Tempted by a Cowboy Read online

  “Damn straight you will! We don’t like your kind messin’ with our women, so I want you gone.”

  An ominous echo rang in the front room after Pohlsen slammed the door. Michael closed his eyes against his anger even as he pitied the woman clinging to him. She was shaking, humiliated, and scared. Pohlsen would never let Diana forget this incident. And Michael knew he’d wonder, every day he was away, if that snake from the bank had slithered out here to antagonize Diana again. There wasn’t a neighbor for miles around…

  “I’m sorry you had to face him—”

  “No, I’m sorry, angel,” Michael muttered. “Any skunk who would open the door and come in can’t be trusted.”

  “But you’re naked! And when he said—”

  He tipped her face to kiss her. “Maybe the sight of my…equipment gave him something serious to think about. Or at least a diversion from seeing you naked,” he teased. Anything to get that beaten, scared-shitless look out of her eyes. She’d put on ten years these last five minutes.

  “He had no right to talk about you as though you’re a second-class citizen, just because—”

  Michael caught her face between his hands. “Guys in these parts aren’t known for their political correctness, sweetheart. And besides, it’s to my advantage if he believes I’m just another stupid ‘injun.’ He won’t see it coming when I whip his fat ass with facts and figures that’ll save this place from the auction block.”

  Where had that come from? And why had he gotten Diana’s hopes up by shooting off his mouth? He had no idea how to get the bank off her back—and once he reclaimed his pickup, and grilled Bernie the tow guy for hauling it to the police station, he’d be riding the rodeo circuit. Far, far away from this small-town drama. No matter how much he admired Diana, this was her fight, after all.

  Her shining green eyes made him swallow hard. “Guess we’d better warm up those eggs,” he mumbled.

  Diana’s sigh told him she’d followed his mental maneuvering. “I’m getting dressed,” she announced wearily. “I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one day.”

  “So what’s the story about my truck, Bernie? I understand it’s impounded at the station now, instead of at your shop.” Michael kept his voice low as he spoke into his cell, while seated on Diana’s front step. She was inside, putting herself together after a strained breakfast—which had put him in no mood to deal with another small-change local yokel.

  Bernie cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, well, I was gonna call you about that.” His voice crackled with the poor cell reception. “Got tied up workin’ two bad wrecks in that rain storm, and I was just drivin’ down to your truck when the sheriff called me. Said he dang near sideswiped your truck, ’cause it wasn’t pulled far enough off the road—”

  “The shoulder was half under water—not that I could see much in that downpour,” Michael replied tersely. “And it’s not like I wanted to leave it there! Didn’t you tell him I’d called you to fix it?”

  “Well…when he checked out your license on his computer…seen you wasn’t from around these parts…”

  Escapee from the reservation.

  “Well, he told me to haul it into town. Didn’t wanna hear about it when I told him I was supposed to fix you up so’s you could get rollin’ again.”

  Michael considered his options as the outsider here. It wasn’t like he had ten other repair shops to choose from. “If your truck died alongside the road, and you had contacted a mechanic for a tow, would you want to pay a fine before the repair guy even looked at it?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then you’ll understand if I deduct my fine from your bill.”

  Silence. Then a sputtering of words he didn’t catch in a burst of static.

  “So explain this to the sheriff and get the fine removed,” Michael said firmly. “Am I being unfair, Bernie?”

  “No, sir, not exactly, but—”

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I’ll be at your shop tomorrow—say, ten-thirty—for an itemized report of what’s wrong with my truck and what your repairs will cost me. See you then.” He closed the phone, scowling. Bad enough that Diana had to drive him into town for another round of these shenanigans. He was losing time he’d planned to spend at small rodeos along the circuit, competing to build up points and to get himself back in the competitive saddle.

  He focused on the steps—which needed a coat of sealant—to avoid gazing out over the rolling green hills of Seven Creeks Ranch. Behind him, the door opened. Michael braced himself: he was even more likely to succumb to Diana than to his cravings for a place like this.

