One Hot Cowboy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Copyright

  She’d kept her cool…

  but the heat was rising

  “Sorry. You’re not my type.” Maggie dismissed him.

  “Funny, from the way you were looking at me a couple of minutes ago, I thought I was exactly your type,” Jake said.

  “Well, you were wrong!” Maggie fumed as she stepped back swiftly and came up against a post. “What I want is a husband, not a hot-blooded lover.”

  “Why not? I might not be in the market for a wife, but I sure enjoy a toss in the hay every now and then.” He quickly hauled her into his arms.

  Maggie didn’t know how it happened. As his hot, clever lips wrenched an unwilling response from her, she began to feel as if there was only this moment, this man…

  Dear Reader,

  Picture this: You’re thirty, single and on a husband hunt! You’ve done your research, highlighted the eligible bachelors, made lists and spreadsheets, bar graphs and flow charts…and you’ve narrowed your choices down to a millionaire, a cowboy and the boy next door.

  That’s exactly what three American Romance heroines have done—and we’re about to pick up their stories in the hilarious HOW TO MARRY… trilogy. Here, Cathy Gillen Thacker introduces you to the second bride-in-waiting, who has her eye on One Hot Cowboy. Don’t miss The Bad Boy Next Door next month, from Mindy Neff.

  Find out if these three men can show these three women a thing or two about passion—the most important part of a marriage!

  Happy reading!

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  How to Marry…

  One Hot Cowboy

  Cathy

  Gillen Thacker

  Prologue

  “There’s no way I can change your mind?” Peter Lassiter asked unhappily as Maggie Porter watched the movers carry the last of her boxes to the truck parked on the Manhattan street below.

  Maggie smiled at the debonair owner of the Lassiter Modeling Agency. “None,” she said cheerfully. Peter had given her her start as a supermodel. Fit and trim, and elegantly attired in a suit and tie, the preppy sandy-haired agent was one of the funniest and savviest men Maggie had ever met. And the most fickle. With an unerring eye for physical beauty, he fell passionately in and out of love at least three times a year, and was chased fervently by aspiring models on a daily basis.

  “You’re sure?”

  Maggie gave him a patient look as she moved her airline ticket, suitcase, album of precious photos and handbag out of harm’s way. “I wouldn’t have arranged to put my belongings in storage and sold my apartment if I wasn’t,” she told him seriously. As of today, September 1, she was free of all contractual obligations.

  “I still think you’re making a mistake,” Peter confided in a husky whisper. “So you’re thirty, so what. Ten years ago you might have been over-the-hill in this business, but now America is aging and so are the cover models. No one graces a magazine cover better than you do, Maggie. With the way you’ve taken care of yourself, you still have at least two or three stupendously successful years left.” Peter paused, allowing time for his words to sink in. “You could make several million more dollars in that time. From there, go on to be a celebrity spokesperson or entertainment and fashion reporter. There’s no reason for you to leave the industry altogether.”

  Maggie was well aware of the path other supermodels had taken; it wasn’t for her. It was time for her to be more than a pretty face or a spectacular body. Past time, really. She held up a well-manicured hand. “I have enough money, Peter, more than enough to last me a lifetime. What I need now is a life.”

  “You have one here,” Peter persisted.

  Maggie shook her head as the movers returned and then departed with her sofa, two chairs and an end table. She wasn’t talking about filling up every spare minute of the day with well-paying bookings, arduous workouts and endless rounds of parties; she was talking about feeling content at the end of the day, about feeling loved, needed, wanted, about having a family of her own.

  “I know I have a life here. And on the surface anyway, it’s been a good one, Peter. It’s just not the kind I want.” Not anymore.

  “So THE DEED is done?” Maggie’s cousin Hallie Fortune asked long-distance, after Peter had finally given up and left. Hallie and Maggie had been close since childhood, when Maggie’s family had spent several weeks every summer in Chicago with Hallie’s family, and Hallie’s family had visited with Maggie’s family in Texas, every winter.

  Maggie sat cross-legged on the bare wood floor, her back against the sun-warmed windowsill. “They’ve moved me out lock, stock and barrel. I’ve arranged for my phone and utilities to be turned off tomorrow. So all I have left to do is hand over my keys to the new owners and take one last look around the old neighborhood before heading to my brother’s place in Texas. He’s putting me up until I decide where and with whom I want to settle down.”

  “You speak as if you expect that to happen fairly soon,” Hallie noted, with the insight of a trusted confidante.

  Cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, Maggie tugged on her buff-colored western boots. “That’s because I do.”

  “I wish I had your faith in fairy-tale endings,” Hallie, an only child who’d had a tumultuous childhood, said wistfully.

  “Who said anything about fairy-tale endings?” Maggie retorted, knowing she and her younger brothers had had to fight tooth and nail for everything they’d managed to achieve since their parents had died when she was nineteen. “I have given up on waiting for Mr. Right to just happen to stumble into my path. These days, I’m taking destiny into my own hands, and—to borrow a phrase from my football coach brother—running with it.”

