Читать книгу A Cowboy Comes A Courting - Christine Scott - Страница 9

Chapter One

“I’m not marrying a cowboy,” Skye Whitman announced, raising her chin at a determined angle. “I’m marrying Ralph.”

“Now there you go again, jumping to the wrong conclusions.” Her father released a disgusted breath. “Did I say you had to marry a cowboy? All I said was, why would you want to go and do a fool, stupid thing like marrying that skinny little, pencil-pushin’, four-eyed excuse of a man. For God’s sake, girl, Ralph Breedlow can’t even hold a decent conversation ’cause he’s always got his nose stuck in a book!”

“Ralph’s an intellectual,” Skye insisted. “He doesn’t have time for social niceties.”

Lifting a cardboard box from the back of Skye’s car, Gus Whitman snorted rudely, giving his opinion on that explanation. “Ralph’s a horse’s behind. He uses his intelligence as an excuse to be boring.”

Skye sighed and grabbed the last box for herself. For the last thirty minutes, she’d been treated to a lecture on the folly of marrying a medieval history professor. She didn’t blame her father for being skeptical of Ralph. He wasn’t like most men her father knew. As an ex-rodeo star, her father just didn’t understand a man who’d never ridden a horse, let alone been near one.

It wasn’t Ralph’s fault that he didn’t fit the cowboy’s macho image.

As far as she was concerned, not fitting the cowboy image was what made Ralph so appealing. Though she loved her father dearly, he hadn’t always put his family above his true love, the rodeo. If she’d learned anything from her parents’ disastrous marriage, it was not to lose her heart to a cowboy.

A trickle of perspiration ran down the valley between her breasts, as she climbed the wooden steps of the family’s ranch house. After spending the last six years in the cool, cultured world of the northeast, coming home to the heat and humidity of a Dallas summer to finish her master’s thesis in Philosophy was probably not her smartest move. Not only was it as hot as Hades outside, but her father’s mood was causing her spirits to wilt fast.

“Gus, could we save this discussion for another day? We haven’t seen each other since Christmas. I don’t want to waste any of our time together by arguing.”

Gus paused at the door to the house, raising a silvering eyebrow in question. “If you don’t want to waste any of our time together, then why don’t you move into the apartment in Dallas with me?”

Skye’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Her father was in one of his cantankerous moods. They both knew he wasn’t serious, the offer made out of guilt, rather than the truth. Gus would no more want her to stay with him in the tiny apartment above his Western store in Dallas, than he would want to be forced to live with her at the ranch house that had once belonged to his mother. Either choice involved making a commitment, something her father had never been able to do.

She went along with the game, however, going through the motions of an obligatory refusal. “We’ve already been through this, Gus. I’ve been living on my own for a long time. I need my privacy.”

“You’re not going to get much privacy if you marry Ralph,” he pointed out, proving himself to be every bit as stubborn as she’d remembered.

Refusing to be baited into another argument, she let the comment slide without a response. She bumped the front door open with her hip. The house was old, wearing a dusty film of neglect, looking eerily much the same as it had before her grandmother’s death six years earlier. “My thesis is very demanding. I’m going to be spending most of my time working. You know as well as I do, you’d never be able to sit by and watch me work without interrupting.”

He followed her inside. “I’ll be at the store most of the day.”

“This is a tough project.” She strode into the living room and dropped the box onto the floor, next to an already teetering stack. “I’ll be putting in a lot of hours. Day and night.”

He scowled. “What’s the point of coming home, if you’re going to be working all the time? You might as well have stayed up north with Ralph.”

“Ralph won’t be there,” she said without thinking. Giving a silent moan of regret, she averted her gaze. She feigned a sudden interest in a box marked odds and ends, knowing it wouldn’t take much for her father to read the disappointment she’d felt at Ralph’s decision not to spend the summer with her.

Gus clung to the news like a dog with a bone. “He won’t?”

“No, he won’t,” she said, straightening from the box to face her father. Skye winced at the sudden glint of curiosity in Gus’s blue eyes. “He’s in Europe for the summer, researching a paper he plans to publish.”

