Betting On The Maverick. Cindy Kirk

       Chapter Two

      Margot awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming through lace curtains and birdsong outside her window.

      Vivian lay on the woven rag rug next to the bed. The dog lifted her head when Margot sat up, still dressed in the jeans and shirt she’d worn last night.

      If that wasn’t bad enough, her eyes were gritty and her mouth tasted like sawdust.

      Though having to walk down the hall to the bathroom had never particularly bothered her, for the first time Margot wished for an adjacent bath. The last thing she wanted was to tangle with Brad before she had her morning shower or coffee.

      But she’d learned several hard lessons in the past couple of years and one of them was wishing didn’t change reality.

      With a resigned sigh, she unlatched her suitcase and scooped up all the items she needed, then slipped down the hall to the aged bathroom with cracked white tile on the floor and a mirror that made her look like a ghost. She pulled her gaze from the disturbing image and listened. The house stood eerily silent.

      Brad isn’t here.

      It was too much to hope that he’d packed up his stuff and left. Though Margot had no idea where he’d gone, there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he’d be back.

      She was familiar with the type. Add a swagger and you could be talking about three-quarters of the cowboys on the rodeo circuit. Most of them only had two things on their mind; scoring enough points to make it to the rodeo finals in Las Vegas and getting into as many women’s pants as possible.

      Her dad, a successful bareback rider back in the day, had warned her shortly before she’d left Rust Creek Falls to pursue her dream of one day making it to the PRCA National finals. She’d listened respectfully to everything Boyd Sullivan had said but it was a classic case of too little, too late.

      Even at nineteen, Margot had been no shy virgin facing the big bad world. She’d lost her virginity—and her innocence—her junior year in high school.

      Shortly after that momentous occasion in the backseat of Rex Atwood’s Mustang, she learned Rex had been bragging about “bagging” her to his fellow rodeo team members. Margot vividly remembered the day she’d confronted him and her fist had accidentally connected with his eye.

      Both of them had learned a valuable lesson that day. He’d learned what happened when you crossed Margot Sullivan and she’d learned not to believe a guy who says he loves you in the heat of passion.

      * * *

      The bright autumn day dawned unseasonably warm, which was lucky for the calf that had been born last night. After checking on the rest of the cattle, Brad fixed a troublesome area of fence and reined his horse in the direction of the house.

      Before leaving the house at dawn, he’d opened the door to Margot’s room to see if she needed anything. Viper stood guard at the side of the bed. Golden eyes glowed with a malevolent warning. Of course, the bared teeth and the growl weren’t all that welcoming, either.

      A fully clothed Margot lay sprawled across the bed, facedown in the pillow. He’d known she was alive from the cute little snoring sounds. Though he’d never gotten the impression she and her dad were particularly close, he had to admit she had seemed concerned when she’d discovered him MIA.

      Brad had been uneasy when he’d first learned Boyd didn’t have any family back east. But anyone who knew the old guy knew Boyd could take care of himself, drunk or not. The man reminded him of a badger, solitary and not all that pretty but damned determined.

      Thankfully, his daughter took after her mother in the looks department. Though, he had to admit, last night she had shown a few badger tendencies. For a second, he’d thought she might try to rip a piece out of his hide.

      Having him in her family home definitely had her all hot and bothered. Or maybe it was him without his shirt.

      Brad grinned and relaxed even further in the saddle. There had been a potent sizzle of attraction between them. She’d done her best to ignore it. But he’d seen how her gaze had lingered on his bare chest and then dropped lower for an instant before returning to his face.

      She might want him out of her house, but she also wanted him in her bed. A place where he wouldn’t mind spending a little time.

      The sex would, of course, likely be a short-term kind of thing. It would be like one of those fireworks on the Fourth of July. Brilliant and hot, they’d light up the sky then everything would fizzle.

      That was fine with him. His marriage to Janie had confirmed what he’d always known. He wasn’t a happily-ever-after kind of guy. Though Brad liked and respected women, he could never seem to make them happy. At least not out of bed.

      The house was still quiet when he entered after putting his horse in the stable. Normally, he’d have stayed out most of the day, trying to get everything ready for winter. But he and Margot had a few things to square first.

      Until they came to an understanding, he didn’t trust her not to toss his stuff into the yard and lock him out of the home. Thankfully, the doors didn’t have deadbolts and he’d been smart enough to drop a key into his pocket before leaving the house—just in case.

      People in this part of the country barely locked their doors. If he had a mean-ass dog like Viper, there’d be no need to lock anything ever again.

      Pulling the door shut, Brad glanced around. No sign of Margot. Or Viper.

      Brad set the coffee to brew, then pulled out a heavy cast-iron skillet and went to work.

      Several minutes later, when the eggs were frying in bacon grease and two slices of his mother’s homemade bread had just popped up in the toaster, Brad was distracted from his culinary pursuit by a voice from the doorway.

      “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

      Ignoring the outrage in the tone, Brad wrote off the impressive anger to an as-yet-no-coffee morning.

      “What does it look like?” He focused on plating the food. “I’m making breakfast.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I’m hungry. I assume you are, too.” He turned to glance at her.

      It was a mistake. Hair still slightly damp from the shower hung in gentle waves past her shoulders. She’d pulled on a green long-sleeved tee that made her eyes look like emeralds and showed off her breasts to mouthwatering perfection. The jeans, well, the way they hugged those long legs should be outlawed.

      Though Brad told himself not to go there, he imagined