Manhunting in Montana Read online

  And you’re about the sexiest man I’ve ever met. Cleo looked into his mesmerizing gray eyes and gave thanks that Luann was just outside the door and seven people were waiting for them at the corral. Without those considerations, he might have been able to talk her into almost anything right now, including a session on top of his massive oak desk.

  “We need to get going,” she said.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, woman. Life’s too short.”

  “Back to the corral.”

  “Oh. Them.”

  “And after all this fuss I’d better show up with a hat.”

  “I was dead serious about the hat.” He released her and walked over to a row of pegs where hats of various sizes and colors hung. “I was dead serious about the rest of it, too, but I intend to get your head covered first.” He picked out a cream-colored Stetson and walked back to her. “Let’s see how this suits you.”

  She held out her hand. “I’ll put it on after we mount up.”

  “Nope. We’ll make sure it fits right now, so I don’t hear any excuses out on the trail as to why you’re not wearing it. Hold still.”

  “Honestly.” But with him that close, she had to hold still or risk throwing herself into his arms again.

  He settled the hat on her head and tugged the brim down in front. Then he stood back, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, to survey the result. Slowly a grin creased his face.

  “What?” She looked around for a mirror, but found none. “I look ridiculous, right?”

  “Nope. You look like you were made to wear that hat. Keep it.”

  “Now that’s really ridiculous. Once I leave here, I’ll have no use for it.” Once she left here, she wouldn’t see Tom McBride again, either. The thought created such an empty feeling that she pushed it aside. “Because you’re making such a big deal about this hat thing, I’ll wear it for the cattle drive, but after that I’m returning it.”

  “I wouldn’t be too hasty about that. The right hat is a rare discovery. Some people try on a hundred before they find the one that fits their head and personality. That one’s perfect for you.” He picked up his own from the desk and put it on. “Let’s go.” He strode over to the door and opened it.

  Fascinated by his assessment, she hurried after him. “Why is it so perfect?”

  He kept walking. “Frames your face real nice without dominating it. A face like yours doesn’t need a lot of geegaws to distract people. The color’s good against your blond hair. The crown’s about right. Wouldn’t want one too short, with those long legs of yours.” He glanced at her as they crossed the ranch yard and headed toward the corrals. “It’s classy, but that little feather in the hatband gives it spirit. Like I said, it’s a great fit.”

  A warm glow settled over her as she absorbed his evaluation. His matter-of-fact delivery gave the elaborate compliment even more impact. If this was a line he was feeding her just to get what he wanted, he was very skilled at it—she was swallowing every single word without a single twinge of big-city cynicism.

  By the time they arrived at the corrals, she’d decided that she positively loved the hat.

  7

  “PICK UP THE PACE, Dynamite. We’re lagging behind again, horse.” Finishing off her candy bar, Cleo nudged the buckskin mare in the ribs and clucked encouragingly. The truth was, their pokiness was as much her fault as Dynamite’s. Riding up through a wildflower-strewn ravine—what Tom informed everyone was called a coulee out in these parts—Cleo lifted her gaze to snow-draped mountains that commanded a huge chunk of cobalt sky. Turning in her saddle, she watched the ranch transform into a child’s diorama complete with a meandering stream that flashed silver in the sun.

  The trail wound through a stand of aspens, their heart-shaped leaves quivering in the breeze. Beyond the aspen grove lay a meadow where a young buck lifted his antlered head, sniffed the air and bolted, his white tail lifting like a flag as he disappeared into the feathery protection of pine and spruce. Birds chattered and swooped through the trees, daubing color against the deep green of the forest, and the tangy scent of evergreens spiced the air.

  Camera at the ready, Cleo was in no hurry to cover ground. She’d let everyone else go ahead of her while she used up one roll and started on another.

  As for Dynamite, the mare was definitely in no hurry. Someone with a sense of humor had named this horse, Cleo decided as she dug her heels in again and clucked. She was following Jeeter, who drove the wagon, and Tom, who rode alongside. Much as she enjoyed the leisurely pace and the chance to take some shots of the unbelievable scenery, she didn’t want to lose sight of the group. Not when there could be cougars around.