“And he didn’t take you along?”

“No, he did not.” She brushed a dark curl from her forehead, hoping to distract her father. “Whew, it’s hot. Would you like a cold drink?”

“Yeah, I’d like a drink,” he said, his frown deepening. He pushed the white cowboy hat back from his forehead and scratched at the shock of silver hair, a habit of his when he was trying hard to concentrate. “Since you were knee high to a grasshopper, you’ve been jabbering away about going to Europe and seeing all those castles that those princes and princesses live in. I can’t believe you’d turn down an opportunity to go now.”

She strode into the kitchen and pulled two icy bottles of cola from the refrigerator. Twisting the cap on one, she passed it to her father before answering. “Like I said before, I’ve got a lot of work to do. So does Ralph. I’d have been a distraction—”

“In other words...the idiot didn’t ask,” her father finished for her, accepting the cola with a grin. Tipping the bottle in salute, he chugged half the soda in one long swallow.

Skye fought the urge to sigh again. She’d done enough sighing for one day, thank you. It was just one of the hazards of being near her father for very long. Leaning against the tiled kitchen counter, sipping her soda, she struggled to find a decorous way to push Gus out the door. “Thanks for helping me move my stuff, Gus. I really appreciate it.”

“And now you’d like me to move along, right?”

“Well, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said wryly. He moved into the living room, eyeing the stacks of boxes, the books scattered about, the computer and software weighing down the dining room table. “Before you put your nose to the grindstone, why don’t you play hooky for a night?” He waggled his eyebrows Groucho Marx style. “There’s a rodeo in town tonight. And I know some boys that are champing at the bit to see you again.”

The “boys” were her father’s friends, her adopted “uncles” since she was five years old. It was at this tender age that her mother had died unexpectedly, landing her on her father’s doorstep for the duration of her childhood. Divorced for nearly four years and having only seen his daughter a handful of times in between, Gus had been ill-prepared to handle a young girl. At first, he had relied heavily upon the help of his rodeo buddies.

But even with the sage advice of his cohorts, things did not go smoothly. Gus had tried taking her on the road with him. They both soon realized that riding the rodeo circuit wasn’t a life for a child, though it was the only life that Gus knew. So he’d placed her at the family ranch in the care of her grandmother. While Grandma Whitman loved her deeply and saw to her needs without complaint, it never quite made up for the abandonment by her only parent.

“Play hooky, eh?” She bit her lip against a smile, trying not to appear too anxious. The truth was, it was just too hot to work. The old house didn’t have air conditioning. Until the sun went down, it would remain stifling inside. She’d like nothing more than to escape from the heat and the call of duty for a few more hours. “You always have been a bad influence in my life, Gus.”

“I try my best,” he said, reaching out to tweak her nose. “You know, honey, you were born too serious. It’s my job to see that you have a little fun in your life.”

“If you put it that way, how can I say no?” She pushed herself away from the kitchen counter. “Give me a few minutes to find a pair of jeans in this mess. Then you, sir, can escort me to the ball.”

With a snort of discontent, the bull pawed the sawdust-strewn ground with his front hooves. Swinging his massive head, he bucked against the gate of the holding pen, ramming the iron fence with a shattering force. His restless movements sent up a cloud of dust and the rank smell of sweaty, raw energy into the air.

Tyler Bradshaw jumped back from the gate, not out of fear, but for safety’s sake. In less than an hour, he’d be expected to ride on the back of this restless creature. He didn’t need to lose any essential body parts while he was waiting his turn.

Joey Witherspoon chuckled. “Diablo’s in a fine mood tonight.”

“That he is,” Tyler said, his calm voice belying the trepidation churning in his gut. He was getting too old for this. Time to think of retirement. At least, that was what he’d been told by concerned friends.

Not that he felt old. Far from it.

Only, at the age of thirty-two, most bull riders had ended their careers and put themselves out to stud. They’d found themselves pretty little wives and were raising families, settling down to enjoy their retirement while they were still in one piece. But not him, no siree. No primrose path to old age for him.

As far as he was concerned, if he had to hang up his spurs, he might as well be dead.

