Cowboy Untamed. Vicki Lewis Thompson

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      A WYOMING SUNSET tinged the horizon pale orange, reminding Grady Magee of the Dreamsicles he used to crave as a kid. But thoughts of adult pleasures nudged out childhood nostalgia as he parked his truck in front of the Sheridan Art Barn next to a grape-colored pickup, the only other vehicle in the lot. It likely belonged to Sapphire Ferguson, the woman who’d been on his mind during most of the long drive from Cody.

      Three weeks ago during a visit to Thunder Mountain Ranch, he’d come by here with his foster brother Cade to pick up some local art for Cade’s new cabin. Sapphire, a talented potter, had been minding the store. He’d barely recognized her.

      The quiet girl he remembered from high school had morphed into a confident woman with a smoldering glance that set him on fire. When she’d asked him to headline a charity event featuring artists creating work on the spot, he’d set aside his packed schedule and agreed without finding out what the charity was. Didn’t matter.

      Hauling his tools and materials from Cody and setting up a studio in a corner of this renovated barn was a pain in the ass. He didn’t care. Sapphire had his attention. While honing his welding skills in Alaska and dreaming of making a living with recycled metal art, he’d also dreamed of the kind of woman he’d want to share his life with.

      She’d be a self-starter, imaginative, bold and sensual. Good looks wouldn’t hurt but sexual chemistry was more important. Getting both would be a bonus. In short, the woman of his dreams was a lot like Sapphire Ferguson. Maybe his first impression would turn out to be wrong. Or maybe she already had someone in her life.

      His gut told him she didn’t. She wasn’t wearing a ring and she’d acted as fascinated with him as he’d been with her. Since then, they’d communicated only through brief phone texts because they’d both battled crazy deadlines. He could be imagining the hum of sexual energy underlying those texts, but he didn’t think so.

      He climbed out of his truck with that same energy fizzing in his veins. She’d agreed to meet him and help him get his stuff unloaded, but he hadn’t counted on being alone with her. Eight other artists were part of the co-op Sapphire had organized, each claiming one of the renovated stalls as both a work and display space. He’d expected some of them to be around.

      Apparently, they weren’t as manic about working as he was. He put in long hours, both because he loved it and because the commissions kept coming and he didn’t like making customers wait. His brother Liam had reminded him that building a successful career in less than three years was unusual and few artists made a living, let alone a good living.

      Grady believed him, although he didn’t have much to go on. He’d used the nest egg he’d saved during his pipeline job to keep him afloat while he followed his dream. His first sculptures had sold like hotcakes and after that he’d been so busy keeping up with the demand that he’d had no time to hang out with other artists.

      Spending time with Sapphire was his primary motivation for doing the charity event, but he also looked forward to conversations with other creative types. Not to say he was disappointed that he and Sapphire were alone tonight. Fraternizing with the other co-op members could wait.

      He’d started toward the double-door entrance when he heard a woman’s soft voice coming from somewhere to the right of the barn. He couldn’t make out the words, but from the sound of it she really liked the person she was talking to. He paused to listen. Maybe he had this all wrong and the grape-colored pickup had brought two people here—Sapphire and her boyfriend. That would suck.

      Standing very still, he listened for a response, a deeper murmur that would indicate she was with a guy. Nothing. He edged closer so he could make out what she was saying.

      “Come on, Fred,” she crooned. “You know you want this.”

      Dear God. If Sapphire was about to have sex with someone named Fred up against the side of the barn, he did not want to be here. Yeah, he’d arrived a little earlier than planned because he’d broken a few speed limits on the way. She might not be expecting him for another hour.

      “You liked it last night, remember? Don’t be shy.”

      Grady squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. He’d pinned his hopes on Sapphire being available, yet he’d had no proof of that. If he stayed here much longer, he’d find out exactly how misguided his assumptions were.

      Better to quietly climb back into his truck and slowly exit the parking lot. If they were about to get busy, they wouldn’t hear him drive away. He’d grab a cup of coffee in the diner.

      “There you go. Isn’t that nice?”

      Yikes. He took a slow step backward, then another.

      “Such a good boy. Such a brave kitty-cat.”

      Kitty-cat? He froze. No man with an ounce of self-respect would let a woman call him kitty-cat. And now that he thought about it, no straight guy would need coaxing in order to have sex with a woman like Sapphire.

      He crept to the corner of the building to take a look and discovered Sapphire crouched in the dry grass, the golden glow of the sunset igniting sparks of fire in her long auburn hair. She’d placed several bowls in a semicircle around her and he counted eleven cats munching away. Instead of having sex, she was feeding strays.

      He sighed in relief. The sound wasn’t loud but it caught everyone’s attention. Sapphire and all eleven cats looked at him. A black cat with white markings backed away from the dish. “Sorry,” Grady muttered.

      She kept her voice low. “You’re early.”

      “Traffic was light.”

      “You’d better not come any closer. I’d like Fred to eat some more.”

      “Fred.” He swallowed so he wouldn’t laugh and spook the cats.

      “Fred Astaire. The tuxedo. He’s the most skittish of the bunch but I’m making progress with him.”

      Grady had never heard anyone refer to a cat as a tuxedo but it was a great description. The white patch on Fred’s chest made him look as if he’d dressed for the Oscars.

      All the