Manhunting in Montana Read online

  “You can turn me loose, Tom. I promise I won’t bolt.”

  “Too bad.” He grinned at her as he released her arm. “Might be kind of fun rounding you up again.”

  “Is that what you do with uncooperative women? Rope them and hog-tie them?”

  “No, sweetheart.” His glance was dangerously sexy. “I save that for the cooperative ones.”

  6

  AS SOON AS TOM arrived at the corral where a chestnut mare named Suzette pranced around, he asked Jose and Stan to bring Blaze, the scrub stallion, into the adjoining corral. A few of the hands and several of the guests had gathered on the far side of the corral, ready for the show. Tom had warned all the parents about the afternoon’s event, in case they didn’t want their kids to observe the breeding process, and he noticed none of the kids were around, either because they’d been kept away or because they didn’t think mating horses were interesting enough to give up a swim for.

  Cleo rested her arms on the top rail and propped her chin on her hands. Tom thought she looked really natural out here by the corral. Deidre never had, no matter how many weeks she’d spent on the ranch. Maybe it was Cleo’s lack of heavy makeup, her unpolished nails and casual clothes. Or maybe it was the way she seemed to look at ranch life with an intensity of purpose, as if she wanted to understand how things worked around here. Deidre had never seemed to care.

  Of course, Cleo had a purpose, and once that was satisfied, she might lose interest completely. He was impressed by Cleo’s stubbornness when she got an idea. He didn’t meet too many people he shared that trait with. Her stubbornness might cheat them both out of some really great sex, though, unless he used her special rule about mixing business with pleasure against her.

  If he seduced her, he’d take himself out of the calendar project and end that debate once and for all. All he needed was the right set of circumstances, and she’d go up like a pile of dry kindling. A strand of golden hair blew across her cheek, and he resisted the impulse to comb it back for her. Now was not the time.

  Blaze, an old palomino with too many conformation faults to be considered a good stud, came prancing into the corral next to Suzette’s. Handling Blaze was a twoman job, so Stan and Jose each had a rope on the stallion.

  “What’s up with this?” Cleo asked. “He can’t get to her.”

  “He’s not supposed to. Blaze is the teaser.”

  Cleo turned to look at him. “Excuse me?”

  He met her gaze. “We have to make sure Suzette’s in heat before we bring in Chico, the stud. Otherwise she could bite him, or kick the devil out of him if she’s not interested. I can’t take a chance on that happening with Chico, who’s worth a hell of a lot more than old Blaze.”

  “Oh.” Cleo returned her attention to Suzette. “There’ve been a few times I could have used a set of hooves, myself.”

  Tom lowered his voice, although there was little danger of anyone overhearing. “Are you referring to recent history?”

  She didn’t look at him, but her throat moved in a swallow. “No. My attraction to you is real, and extremely inconvenient.”

  Or convenient, looking at the situation another way, he thought. “Just checking. I’d hate like hell to get kicked.” He watched Suzette sidle over to the fence where Blaze strained at his ropes. Suzette lifted her tail and allowed Blaze a sniff. Good sign.

  “I don’t imagine you get kicked very often,” Cleo murmured.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “He looks very eager,” she said.

  “Oh, he’s eager, all right. Pretty soon it’ll be very obvious how eager he is.”

  Blaze struggled against the ropes as he tried to lean over the fence, and his arousal became evident to anyone who cared to look between his hind legs.

  “I..uh...see what you mean,” Cleo muttered. “My goodness.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Males aren’t built to keep secrets.”

  “What about her? How can you tell if she’s in heat?”

  “By the look in her eyes.”

  She turned her head and met his gaze.

  He drew in a quick breath at the tumult in those blue depths. Oh, yes, she was ready. More than ready.

  “Are we talking about horses?” she asked.

  “You are.” A high-pitched squeal from Suzette brought his attention back to the corral. Suzette humped her back in an awkward little bucking motion, laid her ears back and squealed again. “All right,” Tom said. “We’re in business.” He raised his voice. “Jose, Stan—take him away and get Chico.”