“How’s the back?” Joey asked, studying him carefully.

One of his concerned friends, Tyler reminded himself with a sigh. “The back’s fine.”

“No twinges? No spasms?”

“Not a twitch, not an itch.”

Joey didn’t crack a smile at his attempt at humor.

Tyler squinted at the man next to him. At an even six feet, they stood eye to eye. But that was where the similarity ended. Joey was dark to Tyler’s fair-haired complexion. He was solid-packed muscle to Tyler’s lean lankiness. And Joey was a lot smarter than he was. A few years his senior, his friend had had the keen sense to retire years ago from the rodeo circuit. Joey owned a little piece of land not far from Dallas, and he’d found a wife to put up with his pesky ways. Together, they were raising a brood of little Witherspoons. Five, at last count.

“You don’t have to ride tonight,” Joey said, the words soft enough for Tyler’s ears only. “Nobody’s going to care if you pass.”

“I’m fine, Joey,” Tyler said, tight-lipped, reining in his growing irritation.

He didn’t need to be reminded of his numerous injuries. A rider worth his salt didn’t get to be a champion unless he’d taken a few tumbles. Granted, he did have a tendency to fall on his tailbone, throwing his spinal cord out of whack on more than one occasion. So what if he was becoming a chiropractic junkie, relying on the doctor’s magic fingers more and more to work out the kinks? No one ever said the path to glory would be easy.

“Tyler Bradshaw, tell me you’re not crazy enough to get on the back of this man-eating bull?” a familiar voice called out.

Tyler grinned, relieved at the interruption. The topic had become entirely too serious for his taste. He turned to welcome the newcomer, Gus Whitman. Tyler owed Gus a great deal. A veteran of the rodeo circuit, the man had taken a raw, seventeen-year-old boy under his wing and coached him to become a champion bull rider. Gus was his mentor, his friend and more of a father figure than Tyler’s own pa had ever been.

Pleasure turned to surprise when he spotted his old friend strutting toward him with his arm draped about the shoulders of a beautiful young woman—emphasis on the young. Tyler shook his head. Well, he’d be damned. Gus must be feeling his oats tonight—or going through one of those midlife crises—to pick a filly so young.

He raked a second glance over the modem-day Lolita. She had dark—almost black—shiny hair, cut short and framing her oval face. Her big blue eyes were the color of the Texas sky. She had a pert little upturned nose. Her body was petite, but with enough compact curves to make a man sweat. Tyler didn’t blame Gus for losing his head over a woman like her, even if she was young enough to be his—

“What’s the matter with you, boy? Don’t you recognize my daughter?” Gus said, slapping him on the back with a hearty laugh. “It’s Skye, you fool.”

“Skye?” Tyler repeated dumbly.

It couldn’t be. Or could it?

The last time he’d seen Skye Whitman she’d been a flat-chested adolescent, who used to follow him around the rodeo like a lovesick puppy. He’d tolerated her youthful infatuation out of respect for Gus. But he’d kept his distance, never giving her reason to expect more than a brotherly friendship. Back then, she’d been cute enough in a fresh-scrubbed way, but she hadn’t looked anything like this grown-up version.

She’d gone away to college a child, and had returned home a woman.

No wonder he hadn’t recognized her.

“Hey, Tyler,” Skye said, her rosebud lips parting in an easy smile. “It’s been a long time.”

Even the voice was different, he realized. All rich and sultry, reminding him of the taste of milk chocolate melting in his mouth on a hot, summer day.

Somehow he found his own voice. “Skye, I can’t believe it’s you.”

An understatement for sure.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” The smooth lines of her forehead puckered into a frown. “Well, I guess it has been a few years. Six, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, aware that a half-dozen sets of eyes were upon him. They were drawing a small crowd. All of Gus’s cronies who still hung about the rodeo were beginning to zero in on their little group.

Unexplainably, Tyler felt a flash of resentment. He’d have liked to have had a moment alone with this new Skye. His gaze flitted over the lush curves of her breasts, the tiny nip of her waist and the gentle splay of her hips. Given a little time, he just might develop an infatuation of his own.

