KILLER COWBOY CHARM Read online

  "We'll use the coffee table," Clint said. "That round slab of oak will hold anything." He'd stood on it a few times when he needed to reach something taller than he was.

  "And you'll make a royal mess," José said. "It's enchiladas tonight, don't forget, and that's a long way from the plate to your mouth. Not that you're sloppy, boss, but I can see enchilada sauce all down your shirt if you're sitting on the couch and eating off the coffee table."

  "Then sit on the floor," Tuck said. "Take a couple of cushions off the couch and sit on the floor. Like they do at those ethnic restaurants."

  José grinned. "Good idea! Yeah, that'll be real cozy."

  "I'll help you set it up." Tuck headed for the living room.

  Clint had obviously lost control of the situation and didn't know how to get it back. But cozy was way more intimate than he'd had in mind. Eating at the big table would have looked ridiculous, which was why he'd thought of eating in front of the fire. He hadn't worked out the details, though, and all of a sudden he was stuck with cozy.

  Although he could countermand Tuck's idea, he wouldn't. The guy had become a substitute father, and Clint had never felt like Tuck's boss. He respected his foreman more than anyone he knew.

  So, instead of objecting, he followed Tuck into the living room to supervise and make sure it wouldn't be too damned cozy. He was already worried enough about how this shared lodging would work out and what the possible repercussions would be.

  By the time Clint arrived in the living room and dumped his load of firewood on the hearth, Tuck had already moved the couch back from the coffee table. The little guy had amazing strength for his size.

  "Okay, we'll take this cushion, here, and put it right here." Tuck pulled a square seat cushion from the couch and plopped it on the braided rug right behind the coffee table.

  "Now it looks like we're camping," Clint said. "Maybe I should just invite her to the Steak Out and be done with it."

  "You can't do that." Tuck pulled another cushion from the couch and positioned it on the floor right next to the first cushion.

  "Why not?" Clint leaned down and moved the second cushion so it was a good three feet from the first one.

  "Because you would break José's heart, that's why He's been planning his specialty enchilada dinner ever since he found out the TV lady was coming. You know he's mighty proud of his enchiladas." Tuck moved the first cushion again so it was touching the second.

  "I hadn't realized he planned the menu just for her." Clint moved his cushion around the table so it was another three feet away.

  "Well, he did." Tuck surveyed the arrangement and moved the first cushion up next to the second one again.

  Clint moved his cushion again too. "Then it looks like we'll eat here in front of the fire."

  "Looks like, although I can't figure out what you're doing with these two cushions." Tuck moved his so it followed the other around the table. "We started out with them facing the fire, and now you'll be sitting with your backs to it. I don't get the point of that."

  Clint reached for both cushions, hauled them up and brought them back around behind the coffee table. "One of us is sitting here." He dropped the cushion. "And the other one w-a-a-a-y over here." He walked around the table and dropped the other cushion.

  "Why? Does she smell bad?"

  "I hope not." Meg walked into the room. "I took a shower this morning, and my deodorant should still be working."

  Tuck turned scarlet. Clint had never seen his foreman blush before, and he was so fascinated that he forgot his manners.

  Meg walked forward, hand outstretched, smile at the ready. "I'm Meg Delancy. Feel free to tell me if I need to hit the showers. I don't get insulted easily."

  Tuck's throat worked, but he was speechless. Clint understood the reaction. Up close, she was damned impressive. A jolt of sexual awareness hit him every time she came near.

  "You smell fine," he said. Wonderful, in fact, he realized. He hadn't thought about it earlier because he'd been too absorbed in how she looked, which was also wonderful. "Meg, this is Tucker Benson, my foreman."

  Tuck cleared his throat and shook her hand. "Meased to pleet you. Uh, what I mean is—"

  "I'm pleased to meet you, too, Tucker." She sailed right past his awkwardness. "Clint says you run the operation here at the Circle W. He made it very clear that he doesn't know one end of a horse from the other."

