Tex Appeal (8 page)

T
HE MORNING
had been cool, and for once Wyatt Crowe hadn’t rolled out of bed to find more on his plate than his usual chores. Work lasted most of the day seven out of seven every week, but today he’d wrangled enough breathing room to take Fargo out for a ride before lunch.

He’d been just antsy enough about the rest of the day and the three to follow that he’d felt it best to get out from under the eagle eye of his ranch manager and foreman, Bertram “Buck” Donald. Doing so would save him a hell of a lot of ribbing when the other man put two and two together and came up with the answer to Wyatt’s case of nerves.

He couldn’t deny it.

He was itchin’ with the wait.

He’d seen the dust kicked up by the silver sports car as the woman made her way down the road from the ranch’s main gate. And, yeah, he was sure the driver was female. The psychologist-cum-newspaper columnist, Tess…She was due around noon, the only visitor on the schedule, and the only woman who’d had reason to come out to the Triple RC in a very long time—even if the reason was flimsy as hell.

Flimsy or not, he’d said yes when she and her editor had called and asked to talk to him and his men. He’d liked her voice. Liked it enough that he’d done a Google search to find out if her looks fit her voice. They were even better.

Though she came from high-society stock, he’d decided then that having her at the ranch for a long weekend might be just the thing to put a spring in his step. Yeah, he was being shallow, but it would be nice to spend time with someone who didn’t walk like she had a horse between her legs or smell like she slept with one most nights.

And then he’d realized the trouble he was courting.

Four days was too long for a quick hookup—not that he was expecting to get lucky, or knew if she had anything but work on her mind—but the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to go back to that phone call and say no. The first phone call, anyway. By the time they’d finished the second, he was ready to give her the moon. Still…

Four days gave a woman time to get ideas about sticking around even longer, maybe permanently—ideas that in his experience took on a life of their own once the truth of who he was came to light.

Dr. Autrey might not be at all interested in his celebrity or even understand the commodity of his name, but he’d just as soon not take the chance that, like most of the women he’d known in the past, she cottoned to the idea of bedding the legend more than bedding the man.

Four days. Lord love a cowboy and his horse, but he was inviting all kinds of trouble.

He’d collected a whole lot of buckles in his day—winning more Professional Bull Riders, Inc., regular season events and world championships than any cowboy in the organization’s history—and had enjoyed the women who were part of the show. He’d been young and full of himself, and had loved having his pick of the bunnies every night to take for a long sweaty ride.

As the years had piled on along with the aches and pains, he’d given up the uncomplicated luxury of having a woman’s body without asking and focused on making it out of the arena alive. He’d lasted a lot longer than he’d expected, and when he’d gone down, it had been in a very big way.

It had taken four surgeries to put him back together. He could sit a horse with no problem, though he still walked with a limp. Working from the back of Fargo was more for his own benefit than anything. The horse knew what he was doing. Wyatt was the one unable to make his muscles obey his mind’s commands with the same precision as before.

Washed up at thirty-two.

It was a hell of a way to go.

He’d known bull riding wasn’t a long-term career—it was too physically demanding, damaging, dangerous—and that when he finally did hang up his spurs, he’d be taking on the family business. His parents had groomed him to run the Triple RC eventually, knowing with Wyatt at the helm they could afford to take the early retirement they’d dreamed of and see the country from behind the wheel of their RV.

The Triple RC had been in the Crowe family for a whole lot of years as a working ranch raising grass-fed Angus for beef. Once Wyatt had been left with no choice but to quit the circuit, he’d returned home to take over the place.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that he didn’t have it in him to fight both the market and mother nature. And since he had too much rodeo in him to quit the life altogether, raising stock had been a compromise that made perfect sense. He’d gone to his parents for their blessing, and then took a couple of years to plan, plot and make the change.

He’d been working Fargo, thinking about last week’s shipment of steers, when Dr. Autrey had stopped on the road to watch him. He shouldn’t have been bothered by having an audience. He’d performed in front of crowds as large as those drawn by Major League Baseball. Hell, the Professional Bull Riding World Finals in Las Vegas was no small thing.

He’d even had his ass handed to him a time or two by a big bad son of a bitch on national television. So, no. It wasn’t being watched that had gotten to him. It was all about who was doing the watching and the way her watching had sent his itch traveling from his spine to his groin.

He’d let her come because he thought the exposure, the publicity, no matter how limited or obscure, might get his crew the kind of female attention they could use these days, the kind that was about sticking around for the long haul instead of following the boys from show to show, from town to town, which had been all they’d known in the past.