“Skye’s home for the summer to work on her thesis,” Gus said, his paternal pride showing through. “A regular college degree isn’t enough for my little girl, she has to get a master’s degree to boot.”

Like a slap in the face, the words brought Tyler reeling back to reality. He bridled his prurient thoughts concerning Skye, steering them in a safer direction. Skye Whitman was as off limits to him today as she had been six years ago. She was still Gus’s daughter, not a rodeo groupie. He didn’t care how grown-up the lady might appear.

Play around with her heart, and he’d be playing with fire.

Tyler Bradshaw hadn’t changed a bit.

Well, maybe a little. The squint lines around his eyes were deeper. The planes of his face were a little sharper, a little more rugged. And though he was still lean and lanky, he’d filled out some, appearing more solid. But he was still the heartbreaker she’d always remembered.

One of those cowboys she’d sworn to avoid.

What was different this time, she told herself, was that she’d been on the receiving end of one of those assessing gazes of his. That head-to-toe scrutiny of a discerning eye. Tyler Bradshaw was a man who loved women. The notches on his bedposts certainly attested to that fact. She couldn’t deny a certain titillating thrill that, after all these years, she’d finally caught his eye.

Six years ago, she’d have killed to have him notice her.

Now, it only made her wary.

“I’m getting married,” Skye blurted out.

A stunned silence met her announcement.

Tyler blinked, looking surprised.

Gus scowled, shaking his head in disgust.

“Congratulations, Skye,” Joey Witherspoon said, the first to react. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Man?” Gus snorted.

“Ralph Breedlow,” Skye said, jumping in before everyone was treated to her father’s jaded opinion of her intended. “He’s an associate professor at the college I’ve been attending.”

“A medieval history professor,” Gus added, not hiding his disdain.

“Gus, really,” she said. “Now isn’t the time to discuss—”

“When’s the wedding?” Tyler interrupted, his deep voice sending a chill down her spine.

Skye shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Well, we haven’t exactly set a date yet.”

“Ralph’s too busy,” Gus explained. “He’s in Europe for the summer, reading some dusty old books.”

Tyler raised a brow. “And he’s left you home all alone?”

“Ralph trusts me,” she said, raising her chin.

“You aren’t the one Ralph should be worried about.” Tyler’s easy smile revealed a set of perfect toothpaste-ad teeth. “It’s us disappointed men and all our broken hearts that you’ll be leaving behind.”

Skye felt a flush of discomfort creep up her face. She’d issued the announcement of her pending marriage as a warning to Tyler Bradshaw to keep his distance. Somehow, he’d taken her unavailability as a challenge. He seemed determined to make her admit that she wasn’t really serious about Ralph.

“Just as soon as we set a date, I’ll be sure to invite you to the wedding,” she said, smiling sweetly. “A free meal is the least I can offer you to patch up that broken heart.”

A hoot of laughter erupted from the crowd.

“I don’t know about a broken heart, but I’d sure like to have my turn at kissing the bride,” one of her father’s buddies interjected. A tall, thin man, wearing a tan western shirt and black bolero tie, enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. Bussing her cheek with a fleeting kiss, he murmured, “Congratulations, Skye.”

One by one, her “uncles” crowded in to take their turns.

Gus suffered through the mandatory pats on the back and the murmurs of congratulations with his usual good cheer. He shook his head and groused the entire time.

Her own head was reeling by the time the last cowboy stood waiting to collect his kiss.

Tyler Bradshaw watched her with a devilish glint in his eye.

An unexplainable panic gripped her, making it hard to breathe. Frantically, she searched her mind for a plausible excuse for bowing out of the ritual. Unfortunately, she couldn’t come up with a single, logical reason why Tyler—though much younger than most of her father’s Mends—should be denied the friendly kiss while she’d indulged the rest of the group.

As though he sensed her reluctance, a grin played on his tantalizing lips.

Skye’s stomach lurched with trepidation.

Over the PA system participants for the last event of the night were being called to the starting chutes. Skye breathed a quiet sigh of relief as she heard Tyler’s name among the bull eiders. With a wide smile, she pointed a finger to the invisible voice in the sky. “Someone’s calling your name.”