  "Uh, yeah, well … I do my best." Tuck glanced over at Clint.

  Clint returned the look, silently warning Tuck not to get him into any trouble.

  "And I'm sorry about the smart remark," Tuck continued. "I was teasing Clint about the cushions."

  "Cushions?" Meg glanced over at the couch and then down at the floor. "Are you two looking for loose change or something?"

  Clint sighed. He never should have suggested eating in front of the fire, because he didn't have the right setup for it. If he could think of a logical explanation for the cushions on the floor, they could go back to the concept of eating at the huge dining table. It was the lesser of two stupidities.

  "Clint thought it'd be nice for the two of you to eat in front of the fire," Tuck said.

  "Or maybe not," Clint said. "Maybe the dining room is the best choice. Wherever you'd be the most comfortable."

  Meg looked confused. "I heard you tell Jamie dinner was at six. So I thought he'd—"

  "Jamie's having a great time down at the bunkhouse," Clint said. "So he's joining the rest of the boys down there tonight."

  "Oh." Meg's hesitation was so slight as to be almost unnoticeable. "Was there … anyone else you wanted to invite to dinner?"

  Clint didn't know if she'd asked because the setting was too dorky or because she was worried about spending more time alone with him. "Like who?"

  "Um, maybe your girlfriend?"

  Oh, God, did she want him to have a girlfriend? If so, she was out of luck. "No current girlfriend," he said.

  "Well, then, let's eat in front of the fire. Sounds fabulous." Maybe he was projecting, but he thought she sounded nervous or something about the idea. After all, she'd been taunting him and now she might be worried that he'd expect her to follow through. He expected zip from her, but he couldn't very well say that now.

  Between José's hopes for his enchiladas and the bunk-house gang wimping out, it looked as if Clint would be eating in front of the fire tonight, alone with Meg. He would have to look and not touch. And he wanted to touch … everything. But he would behave himself, even if it killed him.

  * * *

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Meg doubted it, but the manners her mother had drilled into her prompted her to ask. Meanwhile she was digesting the news that Clint had no girlfriend. Clear sailing. Her heart raced as she contemplated the possibilities.

  "I think everything's under control," Clint said, though he didn't look as if he really thought so. "I'll clean out the old ashes before I build the fire."

  "Then I'll, um, watch." Meg felt a little shaky, so she settled down on the one remaining couch cushion.

  "And I'll get on out to the bunkhouse," Tuck said. "I think the poker game's about to start."

  "Just don't keep Jamie up too late." Meg had to remind herself of her purpose in being here. "We have to be on the bird at 7:30."

  "The what?" Tuck frowned in obvious confusion.

  Clint interrupted his shoveling of the ashes. "The bird's the TV satellite," he said. "They rent time on it so they can do a remote broadcast from the live truck, which is that white van they came in."

  Meg suppressed a smile. Clint seemed quite proud of his newfound info. And he was about twenty times more appealing now that she knew he wasn't involved with someone.

  "Interesting." Tucker acted as if he wanted to hang around a little longer. "So tomorrow, when you broadcast from here, are you planning to have anybody besides you on camera?"

  Forcing herself to concentrate on her job instead of Clint, Meg made a spur-of-the-minute decision. "I would l
ove to interview you for a couple of minutes, Tucker. Would you be willing to do that?" She'd originally planned to interview Clint, but he seem to own the right outfit for the broadcast. Tucker was too old to qualify for the contest, but he'd add some great color to the first segment.

  The foreman looked quite pleased with the prospect. "You can call me Tuck, and I expect I could work that in. Just tell me what to do."

  "I'll ask you a few questions about ranching, how you got into this line of work. I'm trusting Jamie to set up the shot and the lighting, so tell him I want to interview you and he'll decide the best location. If you could be ready about seven, we can do a little practice run."

  "All right." Tuck's smile gleamed white against his tanned skin. "Sounds good. I'll see you in the morning, then."