  “Move it, baby,” Cleo said, getting more aggressive with her heels. “Bringing up the rear is one thing, but we’re not even doing a credible job of that.”

  Dynamite’s ears flicked back and her plodding stride accelerated slightly, but not much.

  Ahead of them, Tom stopped talking with Jeeter and glanced over his shoulder. Then he wheeled his big chestnut and loped back toward Cleo. He looked mighty fine mounted on that flame-colored animal, Cleo thought, admiring how his body moved in rhythm with the gelding’s stride. She’d never noticed before how much the rocking motion of a rider’s hips mimicked the sexual act.

  As he reached her and turned his mount to keep pace with Dynamite, all sorts of suggestive behavior leaped to Cleo’s mind. The wagon had disappeared over a rise, leaving them in a tantalizingly private setting. But she must not allow herself to be tantalized.

  “I can’t seem to find the fuse on this horse of yours, McBride,” she said.

  He grinned. “I didn’t know you wanted a Derby contender.” He reined in his prancing horse. “Easy, Red.”

  “I didn’t want a horse like yours, that’s for sure. But with this mare, sweet as she is, I feel as if I may have to get out and push.”

  “I had the idea you hadn’t ridden much recently, so I was thinking of your backside.” He paused, glanced at her and laughed. “Let me rephrase that.”

  “Oh, I’ll bet that’s exactly what you were thinking of, cowboy.”

  His gray eyes twinkled. “Okay, it probably was. It’s a damn good-looking backside, and I’d hate to see it damaged.”

  Not a good topic, Cleo thought as her body responded to the intimate discussion. “I think I could manage a little more speed without a problem. And what about when we find the cattle? Can she keep up?”

  “She’ll be fine. In her prime she was a good little cow pony, but she’s semiretired now. I wanted you on a steady horse, and she’s the steadiest one we have on the ranch. She won’t spook and she’ll stick by you if you happen to fall off.”

  Cleo was touched that he seemed to care so much about her welfare. “And what joker named this mare Dynamite?”

  “I did.”

  “With tongue in cheek, right?”

  “Nope.” Tom kept his restless horse under a tight rein. “A kid doesn’t joke around when he’s naming his horse.”

  “She was your horse when you were a kid?” Cleo leaned down to examine Dynamite’s muzzle for gray hairs and noticed quite a few. “Just how old is she?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Yikes! Now I feel guilty for making her go faster. Shouldn’t she be turned out to pasture or something?”

  “Not when she’s sound, and likes to get out and see a bit of the world, right, Dynamite?”

  The mare’s ears swiveled back at the mention of her name.

  “I watched her being born,” Tom continued. “When my dad gave her to me, he might as well have given me the world on a silver platter, I was so excited. She was a fast little pony and had the habit of exploding into a run, so I named her Dynamite. She has great-great-grandchildren on the ranch.”

  “Wow.” Cleo had new respect for the mare, and a feeling of tenderness for the cowboy who was letting her ride his first horse. “All I ever had when I was a kid was a hamster.”

  “Never could f
igure that, keeping rodents as pets. Around here we have cats to get rid of the damn things.”

  “Ah, but you never knew Squeaky. He was an exceptional rodent I taught him tricks.” He’d been the only livestock on her Lincoln Log ranch, so she’d made do.

  Tom chuckled. “I’ll bet you did.” He glanced at her. “I can just picture this little towhead training her hamster.”

  “He was good company.” Cleo smiled at the memory of the furry little creature she hadn’t thought about in years. She’d been devastated when he died.

  “You don’t have brothers or sisters?” Tom asked.

  “Nope. It’s up to me to carry the family banner.”

  “Sounds like a heavy one.”

  Cleo shrugged. “You’re carrying your family banner, too, now that your sister isn’t involved in the ranch.”

  “Yeah.” He shook his head. “And I didn’t know the true financial picture until a couple of years ago, when Dad finally had to turn everything over to me.”

  “Not good?”

  “Not great. I—” He paused and looked at her in surprise. “How in hell did we get off on that?”