“You want me to leave without giving the bride a kiss?”

“Oh, I think I’ll survive without the attention.”

He stepped toward her.

“I-I don’t think there’s enough time....” she stammered, fighting the urge to back away. “Besides, it’s such a silly tradition, don’t you think? Just an excuse for men to take advantage.”

“Well now,” he drawled, caressing her with a rakish glance. “I’m not sure I can speak for everyone else, but this cowboy’s big on tradition. But if you’d rather skip the ritual, that’s fine with me.” He tapped his whiskery cheek with a long, tapered finger. “Though I’d sure appreciate a little kiss for good luck, before I start my ride.”

Skye swallowed hard, glancing around to see if anyone was watching.

The whole crew of cowboys was waiting for her answer. Each of them wore a smile of amusement on his weathered face. Her father wore the biggest grin of all. She could see the laughter dancing in Gus’s eyes. Her daddy expected her to tell Tyler no.

“Well, hell,” she muttered, releasing an exasperated breath, as she was struck with an ill-advised surge of reckless defiance. “I don’t want to be accused of bringing a cowboy bad luck.”

She stood on tiptoe, propping both hands on Tyler’s shoulders for balance, feeling the heat of his skin and the strength of his muscles through the thin fabric of his western shirt. The touch warmed her hands, warmed her body. Up close, he was all male, hard planes and chiseled angles. Scents mingled—spicy aftershave, rugged leather and hardworking sweat—making her dizzy with the combination. Before second thoughts could stop her, she puckered up to give him an innocent peck on the cheek. Wether it was an accident, or a well-calculated dastardly act, she would never know. Instead of the chaste kiss she’d meant to give him, Tyler lowered his head and turned just in time to collect a full-mouthed smack on the lips.

For a pint-size woman, Skye packed a kiss with a major league wallop. Soft, warm and supple, her mouth seemed made to fit his. Tyler’s lips sizzled at the impact. He felt the shocked inhalation of breath against his mouth. She swayed slightly. Before she could escape, he grabbed a hold of her tiny waist and held on tight.

The kiss, by his standards, was innocent enough. No tongue and cheek action. No plundering of the virginal mouth. Just an innocent pressing of his lips to hers. But the way his blood was heating and his body was thrumming, he’d have thought he was on his way to a blissful night in heaven.

Heaven would have to wait.

He felt the insistent weight of her hands against his shoulders and realized Skye was trying to push him away. Reluctantly, he did as she’d requested. He released the grip he had on her waist, instantly missing the sweet heat of her body as she slipped away.

If they weren’t in the middle of a crowded rodeo, fast becoming the center of attention, he’d have pushed for a second helping of this unexpected treat. But he valued his life too much to risk the wrath of Gus Whitman. He’d rather face an ornery bull, than an irate father.

He took a good look at the woman who’d affected him so. Truth be told, Skye looked a little tipsy. There was a dazed, uncertain look clouding those big blue eyes. Her lips parted slightly as she sucked in a deep breath. The action stretched the material of her T-shirt against her generous curves, making his mouth go dry and his body ache with a new awareness.

He reconsidered that second kiss.

But before he gave in to temptation, he had the good sense to look up and catch Gus’s eye. His mentor, the man he respected more than anyone else in the world, was watching him with the guarded expression of a hawk about to swoop down and attack.

Giving what he hoped was a nonchalant smile, Tyler tipped his hat in mock salute. “Thank you, ma’am. If that doesn’t bring me a little luck, I don’t know what will.”

Then, without a backward glance, he strode away, carrying with him the memory of Skye’s good-luck kiss.

Until Diablo demanded his full attention.

Moved from the holding pen into the bucking chute, the bull looked raring to trample any fool who dared to climb aboard. That fool being himself, Tyler mused. When his turn was announced, he settled himself onto the bull’s back. Tuning out the noise of the arena, he slipped his gloved hand through the handhold, palm upward. Then, once, twice, he wrapped the end of loose rope across his hand, strapping himself to eighteen hundred pounds of molten energy. As he prepared for his ride, the bull’s loose hide twitched restlessly beneath him.