For the most part, Wyatt himself had found the women harmless and a whole lot of fun. They got what they wanted, and gave the cowboys a good time. Problems started when there was no respect for wedding vows on either side, or when the women thought they were signing on for more than a night or two of mutual satisfaction. And the more famous the cowboy, the more often that came to pass.

Life on the road, the injuries and competitions, the iffy income, the mental strain…none of it was conducive to permanency. But eventually the years began to stretch like a long straight road into the horizon, and not everyone—cowboy or otherwise—was cut out for making the trip alone.

Not a one of his men was married. None were in committed relationships. The companionship they did have was occasional and convenient, and, he knew, for some, paid. This article, this profile on the cowboys, if he could get the good doctor to slant it the right way, to hint at what the Triple RC had to offer besides rodeo stock, well, it seemed the least he could do to repay the years of loyalty Buck, Teddy, Skeeter and the others had given him.

As far as his own situation went, he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had been interested in Wyatt Crowe and not the inimitable “Lawman”—the moniker he’d earned for laying down the law to the bulls he rode. High school, maybe? When he’d started competing professionally?

His time on the circuit also had put a big kink in his college plans. He’d eventually made up the lost time and had a degree in land management he wasn’t sure did him a bit of good. He relied on experience—his own and his father’s—as well as the business sense of his ranch manager and the common sense of his crew to keep the place going strong.

All of that kept him too busy to worry much about being thirty-five and alone, though it was funny how that very thing had been weighing on him of late. It shouldn’t have been. His days were busy. He kept them that way so when his nights rolled around he was too tired for anything but sleep.

Still, with his men bunking in their quarters—for all intents and purposes, a frat house—his own two-story place had a lot of empty space and echoes. And his talking to Dr. Autrey, to Tess, had brought all of that home.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind, the way she looked, her voice. How putting the two together and knowing what he did of the way she thought, the success she’d made of herself…how all of that intensified not so much his loneliness, but the fact that he was alone.

Why her? He couldn’t have answered had Buck roped him to Fargo’s belly and slapped the horse down the road. Right place, right time? Chemistry? The fact that she talked to him as if he was a regular Joe, not a legend or a celebrity or a commodity, and it had been way too long since he’d had a woman beneath him in bed?

So what had he done? Why, smart guy that he was, he’d set up Dr. Autrey in the room down the hall from his for the weekend, wanting her to be comfortable in the guest space that was rarely used but offered more privacy than the suite on the first floor. Stupid, because as quiet as the house was at night, he’d probably be able to hear her breathing.

He sure as hell would rouse any time she turned over. That particular bed frame creaked worse than his bones, which were held together with pins, and his joints, which had seen too much rough-and-tumble abuse over the years.

And the shower…no, he couldn’t think about her in the shower, with steamy mirrors and slick white-and-yellow tiles and air too sweaty and hard to breathe, smelling as it would, of her. He wouldn’t have anyone but himself to blame for the sleepless nights ahead.

He wondered how she liked her eggs, if she drank real coffee or needed all those extras that turned a cup of joe into a five-dollar affair. He wondered if she’d ever sat the back of a horse, if she’d be willing, or if a foreign sports car was the only way she liked her rides.

Thinking about her riding had him wondering what she wore to bed, and what he would do for the chance to find out. And since that kind of thinking was a danger any sane man could see coming for miles, he stopped.

Or at least he tried to stop, settling for reining Fargo around and riding hard all the way back to the barn, realizing along the way that no matter what he owed his men, this had been a very bad way to go about getting it.

B
Y THE TIME
Wyatt reached the barn, Dr. Autrey had made it to the house along with most of his men, who’d been drawn to her car like calves to feed. The only one missing was Buck, who was waiting to take Fargo’s reins and let Wyatt know what he was thinking with a shake of his head.

“What?” Wyatt asked, as if expecting a surprise. Buck was the only one he’d told about the true intent behind allowing the doctor to visit.

“Four days, huh?” The lanky foreman hefted the saddle and Wyatt’s brightly woven blanket from the back of the horse and stored them away. “A Saturday I can see. Give her Friday to settle in and see the place. Saturday to talk to the boys. But four days?”

Having just had the same argument with himself, Wyatt didn’t see how having it now with Buck would be any sort of help. He tugged off his hat, ran a hand back over his hair, then settled the hat once more into place, pulling the brim extra low on his forehead.

“We talked about what she’s wanting to do, and I agreed that just a Saturday wasn’t long enough to spend time with all you bowlegged has-beens.”

“You being the king has-been and all, you need Sunday and Monday for yourself then, is that it?” Buck found the curry comb he wanted on a shelf beneath the hanging tack. “Do you not remember the poker game last Fourth of July?”

