Destiny Wears Spurs (2 page)

Monica blew out a breath. This evening had disaster written all over it. Something told her to cut her losses and call it a night, but she still had a job to do. A distraction of that kind wouldn’t have been a good idea, anyway. Not with the way he’d reduced her to a blubbering idiot within seconds.

She glanced at her watch. No time to go back and change her shoes, not that she had anything that would go with
this
outfit. Squaring her shoulders, she hobbled off to the party, and the strong, confident businesswoman image slid firmly back in place. Yet as she passed by the two other cowboys, she couldn’t help peeking over her shoulder and sighing once again.

The big cowboy continued down the path, and she watched shamelessly until the broadest shoulders and nicest butt she’d ever seen slipped out of sight. “Nope, I definitely don’t need
that
distraction.”

“Don’t look so blue, missy.” The older of the two newcomers approached her. “That boy’s cold shoulder ain’t got nothin’ to do with you. The night’s young. There’s plenty more fellers inside.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” she assured him, and she could do without any more “fellers” in her life. Her track record spoke volumes. “Thanks, anyway.”

“It’s just ... here, let me.” He reached forward and picked something off her cheek. Holding it up in the twilight, he squinted. “Now, this kind of feller, even I wouldn’t give no never mind to. What kind of bug is this, anyway?”

“Bug?” She scrubbed her cheek, revolted.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’, we got the little critter,” the younger cowboy reassured her and then cocked his head to the side. “Are those legs or wings, ya reckon?”

She looked at what they studied so closely, and heat surged through her from her toes to her forehead. “Oh, yeah, that’s a nasty critter, feller, thingy, all right. It gives me the creeps just looking at it.”

Before she ducked inside the lodge of Rafferty’s Remote Ranch, Monica peeled off her other fake eyelash and stuffed it in her pocket. Then she slipped off her good shoe and whacked it several times on the step until the heel broke to match the other one. Bingo. Instant flats.

She slipped inside and a mixture of food, cologne, and sweat teased her nose. Scanning the room while her face cooled, she realized this “party” wasn’t anything like Wendell had described. Loud country music vibrated the rough-hewn wood beneath her feet, dozens of cowboys and cowgirls line-danced across the floor, and a handful of party goers bellied up to the bar. Even a few obvious dude ranch guests attempted to blend in. But absolutely, positively no one was dressed like her.

She’d made a huge mistake in believing Wendell. No surprise there. It had been a mistake to start dating him in the first place, let alone agreeing to marry him, especially after she’d discovered he was the one trying to destroy everything her father had worked so hard to achieve.

A rush of panic set in. Maybe she could slip out without anyone noticing. She turned toward the door.

“Lord a’ mighty, it’s Peg Bundy,” someone sputtered.

Peg Bundy from that television sitcom?
Good Lord.

A hush fell over the room, and everyone stared. Her stomach knotted as her chance to escape slipped away. She straightened, lifting her head high, and strolled over to the bar like she owned the joint.
Think giving Wendell what he deserves. Think saving my dad’s business,
she told herself,
Just think
.

She walked by a group of cowboys and another one added, “Looks mighty fine to me. You need a tour guide, Peg, I’m your man. Here, let me give you my number.”

She winced. “Sorry, but I’m too busy for a tour.”

“Aw, you’re killing me. At least give me your name.”

“You already guessed it.” She glanced down at her ridiculous outfit and cringed. “Tonight, I am definitely Peg.” She turned her back, slid onto a stool, and then signaled the bartender. “I’ll have a martini, and make it a double.” Lord, she wanted to crawl under the bar and hide. When the bartender brought her glass, she lifted it and took a big gulp.

“Earl, leave the poor lady alone,” came a familiar voice from behind her.

Monica turned to stare at the shopkeeper. “I asked you if the Triple R was having a contest tonight, and you told me they were. I don’t see signs of any contest. Did Wendell put you up to this?”

“It’s okay.” Monica reached in her pocket and pulled out a roll of antacids. She was gonna kill Wendell for setting her up. “Just because the neighboring farm is called the Triple C, I shouldn’t have assumed Rafferty’s Remote Ranch is called the Triple R. Stupid mistake.” She shook her head and chewed the chalky tablets. “
My
stupid mistake.”

“I feel so bad.” The shopkeeper looked ready to cry.

Monica smiled and patted her hand. “No harm done. It doesn’t look like my client is here, anyway. Think I’ll call it a night.” She set her martini on the bar, unable to swallow another drop, then hopped off the stool and headed toward the entrance. Tomorrow would be soon enough to meet Cody Rafferty.

No way was she letting him see her as Peg Bundy.

“Good luck,” the shopkeeper hollered after her.

“Thanks,” Monica said and headed outside, closing the door behind her. Her knees buckled. She’d worked for her father for years but in the art department, never having to deal with the tough situations the ad execs did. She’d feel much better in a power suit, breathing confidence through every pore. The only thing this outfit breathed was humiliation.

She stared off in the distance and inhaled deep, filling her lungs with the crisp, clean, rejuvenating air of the Rocky Mountains silhouetted in the moonlight. Why couldn’t she do what made her happy, like sketching that scene? She closed her eyes. Because her father would lose everything. She had no proof Wendell was up to no good, and since she broke off their engagement, her father didn’t believe her. He thought she was bitter. She was bitter, all right, but he was all she had. No matter what, she couldn’t let Wendell destroy him.