  “Right, boss!” Jose said. He and Stan fought to pull the stallion away from the fence. Blaze fought back, whinnying and planting his haunches to brace himself against the tug of the ropes.

  “That’s terrible!” Cleo said. “Poor Blaze.”

  “That’s business.” Tom glanced at her. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  She pushed away from the fence and faced him. “If you’re implying that my photo sessions in any way resemble this...this...”

  He kept his voice down. “I’m not implying. I’m saying it straight out. The whole time I watched you work with Jeeter, all I could think about was Blaze. I don’t know if you have a boyfriend who gets the benefit of all those hormones flying around, but I refuse to be treated like some scrub stallion while another guy gets to take part in the main event.”

  Her lips were parted, her breath coming fast. Tom figured that if they weren’t standing out in the wide-open spaces with eight or ten people as witnesses, now would be a fine time to touch a match to that dry kindling. From the corner of his eye he saw Chico, a magnificent dark bay, being brought into the corral with Suzette.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Cleo said, her gaze never leaving his face.

  Damn, but that was good news. “Then you must get a little frustrated at times, darlin’.” While he continued to keep his attention firmly on Cleo, he was also aware of the mare and stallion maneuvering through their courtship ritual—me sniffing, the little nips, the snorts and squeals. He remained alert to any signs of trouble, but all seemed to be going well.

  “My frustrations aren’t your concern,” Cleo said.

  “I could make them my concern.”

  “No.” She licked her lips.

  His groin tightened as he remembered how her tongue had felt inside his mouth and how hungry she’d been for his kiss. Instinct told him the horses would mate any moment now. “Hey, I don’t want you to miss anything.” He cupped her elbow and turned her to face the corral again just as Chico lunged over Suzette’s hindquarters and buried himself in her. Tom felt the shudder go through Cleo.

  He wondered if she might run from the blatant sexual message being spelled out in the corral, and this time he planned to let her go. He’d made his point But she stayed through it all, trembling but focused.

  Tom hated to leave her now. If he could walk her back to her cabin, they might settle things this afternoon. But he had duties connected with this breeding event. “I have to go,” he murmured, squeezing her arm gently.

  She nodded, not looking at him.

  “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  She nodded again.

  He walked away, wishing that just this once someone else could shoulder his responsibilities. He had no doubt that if he could take Cleo’s hand and lead her to the nearest secluded place, she would make love with him until they were both exhausted. But an hour from now, the spell might be broken.

  CLEO WASN’T SURE how she made it back to her cabin. Images of stallions and sexy cowboys swirled through her head as she stumbled away from the corral to find a measure of privacy so that she could think. She couldn’t give in to this lust for Tom McBride, could she? Then she wouldn’t be able to use him for the calendar, and she’d jeopardize her husband hunt in the bargain. But as she opened the door of her cabin and walked into the refreshing coolness, neither of those reasons seemed strong enough to deny herself the pleasure to be f
ound in Tom’s arms.

  A courier packet lay on her bed—the contact sheets of her firefighters Bernie had shipped out yesterday. Relief flooded Cleo at the prospect of a familiar job. She knew from experience that choosing the photographs for a calendar didn’t stir up the same cravings as the photo shoots themselves. The selection of prints required a dispassionate, critical eye, and one of the reasons she’d made it so far in her profession was her ability to coolly judge her own work.

  Still standing beside the bed, she opened the packet and skimmed the note from Bernie, which contained nothing but routine information...until she came to the last paragraph.

  Your father called. He’s interested in using your Montana Men calendar as a premium for Sphinx customers this Christmas. I told him I’d check with you. Frankly, although the extra exposure would be nice—I think the company’s planning TV and print ads—I’d love you to tell him to go jump in the lake. This calendar will sell big without his help. By the way, found a husband yet?

  B.