  “You know, I’ve been thinking.” She leaned on the porch pillar beside him. “This delay with your truck means you’re missing time in the saddle, doesn’t it?” Her hair was neatly combed now and mascara highlighted her eyes; her jeans and plaid shirt looked faded, but they were clean and pressed.

  He cleared his throat. “Life happens that way. I—”

  “Garrison’s truck is in the garage. It’s a stick shift. Been sitting there since last fall when he got so sick, because I can’t drive it.”

  Red flags shot up in his mind. Surely she wouldn’t loan him her husband’s truck, when he wouldn’t return to Montana for months. Maybe never…

  Diana lifted a defiant eyebrow. “What you’ve done for me—for my confidence—is priceless, Michael. I want you to have—”

  “But you could sell that truck, to offset—”

  “Phooey! You know how vehicles depreciate the moment you drive them off the lot,” she insisted. “It’d be a raindrop in the ocean of what I owe the bank. It’s so cool that you want to follow your dream, Michael! Do you know how few people go after what they really want in life?”

  Her eyes drilled his, and he couldn’t answer her.

  “I’ve learned a thing or three about perspective this past year,” she continued pensively. “So take the truck—as pay for the work you’ve done here! We’ll figure out a way to handle your repair bill—”

  “I’ll cover it before I go.”

  “I’ll keep your truck in the garage for…” Diana glanced away, blinking. “Well, maybe it’ll be incentive for you to swing through here again someday. No strings—I understand that. But it’s a nice thing to think about, isn’t it?”

  Michael let out the breath he’d been holding. Never mind that the bank intended to shove her off this place—and never mind what problems he’d have if the cops caught him driving a vehicle registered to somebody else…who happened to be dead. “That’s about the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me, but—”

  “Good! That’s how I intended it!” She grinned as though they’d struck a deal. “Now you can take off down the road again, like you’d planned. If you leave me a list of the rodeos you’ll compete in, I can follow your progress online, right?”

  Where did she find the strength—the resilience—to talk this way? It was a sure bet that bastard Pohlsen would screw her out of her home. Most women would cling and beg, hoping he’d stick around and find a way to save their pretty backsides—

  And any decent man would sacrifice a few rodeo rides to do that.

  But Diana Grant was made of stronger stuff. Sacrifice was a situation she felt far too familiar with, and she didn’t expect him to tag along. She was playing by his rules. And she was setting him free. She crossed her arms as she gazed down at him, standing firm in her decision. Damn, but he loved her for that!

  Michael stood up slowly. When words didn’t come, he fished his wallet from his back pocket. Peeled out the wad of fifties that would cover his entry fees. “Take this—no arguments now!” he insisted as she waved away his money. “Get yourself something nice—do something you enjoy! I promise you I’ll come back for my truck—”

  “After you win big at the Vegas finals!”

  Michael laughed in spite of the huge knot in his chest. “You’ve got a deal, Diana. You’ll be my inspiration as I ride, okay?”
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br />   When she wrapped her small, strong arms around his waist, he realized he’d been roped, thrown and branded before he knew what hit him. Diana had planned all along to lure him back here, hadn’t she?

  He kissed her one last time Monday morning, knowing he should break away clean—no long, sad good-byes. She’d learned the hard way how to tamp down her anguish. When she reached up to stroke his freshly shaved face, the love in her eyes nearly killed him.

  “If you need anything, you’ve got my number,” she murmured, as though he were the one in need of a major miracle.

  “Thanks for all you’ve done, and for loaning me the truck, sugar. I’ll remind Bernie—again—that you don’t owe him a cent, and that he damn well better deliver my truck when it’s fixed.”

  Biting back a sigh, he stepped off her porch. Drove out the long, winding driveway, waving to her. Fought the urge to turn around and declare his original rules null and void, because damn it, he wanted to make it work with Diana! Was he driving away from the one woman who would make his life worthwhile?

  He stopped at the gate and got out. Yanked down that auction sign and pitched it into the weeds alongside the road. He waved toward the house one last time, his heart pounding hard in his chest. Already he felt blue, and he hadn’t gotten out of Roosevelt county yet.

