or was it hoped?—he’d been as affected as she by the electricity surging between them. Then, his silver-gray eyes glimmering with mischief, he chuckled and said to both Greta and the women in the doorway, “Whoops. Busted!”