  Cleo sat on the bed and reread the paragraph. When her first calendar was scheduled, she’d asked her father if he’d consider using it as a giveaway for his cosmetics customers, which would have provided national and international exposure when she needed it most. Asking had been difficult for her. But listening to his refusal had been sheer hell.

  Now that she had created her own fame, he was willing to link his company’s name with hers. She wasn’t sure what she would do yet, but one thing was certain—this calendar would be the best damn thing she’d ever done. And that meant getting Tom McBride on the cover. Getting Tom to pose wouldn’t be easy, but then nothing worth doing ever was. Her father had taught her that.

  Cleo avoided Tom for the rest of the day and didn’t go to the main house for dinner. Snacking from Juanita’s refrigerator was more Cleo’s style, anyway. She longed for a soak in the hot tub, but she couldn’t take a chance that Tom might wander down to see if she was there. She didn’t trust herself around him with all her clothes on at the moment, let alone when she was lounging naked in bubbling mineral water.

  Instead, she used her evening to choose twelve firefighters from the contact sheets Bernie had sent. The task absorbed all her attention, and when she’d finished, she discovered she was tired enough to go to bed. After she packaged up her choices and sealed them into a return envelope, she crawled under the covers. She’d better enjoy the innerspring mattress tonight, she told herself, because the following night she’d be camped under the stars. Tom would be there, but so would a lot of other people, not to mention dogs, horses and cattle. Cleo judged the situation safe enough to keep her from falling into temptation.

  She slipped easily toward sleep, despite the same yipping, rustling and howling she’d experienced the night before. Maybe the mountain air and sunshine had worked some sort of magic during the day, because she felt incredibly relaxed and peaceful. Or maybe, she thought briefly before she drifted off, she was getting used to Montana.

  WHEN MORNING ARRIVED, bringing with it the prospect of seeing Tom constantly for the next two days, her stomach jumped around as if she’d just finished riding the Coney Island roller coaster. She missed breakfast because she spent a ridiculous amount of time deciding what to wear and what to pack. Finally, she settled on jeans, a chambray shirt and her vest. She packed a change of underwear, a few personal toiletries and several candy bars, all of which fit into the pockets of her camera bag. She put on her sunglasses and grabbed a jacket on her way out the door.

  The sun had baked the dew from the grass, leaving behind a scent so fresh it triggered memories of a summer when she was fourteen. Normally she’d spent her school vacations in a round of music and dance lessons. Her father had never taken time off, and so neither had she or her mother, but that year she’d been invited by a girlfriend to spend two glorious weeks at the family’s summer home in Connecticut. To Cleo, both then and now, the sun-warmed grass smelled of freedom.

  She could see riders gathering beside the corral where mounts in the process of being saddled were lined up along the hitching post. The black-and-white dog she’d noticed the first day, whose name was Trixie, was trotting around the group in obvious anticipation of a trip. Nearby, a team of horses had been hitched to a wagon loaded with supplies.

  Even from this distance, Cleo picked Tom out of the crowd. She recognized his walk, the set of his shoulders and the way he wore his hat. Forty-eight hours ago they’d been strangers, and already he’d become alarmingly familiar to her. Well, that was good, she decided, adjusting the strap of her camera bag on her shoulder as she started toward the corral. The more familiar he was, the better she’d photograph him when the time came.

  As she approached, she recognized Jeeter and Jose, as well. That was lucky, she thought. Jose was a definite calendar possibility, and this would give her a chance to see if he was interested. She might even be able to set up a shoot while they were on the trail. He’s also a husband prospect, she reminded herself. With that in mind, she tried to focus exclusively on Jose as he led another horse out of the corral, but her attention kept wandering in Tom’s direction.

  The scents and sounds of the corral brought back thoughts of yesterday, standing beside Tom while a stallion had his way with a willing mare. That man had known exactly what he was doing, piling that event on top of their encounter in the barn. If she succumbed to his considerable charms, she wouldn’t get her cover photo. No matter how arousing the circumstances, she needed to remember that.