  “Now that sounds ominous,” Hallie said, a hint of humor creeping into her low melodious voice, before she demanded protectively, “What exactly are you planning to do?”

  “Change my life.” That said, Maggie tugged the brim of her Yankee baseball cap lower over her brow, then put on a pair of round wire-rimmed sunglasses. “I’m going back to Texas to find myself a husband and have that family I’ve always wanted.”

  “And to aid you, I imagine you’ve still got your famous wish list that you hold all potential suitors up against?” Hallie said with a chuckle.

  Maggie flushed slightly but took no offense. “You bet I do!” she replied enthusiastically, as she stood and smoothed the soft fabric of her washed-out bolero jacket over her white T-shirt and faded jeans.

  Mentally consulting her famous wish list, she began to pace. “I want someone smart and funny and willing and wise. He’s got to be handy around the house, and want to be a good father. He needs to be tall, ‘cause I like tall men. Built. Rugged, in that kind of capable outdoorsy way. Dark-haired.”

  “I suppose you’ve even figured out your potential husband’s eye color,” Hallie teased.

  Maggie sighed wistfully as she touched a hand to the bouncy ponytail escaping through the clasp of her cap. With a sigh, she admitted dreamily, “Blue, if I get my preference, but I could live with
green or brown or even gray, so long as he has that kind of determined hell-bent-for-leather look about him, whenever he sets out to accomplish something, big or small, and that includes winning my heart.”

  “You’re going to make him work for your hand in marriage, I suppose?” Hallie prodded.

  “But of course.” Maggie laughed, anticipating the thrill of a courtship that would lead to the romance that would last her whole life. She picked up her photo album and thumbed through the pages, until she came to the photo of Hallie, Clarissa and herself standing in front of a fortune-teller’s tent at the SummerFest when they were all twelve. Maggie grinned, seeing the green lizard in her hands that she’d won at the shooting booth. What a tomboy she’d been then, and still was, at heart! “Of course, my Mr. Right has also got to know how to sit a horse, and toss a ball around, and snow ski, and swim, and maybe do a little ropin’ and ridin’, too,” Maggie continued firmly, “’cause I intend to follow in my brother Deke’s footsteps and raise my kids on a ranch.”

  “A cowboy, hmm?” Hallie prodded.

  “A Texas cowboy,” Maggie specified with pride as she mentioned her home state with undisguised yearning, “and yes, that would be best, since Texas is where I intend to settle, now that I am getting out of the modeling business, once and for all.” She couldn’t wait to be back in the wide open spaces, beneath the bright blue sky.

  Intrigued, Hallie sighed. “You know how you’re going to go about this, I suppose?” she queried dryly.

  “Of course.” Maggie smiled and held the receiver a little closer to her ear. “You know I never embark on anything without a plan!”

  Silence fell between the two cousins.

  “You going to tell me what you have up your sleeve or make me pry it out of you?” Hallie drawled finally.

  “You’ll poke fun at me,” Maggie predicted.

  “Probably,” Hallie countered, amiably enough. “I’d still like to know.”

  Just then a taxi horn blared and a string of profanities that would cause a longshoreman to blush followed on the Manhattan street below. Maggie couldn’t wait to put the nonstop noise and pollution of the city behind her and head back to the peaceful beauty of Texas ranch land, and the sure, sweet simplicity of family life. “The way I see it, the whole problem with romance is the randomness of it all. I mean, my work has taken me all over the world. I’ve met and dated all sorts of extremely eligible men, and I still haven’t found my Mr. Right,” Maggie said sadly.

  For a while, two years previously, she’d thought she had. But to her dismay, that romance had turned out to be as false and superficial as the life she’d been living. And when it had ended she’d felt more disillusioned and alone than ever. So much so, in fact, that she had known that her life, and the way she was going about things, had to change.

  “So…?” Hallie prodded.

  “So after careful thought and consideration, it occurred to me that relying on something as flimsy and unreliable as mere fate to put me in the right place at the right time with the right man is not working out. I have to start doing what the magnificent Sabrina advised when we were kids, and make my own destiny.” Maggie paused. “Not that Sabrina knew everything,” she amended hastily.

  “Because if she had,” Hallie agreed, “we’d probably all be married by now.”

  “Right. Me to a cowboy, Clarissa to a millionaire and you to your next-door neighbor, Cody Brock.”

  Hallie groaned with heartfelt chagrin. “Don’t remind me of that prediction. I’m still trying to live it down.”

  Maggie smiled, then unable to resist, asked, “Is he still a hellion, by the way?”

  Another silence. “As far as I know.” Hallie sighed, with what sounded like genuine lament. “To tell you the truth, I can’t imagine him ever changing.”

  “I know that feeling,” Maggie agreed. The New York modeling world—where the emphasis was on how you looked not who you were—was not about to change, either. And that was why she had to get out. Go back to her roots. To a life with more meaning, more joy. To a life with love that was deep and real and would last a lifetime.