  After he left, Meg glanced toward the fireplace where Clint was shoveling the last of the ashes into a bucket near the fire. He looked terrific doing it, too. And he had no girlfriend. "I hope you don't mind if I interview your foreman. Maybe I should have asked you before I suggested it to him."

  "That's fine. Tuck's the one to talk to about the ranch." He tapped the last of the ashes from the shovel and replaced it in the holder with the rest of the fireplace tools. "Like I said, I'm no expert. He is."

  Something about this scenario didn't add up. "I'm curious as to how you fill your time here, if you don't spend it on ranch chores?"

  He stood, but he didn't turn around. His answer was a little slow in coming. "I keep the books. We run a boarding and training stable here. We also offer trail rides."

  "I see." She couldn't imagine an accounting system that would require a full-time effort. But she could imagine this man naked, and the concept made her drool.

  He turned toward her. "And I, um, do a little consulting."

  "Oh, really? On what?" Maybe she could get him to consult with her on this little problem of sexual deprivation.

  "Business. Business consulting, for the merchants around here."

  Considering the number of merchants she'd noticed on the way here, that wouldn't occupy him for long, either. "Sounds like a nice relaxed life."

  "Yep. Relaxed, that's me." He stood and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

  That stance was all it took for her to be convinced. Instantly she pictured him in jeans and a yoked Western shirt, boots and a worn Stetson. This man was a cowboy, her fantasy man. And he didn't want her to know.

  "You must even have time for hobbies," she said.

  "Some."

  "Such as?"

  "Oh … birdwatching."

  If he was a birdwatcher she was Jay Leno. But she pretended to believe him. "I've always thought that would be fun, hiking in sensible shoes with a pair of binoculars around my neck. But I don't have the time. What's the most unusual bird you've ever spotted?"

  He met her gaze. "I can't believe you're interested in birdwatching."

  "I can't believe you are, either." But she would be thrilled if he could be interested in her for the next couple of days.

  "Maybe I made it up because I don't want you to know I'm a lazy son-of-a-gun who whiles away the day on the front porch with a can of beer in his hand."

  "Try again." She'd glimpsed great muscle definition under his white shirt. "You're too fit for me to believe you lounge around drinking beer all day. I say you're a working cowboy, and for some reason you don't want me to know that. I'm assuming it has .to do with the contest. Trust me, if you don't want to be in it, I won't coerce you. And I won't sic George Forester on you, if that's what you're worried about."

  He stood there looking at her, his blue eyes giving away nothing. "I'd better go get the cook, José. He wanted to meet you."

  "You're going to keep me guessing, aren't you?"

  "Yep." Then he walked out of the room.

  She felt like throwing something. She would smoke him out, though. On the job she was known for her ability to coax people into spilling their secrets. Clint was going to tell his, even if she had to seduce them out of him. And she could consider that option without guilt now … because he had no girlfriend.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  As Clint walked through the dining room into the kitchen in search of José, he felt no sense of victory. She was winning this game of hide-and-seek, and they both knew it. When he'd planned to fool her, he'd forgotten that she interviewed people for a living. She was trained to dig until she found the truth.

  If she hadn't figured out that he was lying to her about his cowboying skills, she would know it very soon. And maybe it didn't matter. His half-ass disguise succeeded in sending the message that he didn't want to be part of her ridiculous contest without him having to say it out loud.

  When he walked into the kitchen, José spun away from the oven where he'd been checking his enchiladas. "She's out there, huh?"

  "Yep, she's out there." Really out there. He'd never known a woman this bold and sassy. He liked it too much. "Ready to go meet her?"

  José gulped. "Now?"

  "Why not?"

  "Okay, but I need … a mission. I can't parade out there without a reason."

  Clint heaved a sigh. "She's just a woman."

  "That's like saying my triple-chocolate layer cake is just a dessert. If she's half as gorgeous in person as she is on TV, then—"

  "You've watched the show?" Although Clint had seen it once, for research purposes, he wouldn't have thought anybody else on the Circle W had bothered.