Tyler knew that the fury called Diablo was about to be unleashed.

Not wanting to delay the inevitable, Tyler nodded to the gate tender. The gate burst open. Diablo took a fraction of a second to glance around. Then, with a roll of his eyes, the bull arched his back and threw himself sideways out of the chute.

Struggling for balance, Tyler dug in his spurs and tried to center himself on Diablo’s back, avoiding the worst of the seesaw bucking action. As the bull rounded for another jump, Tyler squeezed the rope in a death grip, trying his best not to get thrown off. The urge to grab ahold and hang on for dear life nearly overwhelmed him. Somehow, he had the presence of mind to keep his free hand up and out of the way as required.

Like the devil himself., Diablo tried a new method to pull him under. He made a sharp turn to the left and began to spin. The world swirled around him, faster and faster until Tyler felt as though he were about to be sucked into an invisible whirlpool of motion.

Then just as quickly as he began, Diablo stopped his spin. He kicked his heels and began to buck once again. With a snort and a bellow of indignation, the bull tried to toss him off his back. Tyler felt every hop, every bounce, every jolt in his clenched, aching muscles. His spine felt as though it were being raffled apart.

Then, just when he thought he could endure no more, the horn sounded. His eight seconds of hell were over.

Tyler released his grip on the bull rope. With his free hand, he loosened the tight wrap around his riding hand. A final buck sent him flying off the back of the bull. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him. He lay stunned on his back, wondering if he’d ever be able to move again.

Nearby, Diablo snorted. He lowered his massive head and pawed the dirt, preparing for a final charge.

Tyler forced his aching body to move. Rolling over onto his side, he hopped up and scrambled for the fence.

Two clowns jumped into the line of fire. Running, hollering and whistling, they distracted Diablo long enough for Tyler to make it to safety.

A cheer rose from the arena.

Tyler knew he’d had the best ride of the night. If only his braised muscles would let him enjoy the moment

A small group of well-wishers gathered around him. His gaze darted around, seeking the face of the woman he knew he’d be better off forgetting. With a sigh of relief, he spotted her in the crowd. Slowly, he made his way to Skye’s side.

“Best ride of the night,” she said, sounding only slightly impressed.

He shrugged, resisting the urge to brag. “Yeah, well, tonight’s just the qualifying rounds. Tomorrow’s the finals.” Leaning his aching weight against the fence for support, he angled a glance at her, his gaze lingering on her full lips. “I guess I couldn’t talk you into coming tomorrow night, could I? I sure could use a lucky charm.”

She frowned. “Lucky charm?”

He nodded. “It was your kiss that brought me good tuck.”

“Tyler., I hardly think—”

“Hey, don’t knock a cowboy for his superstitions,” he said, grinning. “So what do you say, care to join me for another night at the rodeo?”

Indecision flickered in her blue eyes.

Tyler’s breath caught. He’d be damned, but he almost believed she was tempted. As the male in him considered the possibilities time with Skye might offer, the sensible side of him panicked at the thought of her saying yes. He wasn’t looking for an emotional involvement. He had enough problems in his life to deal with already. Tangling with Gus’s daughter was one mistake he didn’t need to make.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Tyler,” she said finally. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a lot of things on my mind right now. What with the trip home, cleaning up the ranch house, my thesis—”

“And Ralph,” he reminded her.

A tinge of embarrassed color touched her cheeks. “Yes, of course...Ralph, too.”

“Just my luck. Find my lucky charm, only to learn it belongs to someone else,” he said, with the exaggerated sigh of a man who knew he’d been given a reprieve. He straightened from the fence, flexing his shoulders, trying not to cry out with each painful movement. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll just have to tough it out without you.”

“Don’t worry, Tyler,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of man who can land on his feet...no matter what the circumstances.”

Tyler looked at her in surprise and was struck with the uncanny feeling that, with her refusal, he’d been luckier than he’d first thought.

Despite the years they’d been apart, Skye knew him all too well.