  Luckily, for the next two days at least, she’d have chaperons. She glanced over the five guests who’d volunteered to help move the cattle. She remembered them vaguely from her first meal at the ranch and chance encounters during the day and a half she’d been at the Whispering Winds, but she’d zoned out on their names.

  The young couple that looked fresh out of college had been married about a year and lived in Massachusetts. The second couple had a fourteen-year-old daughter, and Tom helped the girl adjust her stirrups while both her parents stood by and offered advice in a clipped Boston accent

  At one point, Tom turned his back to the parents, glanced up at the girl and winked.

  She gave him a smile back, and Cleo figured Tom had just made a friend for life. No teenager appreciated that kind of parental hovering.

  “That should do it, Laura.” Tom positioned the girl’s booted foot in the stirrup. “Stand up on the balls of your feet and let me check.”

  “I still think they should be shorter,” her mother said.

  Laura stood in the stirrups and got an approving nod from Tom. “Western riding is different from English, Mom,” Laura said.

  “Well, I want mine shorter than that.”

  Tom turned around to speak to her and noticed Cleo for the first time. An expression of welcome lit his face before he swung his attention to Laura’s mother. “We’ll adjust them any way you like, Mrs. Preston.” He glanced down the row of horses. “Jose? Can you get the Prestons mounted up? And bring out Dynamite for Ms. Griffin?”

  Dynamite? Cleo gulped.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  Cleo couldn’t suppress feeling a flicker of desire as Tom walked over to her. He was one fine-looking cowboy.

  He nudged his hat back with his thumb and smiled.

  “So you’re going.”

  “I said I would. But about this horse you’re putting me on. I—”

  “I admire a woman of her word.” His gaze traveled over her. “You need a hat.”

  “I don’t have one. I’ll be fine. Listen, is Dynamite a very—”

  “Everybody in my outfit wears a hat.” He took her arm. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.”

  “I don’t like hats.” She went along with him because it was less embarrassing than digging in her heels and creating a scene. “I never wear them.”

  “You will on this ride. I won’t have you keeling over from sunstroke or burning that pretty little nose of yours.”

  “I
have sunscreen. And lots of hair to protect me from sunstroke. And my nose isn’t little.”

  He laughed as he towed her up the steps of the ranch house. “You’re right You’ve got one of those highborn sort of noses, but you won’t look quite so regal if it’s red as a bandanna.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I feel like a little kid being told to wear her rubbers. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

  “In New York, maybe.” Tom nodded to Luann, who was cleaning the ashes from the fireplace. “Mornin’, Luann.”

  ‘“Morning, Tom.” She sat back on her heels and grinned at Cleo. “I’ll bet he’s getting you a hat.”

  “So he says.”

  Tom pulled her into his office and flipped the door closed. “You do need something to cover your head, but first I need this.” He took off his hat and his mouth came down on hers.

  They picked right up where they’d left off, and the barriers she’d worked so hard to construct, the reasons that she shouldn’t allow this, crumpled before the onslaught of his lips. She should be pushing him away instead of reveling in the morning-coffee taste of him, breathing in the scent of his aftershave and the everpresent combination of leather and aroused male. God, he could kiss.

  He held her tight against him and lifted his head to gaze down at her. “‘Mornin’, Cleo.”

  She tried to catch her breath. “You’re trying to cause me trouble, aren’t you, cowboy?”

  “I’m trying to ease your troubles, lady. You’ve been dodging me since yesterday, haven’t you?”

  “I had work to do.”

  His hands slid down her back and cupped her bottom. “So did I, but I could have slipped you into my schedule.”

  She was turning into a molten mass of need, but she tried not to let him know how much he affected her. She took a deep breath. “I’m holding out for my cover photo, Tom.”

  His mouth curved in a slow, sensuous smile. “Damn, but you’re a stubborn female.”