Wyatt remembered. The hands who hadn’t headed to town for the big barbecue in the square had sat around the table in the bunkhouse kitchen, smoking big fat cigars while winning and losing the same money all afternoon.

They’d downed enough beers to float their own fleet, and revisited the good and bad of their years on the circuit, agreeing that four days was too long to stick with any one woman in any one town.

The trip down memory lane was a little too late to be any help. “I first suggested she get done what she could on Saturday and leave after breakfast Sunday morning. She said she’d like to stick around long enough to get the full flavor of the place.”

“And you bowed down and told her yes.”

Wyatt gave him the eye. Buck was thirty-eight to Wyatt’s thirty-five and thought for some reason that gave him the right to say anything he wanted even though Wyatt was the boss. Or maybe he said what he did because they were things needing to be said.

Since the other man was also his best friend, he let him. “I didn’t bow down
or
bend over.” He added the latter to keep Buck from saying it since the look in his eyes made it clear it was on his mind. “She explained her thinking and her reasons for needing the time made sense.”

“You Google-searched her, didn’t you? You looked her up and decided you’d give your left nut to get your hands on her, and allowed yourself enough time to make sure it happened. And happened often.”

“Leave my nuts out of this.” Hands at his hips, Wyatt pulled in a deep breath along with the smells of damp leather, damp horse, fresh hay and not-so-fresh man. Him. Not the first impression he’d wanted to make, but so be it.

“This is as much for you guys as anything, remember?” Wyatt threw out a lot of the stuff he’d been thinking. “No one comes out here who’s not buying stock, leasing stock, selling stock or training stock unless they’re offering up supplies to help get all the rest of it done.”

There was silence from Buck, so Wyatt went on. “I’ve kept the bunch of you so busy it’s a wonder you haven’t all up and put in your notice. You need more of a life than what you’ve got here. You deserve wives and families, if that’s what you want, and this may not pan out, but I thought it worth a shot.”

When he looked again at Buck, the foreman was waiting, his elbow parked on Fargo’s rump, his hat low on his forehead, but not low enough to hide what was going on inside his skull. Wyatt didn’t think he’d ever known anyone else who could call him on his bullshit without saying a word.

“There’s a contest, you know.” As if that was going to make a difference. “A reader from the paper wins a long weekend out here, relaxing, seeing what we do.”

“Nothing about what we do here is relaxing,” Buck grumbled.

“It’s being billed as a rustic getaway. Maybe they’ll be women and one of them can help you with that relaxing thing,” Wyatt said, hearing a whole lot of laughter coming from the direction of the house, and his gut tightening up when he realized how much of it was female.

Buck glanced over Wyatt’s shoulder in that direction. “And you? I’m guessing you’ve got four days’ worth of relaxing planned?”

This time Wyatt didn’t respond. Denying that the thought had crossed his mind would make him a liar. Admitting it would cause him no end of grief.

So all he said before he turned to make his way to the house was, “If you don’t get that horse seen to, you won’t be here for the next four days to know whether I’ve got anything planned or not.”

W
YATT
was only halfway across the yard when the laughter began to die down. One at a time his men noticed his approach. Feet began to shuffle, heads to hang. Throats suddenly needed clearing.

If he hadn’t been so irritated with himself over giving in to her request for four days, he would’ve chuckled and knocked them down a few pegs because goofin’ like that was the kind of relationship he had with them. His fist was more putty than iron, and Silly Putty at that. It was part of what made them family, and was as important to the running of the ranch as was their shared background in rodeo. Every one of them had come from the same place, knew the same hardships of that life, and had chosen this one because it kept them close to a world that ran in their blood.

Bottom line, however, was that he’d seen her first. His men would get their chances to sit down and pour out their hearts. But after whatever it was that had happened between the two of them out there on the road, after that phone call where he’d heard so much longing in her voice, he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to stake his claim in broad daylight.

And, as the thought crossed his mind, he realized Buck had hit the nail. All along in the back of his mind, he’d been making plans.

“Mornin’,” he said, stopping in front of the porch, setting one boot on the bottom step, a hand on his thigh. “I’m thinking there’s a lotta work around here that won’t do itself while you all have your little tea party.”

He didn’t look at Dr. Autrey. At Tess. She didn’t look at him. He stood where he was. She did the same, waiting until Duke, Rusty and Max—the long-winded one of the six—finished up their goodbyes. Only then did she turn and give him one-hundred percent of her attention.