  “It’s weighing on your mind, isn’t it?”

  He stared off into the shadowy depths of the trees on either side of the trail. “Nah,” he said, and gave her a cocky grin. “Not really.”

  She didn’t believe him, but he was apparently too proud to reveal the true extent of his worry. “Pose for me,” she said. “As Jeeter mentioned, it’s a painless way to pick up some extra cash, and it might lead to other monetary gain. It might even increase your business.”

  “Which would mean enlarging the ranch, and I like the size it is now.”

  She did, too. She couldn’t picture the Whispering Winds as a giant operation. “Okay, then forget that. Just think about your fee. I told you I’d negotiate a higher one for you, because I really want you on the calendar.”

  He gazed at her. “I’d settle for having you really want me, period.”

  Oh, she did. She certainly did. And they’d been alone way too long. She cleared the huskiness from her voice. “I think we’d better catch up to the others.”

  “Scared of me, Cleo?”

  “Let’s just say that your goal runs counter to mine.”

  “And you’re afraid I might be able to talk you out of that cover picture and into my bed, aren’t you?”

  Her nerves tightened and hummed, ready for action. “The talking isn’t what worries me.”

  His tone was low and easy on her ears. “I’ll never take you where you don’t want to go.”

  “Then I think you’d better take me back to the others. Now.”

  He sighed. “Probably so.” As they passed a small pine, he reached up, broke off a branch and held it out toward her. “Whack Dynamite a few times on the rump with this and she’ll go for you.”

  Cleo shrank back from the offered stick. “Hit a great-great-grandmother? I couldn’t!”

  “Somebody’s got to. I have a powerful urge to pull you off that horse and make love to you on a bed of pine needles this very minute.”

  She looked into his eyes, heavy with need, and her pulse raced at the picture he’d created in her mind.

  “Hang on, Cleo.”

  She grasped the saddle horn just in time. The switch came down on Dynamite’s rump at the same moment Tom whooped a command, and the little mare sprang straight out of her walk into a gallop. Cleo lost her stirrups but managed to regain them as the trees flashed by on either side of her. Pounding hooves behind her told her that Tom was following, making sure she was okay.

  The speed felt good, once she was used to it. The forward momentum and whipping wind helped take her mind off her sexual frustration. But she couldn’t ride like this for the entire time she was in Montana, and when she stopped, she’d want Tom all over again. She needed to create more distractions for herself, somehow, perhaps, by focusing on Jose and planning how she would pose him for the calendar, at least during this cattle drive.

  WATCHING HER was sweet torture, Tom thought. She’d proved to be surprisingly good with the hazing of the cattle once they located the herd. When Dynamite demonstrated her cow-pony moves, Cleo managed to stay aboard and even work in a candy-bar break. Tom was so busy keeping a protective eye on Cleo, he ended up having to chase down a cow that slipped by him, much to Jose’s amusement

  Jose happened to end up beside Tom while they were crossing a shallow stream. Next to them the cows flowed in a rust-brown river, the sound of their hooves splashing in a steady rhythm punctuated with irritated-sounding moos. “You like her, don’t you, boss?” Jose asked.

  Tom didn’t bother to deny it. “I suppose I’m making a damn fool of myself, too.”

  “Not really,” Jose said, loyal to the last. “It’d be easy to do, though, with a woman who looks like her.” He guided his horse onto dry ground.

  Tom followed and came alongside Jose again. He had a few questions for the cowboy. “Has she asked you to pose for the calendar yet?”

  “Yep.” Jose slapped his rope against his thigh as a cow tried to veer out of formation. “Hiya!” he shouted, heading the cow back into line.

  “Gonna do it?” Tom felt a moment of unease, remembering the outrageous way Cleo had flirted with Jeeter.

  “Guess so.”

  “Better talk to Jeeter and get a handle on how she works.”

  “I already did.” Jose flicked a glance at his boss. “Jeeter says she comes on to the guy so she can get the right kind of picture. It’s show business.”

  Tom’s laugh was short. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “In your place, I wouldn’t like the way she does things, either. But a dollar’s a dollar, and Jeeter said you gave us the green light.”