  His sentiments changed color when he reached Bernie’s Tow-And-Go. The mechanic had his truck’s hood up, but he had no clue about what he needed to fix or what it would cost. After haggling in circles, Michael wrote his cell number on Bernie’s work order and shifted his rodeo gear into Garrison’s truck bed. And of course that jackass Pohlsen pulled into the shop’s gravel driveway and sat sideways, blocking his path to the road.

  No doubt in his mind the banker would harass Diana about loaning him Garrison’s truck. Michael almost demanded to see the loan papers for Seven Creeks Ranch, to determine any irregularities in the bankruptcy and auction proceedings. But guys like Pohlsen thought the world revolved around them. He’d seen arrogance like that after his uncle’s cronies began managing the casino, and there was no cure for it.

  “Hope you’re proud of yourself, suckering that truck out of her,” the banker sneered. “Get out of my town! Good riddance.”

  Michael tipped his hat tersely. He rolled on down the blacktop road and turned on Highway 25. Got as far as Wolf Point and saw signs for the Silverwolf casino…saw Diana’s smile in his mind, like a powerful talisman.

  He pulled into the crowded parking lot. It was time to kick some ass.

  9

  It took three days, but Diana finally convinced herself Michael White Horse wasn’t going to stroll through her door and into her arms again. By now he was back in the saddle, and had women flocking around him…rodeo groupies who’d fly like moths to his white-hot sexy flame. What woman could resist a cowboy? Or long hair that fluttered like a raven’s wing when the breeze caught it, as it cascaded over his carved mahogany shoulders?

  What the hell are you thinking? her thoughts taunted. You don’t know him from Adam, yet you go to that sleazy motel—beg him to make love without protection. Stick to him like glue, and then send him off in Garrison’s new truck! How stupid is that?

  Yet her heart firmly believed she’d see Michael again. She dreamed of him so vividly she awoke in the night, vibrating with need—clenching so hard she nearly climaxed while recalling how he’d felt inside her. It was sheer craziness to think she’d ever have that sort of loving again!

  But what did she have, other than her fantasies? The August auction date wouldn’t disappear just because they’d torn down the signs. Diana was so far into denial she refused to count the dwindling food cans in her cabinet. Far nicer to sit on the steps, gazing at the eagle feather with its striking image of a white stallion, bold and fearless and male. Far nicer to tell herself Garrison would understand her need for company and affection…and that he would’ve trusted Michael enough to loan him the truck, too.

  She was pondering the two men when tires crunched in the driveway. A shiny silver SUV followed a black pickup that made her heart fly up into her throat. By the time she realized Michael wasn’t driving it, it was too late to hide behind a locked door. So Diana sat resolutely on the top step, composing her script for another unpleasant encounter with macho-man stupidity. At least she was dressed this time.

  “Mornin’, Miz Grant.” The guy driving the truck pulled off the driveway and into the grass, about twenty feet away from her. “Finished up on the repairs and brung you back this pickup, like that White Horse fella told me to. Sorry it took so long. Had to order parts from—”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you bringing it out to me.”

  He pulled off his ball cap to scratch his scraggly hair. “Yeah, well, you don’t owe me nothin’, so—”

  “But you owe me an explanation!” Behind the mechanic, Jerry Pohlsen stepped down from his big-ass Lexus. He was better dressed than Bernie the mechanic, but he still had no class. Diana squared her shoulders, placing her hand over the painted feather to draw strength from it.

  “You’re in trouble with the law, first off,” Pohlsen spouted as he pointed toward the road. “That sign at the gate—and this one on the porch—are bank property, and you’ve destroyed them! I’ll have to report this vandalism to the sheriff and come back out with more signs—”

  “And I guess that’ll be one more time you’ve broken the law,” she replied tersely. She’d never had the guts to defy authority—was too much of a good girl. But where had that gotten her?

