A Real Cowboy. Carla Cassidy
muttered darkly as she headed down the stairs. She went into the kitchen to look in the cabinet under the sink, which seemed a likely place to store a flashlight.
“Bingo.” She grabbed the big yellow-handled light and headed for the door in the kitchen that would take her outside and in the direction of the bunkhouse.
She just wanted this night to be over. The past week had been frenzied with them closing up the store indefinitely, packing and preparing for their trip here. The day had been particularly long as their plane had been delayed twice in a layover in Chicago. Then there was the task of obtaining a rental car and taking the forty-minute drive from Oklahoma City to Bitterroot and the ranch.
She shone the flashlight beam on the ground before her as she made her way toward the building in the distance. Thank goodness she was also aided by the light of a full moon overhead.
In truth, she’d rather eat dirt than ask Lucas for his help, but he owed it to her considering he was the one who had told Sammy cowboys bathed only once a week.
Well, if she was perfectly truthful with herself, she was the one who had first told Sammy that, but that had been before she’d actually met a cowboy. She’d never dreamed she would be on a ranch with real cowboys, and she marveled now at all the paths she’d walked so far in her relatively short life.
She’d gone from wife to a wealthy man, to near poverty and single parenthood in what felt like the blink of an eye. What little money she’d had when she’d left her husband she’d invested in the store, but that venture was barely making money. New York was a brutal city if you didn’t have money.
She looked ahead to the structure looming close. Lucas had been right; it did look like a twelve-unit motel. It was easy to see which one was Lucas’s, as it was the only unit that had lights shining out the window.
Her stomach tensed as she approached the door. Even though she’d told Sammy first about cowboys not taking baths, Lucas should have told him different. It was his fault that this whole mess had happened with Sammy.
With more than a touch of irritation rising inside her, she knocked briskly. He opened the door and her breath caught just a bit. Without his hat, his dark, slightly shaggy dark hair gleamed in the light. His intense blue eyes widened before he raised a hand in front of his face.
“Turn off that flashlight,” he exclaimed.
Warmth leaped into her cheeks as she realized she’d had the light shining directly on his handsome, chiseled features. She quickly clicked it off. “Sorry about that.”
He stepped outside and looked around. “What are you doing out here all by yourself in the dark?”
“You told my son that cowboys only bathe once a week and now Sammy won’t get into the bathtub.”
By the light of the room spilling out where they stood, she saw his amusement curve his lips upward. “Is that a fact,” he replied. “Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
“It’s all your fault,” she said, at the same time trying not to notice the wonder of his broad shoulders, the slim hips that wore his jeans so well.
He raised a dark eyebrow. “The way I see it, you started it.” He turned his head and spit to one side. “Oh, sorry about that. I’m just doing what cowboys do.”
This time the heat that filled her cheeks was a new wave of pure embarrassment. “Look, I’m sorry. When I told my son those things, I’d never really met a cowboy before. The only cowboy I’ve ever even seen in my entire life is the naked singing cowboy in Times Square.”
This time both his dark brows rose in surprise. “There’s a naked cowboy who sings?”
“Well, he’s not really naked. He wears a pair of briefs.” She shook her head in frustration. “But that’s not the point. I now have a little boy who refuses to take a bath because he’s decided he wants to be a cowboy and you said he only had to take one once a week. Can you please come back to the house with me and tell him differently?”
Lucas leaned back on his boot heels. “Little boys can get pretty sweaty just sitting around and doing nothing,” he mused. “Your son must be pretty headstrong for you to resort to coming all the way down here for my help.”
“He’s usually a good boy, but it’s been a long day and he’s a bit out of sorts and he told me the only way he’d get into the tub was if Cowboy Lucas told him to.”
Amusement once again danced in his eyes as he gave her a smile that made her feel just a little bit breathless. “Basically you’ve come to say you’re sorry about your preconceived notions about cowboys, because I think it would be nice if you apologized before asking for my help about anything.”
“You’re right. I am sorry,” she replied, wondering if he wanted her to get down on her knees before him and grovel, as well.
“Okay then, let’s go.” He pulled the door of his unit closed behind him and fell into step next to her.
“A naked, singing cowboy...and you New Yorkers think we’re strange.” He laughed, a low, deep rumble that she found far too pleasant.
She realized at that moment that she wasn’t afraid of cows or horses, that she wasn’t worried about falling into the mud or getting her hands dirty.
The real danger came from the attraction she felt for the man who walked next to her, a man whose laughter warmed her and who smelled like spring wind and leather.
She didn’t want to get too friendly with anyone on the ranch. She definitely didn’t want to feel attracted to any cowboy who worked here. She knew Cassie’s plan to sell the place and get back to New York City.
All she needed from Lucas was for him to straighten out bath time for Sammy and, before she knew it, she and her son and Cassie would be back on a plane headed back to their real life in New York.
Nobody was surprised when six o’clock rolled around and there was no new boss in the building. Lucas sat at one of the long picnic tables sipping coffee as most of the other cowboys finished up their breakfasts.
Sunday morning breakfast was usually the quietest of the week, as lack of sleep and hangovers were invisible, unwelcomed guests. This morning the crew was a bit livelier than usual as they anticipated meeting their new boss.
“Think she’ll be here by noon?” Clay Madison asked Lucas drily.
“Big-city folk probably never see a sunrise,” Jerod Steen said from his seat down the table.
“I think maybe we should all cut her a little bit of slack. It’s the first morning and they’re now on central time, not eastern time,” Lucas replied.
He was perfectly content to sip his coffee and wait until Cassandra Peterson showed up for her official coronation as the new leader of the pack. He only hoped his fellow “brothers” wouldn’t tear her to bits on the very first morning.
At that moment Cassandra came through the door, followed by both Nicolette and Sammy. Sammy’s gaze tracked around the room, and when it landed on Lucas he gave him a big smile and an enthusiastic wave before he and Nicolette sat down on the picnic table bench closest to the door.
Cassandra stood just inside the door and cleared her throat, obviously nervous as she faced the dozen cowboys, who had all fallen silent. Cookie, the ranch-hand cook, made a baker’s dozen and now stood in the doorway between the dining area and the kitchen.
By the faint tremor in her voice and her forced smile, it was clear that Cassandra was uneasy. Lucas knew his attention should be focused on the woman who held his future in her trembling hands, but instead he found his gaze shifting to Nicolette.
Both she and Cassandra were clad in skinny jeans that probably cost more than Lucas’s entire wardrobe.