* * *

Cody Rafferty stepped out of the tackroom into the barn, the smell of wood and hay thick in the air. He tried to keep his mind on his work, glancing at the clock. Midnight. He should be in bed, but after the run-in with that glittering peacock earlier, he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t say he found the woman attractive, dressed like that, but for some reason he couldn’t forget the picture she made.

He chuckled, thinking about how she stood with one heel stuck in the gravel, trying to look nonchalant about it but failing miserably. His life sorely lacked amusement these days. The damnedest thing was when he’d held her in his arms, he’d felt a spark. He hadn’t expected that, but something about her intrigued him. He smiled, thinking about the goofy things she’d said, but then plump lips flashed before his eyes, and he remembered how they had moved when she spoke.

He frowned, running a brush over his stallion’s black coat. He’d spent the past couple hours repairing broken harnesses and oiling saddles, trying to forget about her. But he couldn’t escape another thought chasing around in his brain. His new ranch hand started tomorrow. New ranch hand? He grunted. What a joke.

A yahoo city slicker had no business working on a ranch. The guy dreamed up slogans for a living, for crying out loud. Shoot, the tenderfoot probably didn’t know a horse’s head from its hindquarters, but Cody had no choice. After what Hammond had done for his father, Cody owed him a huge favor, he thought with a grimace. He just hadn’t expected the favor to involve some phony ad campaign. He hated being involved in deception.

“What kind of father names his kid Mo?” he asked his horse.

Babe tossed his head back, whinnied, and then huffed out a breath through his flapping lips that sounded remarkably like the raspberries.

Cody chuckled and gave the stallion a pat on his muzzle. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, partner. At least this guy’s only here for the summer.”

The horse twitched his ear with obvious displeasure.

Cody nodded. “I’m not looking forward to this any more than you are.” Giving the horse’s mane a final stroke, he headed into his office to tackle some paperwork. As he sat in the chair behind his desk, the springs squeaked. He picked up his pen, made a note to oil them, and then stared down at the long list of things needing fixing or replacing. He threw down his pen. The ranch was long overdue for a face-lift he could finally afford, but all that had to be put on hold so he would appear “needy.”

His eyes settled on a picture of his father, and he shook his head. He’d only agreed to this favor because of him. Because his old man wasn’t here to grant the favor himself, even if the favor was ridiculous. Hammond could easily fire this Wendell guy, only he’d never find out who the creep was working for. And Hammond said if Wendell thought his kid had a real shot at taking over the agency, then Wendell would show up to try to stop him, giving Hammond the freedom to snoop around.

Meanwhile, Cody was stuck baby-sitting.

Thrusting his fingers through his hair, he stretched his back and rolled his head, feeling a breeze. A movement caught his eye, and he turned to stare out his office door at the swing of white-painted wood. He’d left the barn door open. Since when had he become careless? He ground his teeth. Since he’d agreed to this hare-brained idea, that’s when. He crossed the barn with long, purposeful strides and kicked the door closed.

Bang. “Ow, ow, ow.” Thud.

“What the hell?” He yanked open the door.

A woman lay in the dirt, flat on her back with both hands clutching her nose, moaning something pitiful. A petite thing, she looked as fragile as a dewdrop on a blade of grass at dawn. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t imagine what she was doing in the barn in the middle of the night. His eyes widened. And in her unmentionables?

Peach satin and lace.

She moaned again, and his stomach twisted into knots. Christ, here he was lusting after her, when he should be feeling guilty for bashing her in the face. He glanced down at her soft breasts rising and falling beneath that flimsy excuse for a nightgown, and a usually well-behaved part of his anatomy rose to attention. He gave it a good lecture and reminded himself of all the problems the last woman had caused them.

Now was not the time to be finding a woman attractive, and he didn’t need some gal to fall at his feet, moaning, even if it did make for a nice image. She moaned louder, reminding him he had caused her pain. Still, she had no business being there in the first place. He knelt down, gently pulled her hands from her face, and sucked in a sharp breath.

Her.
The strange woman he’d run into earlier. Only now the heavy make-up had been scrubbed off, and her hair lay in silky curls. No peacock in sight. And no serious injuries, thank God. He glanced at her mouth. Damn, she had about the most kissable lips he’d ever seen. Her skin looked smooth, with a dusting of freckles scattered across her small nose. Whipped cream lightly sprinkled with cinnamon came to mind.

He brushed a springy, flaming, reddish-brown curl off her cheek. Her skin felt petal-soft, he thought as he traced a finger over her nose. It was swelling. What had possessed her to come out here alone at this time of night? She obviously didn’t have much sense in that pretty head of hers. Then again, lack of horse sense was a foregone conclusion. That was why he left the dudes to his sister and partner, Cassie. He had yet to meet a city slicker who proved otherwise.

The woman’s eyelashes, lush and spiky without the ridiculous fakes plastered on, fluttered, then slowly opened. Double damn. She had the biggest, most amazing set of doe eyes he’d ever seen. Milk-chocolate brown with jewel-green flecks.

He cleared his throat. “Not that I wouldn’t mind taking you up on your offer, miss, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to--”

“You have a nice set of bones. Did anyone ever tell you that?” Her doe eyes went soft and dreamy.

“Uh, no. Can’t say that they have.”

She stared right at him, but it looked like she saw through him. Her pupils were evenly dilated, so no concussion. The little lady must have been sleepwalking. Until he’d knocked her unconscious like a jackass.

Now, she hovered somewhere between sleep and consciousness, by the sound of it. He tried not to chuckle, but a little one slipped free. She had no idea what she was saying.