Wyatt thought he’d braced himself, thought he was ready. He hadn’t. He wasn’t. And he didn’t even have a porch rail to grab on to. It was all he could do to swallow the groan that rolled up from his chest when she looked at him. He’d never before had a woman stroke him without touching him at all.

She smiled with both her mouth and her eyes, her lashes long, the corners crinkling with all sorts of fun. Her lips were lightly colored, a soft pink that was not much more than nude, and her eyes…the soft green made him think of fields coming alive after the cold bare winter.

She held out her hand. “I’m Tess Autrey. From the way everyone vanished and the fact that I’d know that voice anywhere, I’d say you’re Mr. Crowe.”

“Wyatt,” he said as his fingers closed around ones that were slender and cool. He held on longer than he should have. “Call me Wyatt.”

“Wyatt.” She made no move to pull away, frowning slightly and cocking her head. Her hair hung below her shoulders in a thick cloud that was either light-brown or dark-blond—he couldn’t decide except to realize it really didn’t matter. He still wanted to touch it, to see if it was as cottony as he thought it would be.

While he was lost in thinking about the texture of her hair, she seemed to come to some conclusion. “That was you, wasn’t it? You were the one on the horse. The one I was watching.”

He let her go instead of tugging her closer. If she wanted to be coy, to flirt, to act like she didn’t know exactly who he was, then he was more than willing—and curious—to see how far she would go.

He nodded. “I was. I don’t often get a break to take Fargo out and let him show me that he’s still got game.”

“He was amazing to watch.”

Wyatt glanced toward the barn. “He does good work. Always has.”

“One more member of the family?” she asked, her voice soft as if she were gentling him the way he gentled Fargo.

He found himself nodding as he thought over her question. “It’s a big one here. Man or beast, doesn’t matter. We all take care of each other.”

She considered him as if she saw through the gaps in his story and knew his ordering his men back to work was all about taking care of himself.

But since she didn’t call him on it, he didn’t say anything to her about how long she’d stared at him out on the road before he’d turned to watch her watching him.

“I would think taking care of your own would be crucial, being as far out here as you are.” She smiled again, but she also crossed her arms over her chest.

He wasn’t sure which was more revealing, or which to believe. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”

“Oh, no. Not at all,” she hurried to assure him. “I was just thinking how spoiled I am. Having everything I need or want just around the corner.”

He liked that she knew the difference between needs and wants. Knowing what he did about her affluent background, he hadn’t been sure if she would arrive complete with a sense of entitlement.

All he’d had to go on was the picture he’d found on the Internet, and the sound of her voice on the phone. He thought back to that night, how listening to her had him leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes and willing her into his lap as she talked.

“You learn to manage. Keep a large stock of non-perishables on hand, meat and bread in the freezer, fruits and vegetables canned or frozen. We make a trip into town for perishables every couple of weeks or so depending on how fast Teddy goes through the milk.” He grinned, shook his head. “Lots of stuff we get delivered, but the milk? We’re a bit far out for that kind of service.”

She took several seconds to glance around the expanse of the place, at least what she could see from the porch before looking at him again. “True bachelor digs, huh?”

“Guess you could say that.”

This time she lifted a brow. “And no local bachelorettes to help out? Do some home-cooking? Add some sparkle to the windows and floors?”

“Woodson cooks. Skeeter cleans. They argue and fight like an old married couple, but they keep everyone fed and turned out in clothes their mommas would be proud to see them wearing to church.”

She looked him up and down. “I’m curious.”

Uh-oh. “About?”

“Whether after your experiences with the buckle bunnies on the circuit, you’ve chosen on purpose to keep women at a distance.”

“You think we do that?” he asked, moving from the first step to the second until he stood only one beneath her on the porch.

“Nice try,” she said with a laugh. “But I’m not buying it. You’ve made this place a refuge. Or a sanctuary. I’m wondering what you saw out there that sent you all retreating.”

He weighed climbing the last step against staying where he was. She was assuming a lot, thinking there were any motives for them being here besides a shared love of the work they did and their history that made them brothers instead of the competitors they’d once been.

Their personal lives, sex lives, love lives…they’d never talked about keeping those things off the ranch but somehow had all come to the same conclusion that doing so was for the best. It had been a few years before Wyatt had noticed the toll that decision had taken.

A man could only chase away his loneliness for so long before he started looking for other ways to dull that potent ache.

But retreat?

He took the last step, moved onto the porch. Towering over her, he met her gaze from beneath the brim of his hat. “Are you sure you’re not just wondering how well you’ll sleep on sheets washed by a man named Skeeter?”

Her mouth quirked, and this close he swore he did indeed smell springtime. “If you show me where I’ll be sleeping, I can put that worry to rest.”