  The banker scowled. “Beg pardon? Where I come from—”

  “Is where you better head back to. Like, now.” Diana stood up, for the psychological advantage of looking down at Pohlsen. “You’re trespassing, Jerry. I didn’t tear down your signs! Nor did I permit you to nail them to my gate and my home like permanent fixtures! And where I come from, that’s destruction of private property! So leave!”

  Her pulse pounded. Where had such sass come from, and what did she hope to accomplish with it? Antagonizing this man could only get her in deeper trouble, because she did owe Pohlsen’s bank a large chunk of money. But by God, she would not grovel! And she would not cry!

  The pudgy banker glanced surreptitiously at Bernie. “Just another way that long-haired redskin had his way with her,” he muttered. “You saw how he was driving Garrison’s new truck—”

  Bernie nodded.

  “And I told you how I came here the other day and found him…playing house with Mrs. Grant, didn’t I?”

  “Yessir. Nekkid.”

  Diana’s face burned but she held her remarks.

  “And now look at what she’s got. That’s one of her husband’s feather paintings. You recall what a fine talent Garrison Grant had, Bernie?”

  Again the mechanic nodded. It reminded Diana of a ventriloquist act, where Pohlsen spoke from both sides of his mouth and Bernie nodded like his dummy.

  “Can you believe it? She’s holding the one with the white horse on it as a reminder of her stud loverboy! The one she let into Garrison’s house—into his bed!” With a thin-lipped gaze at her, he crossed his arms. “What do you want to bet he tickled her bare skin with that feather, Bernie? Can’t you just imagine him teasing her nipples until they stuck out, all hard and—”

  “Get out,” Diana rasped. Her knees were shaking so badly she wasn’t sure how she remained standing, but she pointed to his SUV. “And if you come back, I’ll call the sheriff.”

  Pohlsen’s eyes widened derisively. “Would that be the sheriff I play poker with on Tuesday nights? The sheriff who serves as a deacon at my church?” When he laughed, his face took on a cruel edge. “At least we know he’ll do the right thing if you call him, Mrs. Grant. Especially once I ask him to keep an eye on the new signs I’ll post. I have to give public notice of the auction, you see. It’s the law.”

  She was too enraged—too damn scared—to say another word. Somehow she kept pointing at his Lexus until he finally got into the damn thing, with
Bernie following like an eager puppy. And somehow she remained standing on the porch until only the dust of the road lingered in his wake.

  “Shit head,” she muttered. Then she burst into tears and went inside.

  The cupboard was bare. The fridge held only condiments. The ache Diana felt had nothing to do with a need for food. She hadn’t asked Michael for his cell number, for fear she’d call when he was psyching himself to ride those saddle broncs—but also because she was hardheaded enough to want him to call first.

  “You and your big ideas,” she muttered. She’d been talking to herself more the last few days. But who else was there?

  This is insane! Go to town for groceries. It’s not like Pohlsen’ll be hiding in the aisles, waiting to play demolition derby with a cart.

  The banker couldn’t take legal action because Michael had destroyed those signs…could he? Pohlsen and his cronies were so full of that good-old-boy bullshit, she knew better than to believe his threats.

  But a part of her—the part that had depended upon Garrison to handle all the tough-guy stuff—shriveled at the thought of seeing the banker in a public place. By now dozens of folks knew about Michael staying at her place and then driving away in her husband’s truck. Most of them would not approve, and they’d tell her so when they saw her.

  Diana put on a clean shirt. Resigned herself to spending some of Michael’s money. When she took the folded bills from the dresser, a white card fluttered to the floor.

  Had Michael left her a note? Maybe his phone number? She eagerly retrieved the card, but then sighed. It was a business card from a Will Killiam, an attorney. Like she could afford one of those!

  Don’t write him off! That phone exchange is from up north, around the reservation, so maybe he does pro bono work.

  Her stomach clutched at the idea of taking charity. Then again, beggars couldn’t be choosers. As she riffled through the folded bills to count them, Diana’s eyes widened. Michael White Horse had given her six hundred dollars.