  Tom pulled his hat lower over his eyes. “Hell, I can’t stand in the way of your budding film career. I could be riding with the next Antonio Banderas, for all I know.”

  Jose laughed and shook his head. “I’m not counting on being a movie star, but I wouldn’t mind the fee she’s paying for the calendar. I could use a new saddle, and I’ve got my eye on a real beauty, silver-trimmed. I reckon I can flex my muscles for that.” He grinned at Tom. “Not that you don’t pay good, but I can’t buy the rig I want on my wages from the Whispering Winds, boss.”

  “The way Cleo tells it, you make a pinup boy of yourself and your financial worries will be over. You’ll head for Hollywood and that’ll be the last I ever see of you.”

  “I couldn’t leave this place,” Jose said. “I’ve been working here ever since I turned sixteen.”

  “Which means you’re in a rut, cowboy.” In a way, Tom was relieved that a couple of his hands were getting this photo opportunity. Every time he looked at the ranch’s debts, they cast a shadow bigger than the Madison Range they were riding into today. He was operating on such a small margin that if beef prices took a dive at market time, he’d go under, and so would the jobs of the people who were like family to him. Cleo might be unknowingly providing a cushion for Jose and Jeeter, at least.

  “Jeeter says she asked you to pose, but you said no,” Jose ventured.

  “Jeeter’s sure been flapping his jaws a lot. Guess I have to double up on that boy’s duties, seeing as how he’s got time to stand around and gossip.” Tom headed off a calf who started to stray from the herd.

  “Aw, Jeeter didn’t mean any harm. He’s just a kid, with stars in his eyes because he thinks he’s going to be famous, and he thinks everyone else wants to be famous, too.”

  “But you don’t”

  “Nope. I know exactly what I want out of this.”

  Tom looked at him and wished the guy could be a little uglier. The idea of Cleo getting cozy with him was damn unsettling.

  Jose returned the look. “Don’t worry, boss. All I’m after is a saddle.”

  MOVING THE HERD took the rest of the afternoon. Cleo enjoyed every minute of the constant activity, which reminded her a lot of Manhattan at rush h
our. But eventually the cattle were transferred to their new pasture and the riders recrossed the stream and started back down the mountain. About an hour later, as the sun dipped behind the Madisons, Tom announced it was time to set up camp.

  Cleo didn’t realize how saddle-sore she was until she dismounted, but nobody else was complaining, so she kept her mouth shut. Laura and her parents obviously rode all the time in Massachusetts, and the young couple had been at the ranch a week, so they were already toughened up. Cleo shuddered to think what shape she’d have been in if Tom hadn’t given her the horseback equivalent of a BarcaLounger.

  They were camped in an open meadow bisected by a bubbling brook, a truly picturesque spot, if Cleo could just forget that bears and cougars roamed free in this country, and that she’d be sleeping in a bedroll with not so much as a canvas tent between her and the great outdoors. Dynamite seemed unconcerned as Cleo turned her out to graze on the lush grass, so Cleo decided to try for the same nonchalance.

  While Tom unhitched the team of horses from the wagon and led them out to join the others in the meadow, everyone else gathered around the fire Jose had built. He had a kerosene cookstove going with what smelled like beef stew in a large kettle. Cleo hoped that cougars didn’t have a special fondness for stew, because the aroma seemed to fill the meadow, and night was coming on fast. She’d been counting on Trixie as an early-warning system, but the dog was flopped by the fire, apparently asleep.

  She’d pulled on her jacket against the chill, but the darkness that began to surround them made her shiver more than the cool night air. She’d never seen anything so black as the edge of the forest. Fingers of mist curled over the meadow, further obscuring Cleo’s view.

  “Did anybody bring a flashlight?” she asked the group in general.

  Jeeter looked up from where he was unloading camp stools from the back of the wagon. “We have a few. Want one?”

  “Uh, not just at the moment. I just wondered if we...had some.”

  “I think the firelight is much more romantic,” said Amy, cuddling next to her young husband, Nick.