  “Besides,” Maggie continued, getting back to the immediate subject. “I don’t believe anyone can predict the future, which is another reason why I’m taking fate into my own hands,” she said with Texas-style determination. “I’m going to find myself the cowboy of my dreams, throw a rope around him and reel him in.” And she’d do it all before he ever knew what hit him.

  Hallie laughed softly. “Clarissa and I always did admire your gumption, Maggie.”

  “Speaking of Clarissa, have you heard from her lately?” For years the three of them had been as close as sisters. As teens, they’d hung out together and attended the Chicago SummerFest every year, when Maggie visited from Texas.

  “No,” Hallie said, sounding troubled. “You?”

  “Not for several months.” Maggie paused. “She hasn’t been returning my calls or answering my letters.” Though she had never liked or trusted Clarissa McShaunessy’s husband, Clarissa’s seven-year-old son Tommy was an angel; she missed hearing about him on a regular basis.

  “Mine, either. I recommended her for a teaching job at the Latin School in Chicago, but I haven’t heard from her since then.”

  Maggie continued to pace back and forth, worried. “You don’t think something is wrong, do you?”

  “Surely she would’ve called us—” Hallie said, then stopped.

  “Unless she was embarrassed.” Maggie sighed “You know how she hates for people to feel sorry for her.” Clarissa McShaunessy had been passed around from one uncaring relative to another, after being orphaned at a young age. Proud and sensitive, she’d been forced to live through one indignity after another. Though beautiful, she had no choice but to wear outdated, ill-fitting hand-me-downs the other children had ridiculed. She’d never gone to school with enough lunch money. Never had anything to call her own. Yet she had worked like crazy to earn her keep with whatever indifferent relative she had lived.

  “Last I heard she was in Philadelphia,” Hallie said. “But you know how frequently she and her husband move.”

  “Whenever he gets a new job.” Or loses one, Maggie thought. “Well, maybe she’ll call or write us. In the meantime, we’ll keep trying to reach her.”

  “Agreed,” Hallie said. “Now, back to your situation.”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten.” No one grilled her like the ever-practical, ever-efficient Hallie.

  “Not a chance,” Hallie said firmly. “Let’s hear your plans for hunting your Mr. Downright-Perfect!”

  Maggie drew an enervating breath and told all. “I’ve decided to research men the way I once researched colleges and modeling agencies, and find a list of men who not only possess all the qualities on my wish list, but are also every bit as successful as I am in my own right, and then go after them one by one, until the chemistry is right and everything clicks and I finally find my dream man.”

  In fact, her plan was so simple, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. A businesslike approach to problems always brought about a quick solution; she knew that from experience.

  Hallie was plainly skeptical—maybe because she was a nurse—and whether by profession or nature, was much more intuitively connected to people’s needs. “You really think this is going to work?” Hallie asked incredulously.

  Maggie smiled. “It’s so logical, it has to work.” she retorted confidently. “I mean, somewhere out there, there has to be a man my age who’s not just meant for me, in that once-in-a-lifetime way, but who is every bit as ready to fall in love with me as I am with him. All I have to do is find him, Hallie. And then put myself in the right place at the right time, and meet him, and voilà, the true love we feel for each other will take it from there.”

  AFTER SHE HUNG UP the phone, and with a good hour and a half before she had to turn over the key to her apartment to the new owners, Maggie decided to take one last look around the neighborho
od. She stepped out onto the crowded Village street she had called home for the last ten years. A holiday weekend, the normally busy area was eerily quiet, almost unnaturally so, Maggie thought. The sun was making its way toward the horizon as a breeze floated across the treelined street. The evening air was balmy and just cool enough to hint at the autumn to come. Maggie passed an art gallery, and a produce store—both of which were closed—and headed toward the deli on the corner.

  It was 7:00 p.m., and she was famished. Halfway down the block, she paused as she noticed a newly painted sign hanging from the lamppost above the storefront. Fortunes Told By Sabrina, it said.

  Maggie stopped dead in her tracks. Funny, how she and Hallie had just spoken about the gypsy. But this Sabrina couldn’t be the same Sabrina she had seen at the Chicago fair some eighteen years ago, could it? Then again, how many fortune-tellers were there named Sabrina?

  Deciding to take a trip down memory lane, Maggie opened the door to the once empty building and stepped inside. The shades were drawn and the beguiling scent of incense filled the shop. A dark-eyed woman smiled at Maggie warmly and clasped her gnarled hands. “Come in, Maggie darling, come in.”

  Maggie blinked. The clothes weren’t the same. But the heavy jewelry, the kind, kohl-rimmed eyes and hauntingly omniscient smile were the same. “Sabrina?” Maggie gasped as a wealth of memories assaulted her. Merciful heavens, it was her!

  The fortune-teller nodded as she swept forward. “I see you remember me.”

  As Sabrina led her toward a cloth-draped table, with a huge crystal ball in the center of it, Maggie let out the breath she had been holding. “You read my palm and told my fortune. And told me we all make our own destiny in this life.”