  "Are you kidding? Every weekday morning! That woman is hot. I watch it live. The other guys watch the tape."

  Clint stared at his cook and waited for him to start laughing at the little joke he was playing on his boss. "You're making this up."

  "Nope. I watch it here or down in the bunkhouse, wherever I happen to be. I'm usually the one that sets up the VCR down there for the other guys, and sometimes I go down at night so I can see it again. We don't pay much attention to the program. Just her. Do you think her red hair is real or dyed?"

  Clint shook his head in wonder. He had a bunkhouse full of groupies. "I have no idea."

  "Jed thinks yes, but Denny, who considers himself the expert on redheads because he is one, says it's not real because she has brown eyes. Not too many true redheads have brown eyes. Me, I wouldn't care either way."

  "I think the red's real." The words were out before Clint could stop them. His brain had quickly assessed her fair skin and the trace of freckles under her professionally applied makeup and had come up with the true-redhead verdict, which had then popped out of his mouth with no warning whatsoever.

  "I think you're right," José said. "And no boyfriend. What a waste."

  "How do you know there's no boyfriend?"

  "She's always talking on the show about not having dates. Me and the guys, we've joked about taking up a collection so one of us could fly up there and ask her out. Not that she would go. She probably doesn't have dates because she's picky."

  "I can't believe she doesn't have dates." Clint pictured anew guy every week, who was then discarded like food gone stale in her refrigerator.

  José shrugged. "That's what she says on the show. Mel's always teasing her about it Maybe it's because guys are afraid to ask her out. That's what Denny thinks."

  "Well, yeah. Who wants to end up in the tabloids?"

  "That's what Denny says. She got famous so quick, and any guy who dates her has to know it wouldn't be a private deal for very long."

  Clint gazed out the kitchen window and thought about that. For all Meg's taunting comments about liking to get into trouble, she hadn't gotten into much trouble at all since becoming a celebrity. If she had, it would be all over the rags in the grocery-store checkout line.

  Maybe she'd been too focused on her career to bother with dating. He'd caught a whiff of naked ambition during their conversation on the front porch. But he wondered if she also might be a little bit lonely, a little bit frustrated. Now there was a stimulating thought. />
  And he needed to avoid that kind of thinking, considering they'd be alone in the house tonight.

  "Uh, boss?" José waved a hand in front of Clint's eyes. "Is it still okay if I go out and meet her?"

  Clint snapped out of his daze. "Of course it's okay. I specifically came back here to get you and bring you out there."

  "I know, but when I asked you just now, you just stared off into space and didn't say anything, so I wondered if you'd changed your mind. Don't worry. I promise not to do anything stupid like ask her out." José looked suddenly shy. "But I sure would like her autograph."

  "Then you'd better take something for her to write on."

  "I have something." José held up a pot holder that looked fresh out of the box. "Bought it at the convenience store today."

  "Why a pot holder?"

  "Because it'll prove she ate my food. I can hang it up in the kitchen." He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he described his plan.

  Clint hated to admit he understood how José felt Come to think of it, after watching her once on TV, he'd had to fight the urge to do it again the next morning. Just because she was here for an idiotic reason didn't cancel out her sex appeal, although he'd worked hard to stay immune. The immunity was wearing off fast, unfortunately.

  "Then let's go," he said.

  "Let me get the place settings. That's what I thought of while we were talking. I'll take out place mats, napkins and silverware for the coffee table. Then I have a reason for going out there."

  Clint waited for José to grab a couple of straw place mats, knives, forks, spoons and two red cloth napkins. They hadn't used cloth napkins since before his mother died, but he guessed this was occasion enough.

  He wondered what his folks would have thought of Meg. To his surprise, he decided they would have liked her. In spite of coming from an entirely different background, she obviously had the same strong work ethic his parents had valued. She wouldn't be where she was without that.