Читать книгу The Cowgirl's Man - Ruth Jean Dale - Страница 8

NIKI KEENE attracted cowboys like honey attracted bees…like catnip attracted cats…like candy attracted kids. This natural phenomenon never failed to amaze Tilly Collins, proud grandmother to the Keene triplets, among whom Niki was the youngest by a mere twenty minutes.

Not that Tilly didn’t think all three of her granddaughters were pretty special. Sitting at a wooden picnic table beneath a spreading pecan tree at the annual Hard Knox Fourth of July picnic and barbecue, she fanned herself idly while watching Niki turn aside her crowd of admirers with ease. As they said, practice makes perfect.

Back home in Elk Tooth, Montana, Niki had been labeled the “pretty one,” Toni the “nice one” and Dani the “smart one.” To their doting grandmother, each of the twenty-seven-year-old triplets was equally pretty, nice and smart. Still, she had to admit that there was a fortune to be made in bottling whatever it was that beautiful Niki had in such abundance.

It was only a passing thought, though, for like everyone else who’d turned out at the city park for the celebration, Tilly was content just to enjoy the holiday atmosphere. With all the guests at the Keenes’ Bar-K Dude Ranch present, she was free to simply enjoy herself like everybody else.

Crowds milled around, as Bar-K guests mingled with townsfolk and visitors to other Hill Country dude ranches. In the background, the amplified voice of Mayor Rosie Mitchell droned on. Mayor Rosie obviously enjoyed this part of the program, the presentation of awards and certificates and honors to what was beginning to feel like an interminable list of Hard Knoxers, as the local newspaper had long ago christened locals.

“Hi, Granny.” Dani Keene Burke sat down on the picnic bench next to Tilly. “Whew, is it ever hot!”

Tilly glanced around for Dani’s eleven-month-old daughter. “Not hot enough to make you forget what you did with Elsie, I hope.”

Dani laughed and her brown eyes sparkled. Marriage to neighboring rancher Jack Burke had done wonders for her; Tilly had never seen Dani happier.

“Jack’s got her,” she said. “He’ll be along as soon as he gets the kids a cup of lemonade.”

Tilly nodded, knowing that “kids” in the plural included Jack’s orphaned six-year-old nephew, Pete, adopted when Jack and Dani married. “Are Toni and Simon here yet?”

Dani nodded. “I saw the newlyweds drive up just a few minutes ago. They’ll be here soon.” She glanced around at the crowd. “Where’s Niki?”

Tilly pointed in the general direction. At that moment, the crowd parted and they saw Niki, still in the middle of a horde of male admirers. She was looking up with a non-committal smile at a tall cowboy.

She was gorgeous. Something about long black hair and blue eyes, Tilly supposed. Whatever it was, Niki had lots of it.

The loudspeaker sputtered and Tilly caught a single word from the mayor: Niki. Sure she’d misunderstood, Tilly glanced at Dani, who looked equally puzzled.

The mayor’s voice became stronger: “Niki Keene, please, dear, will you come up here?”

Niki glanced toward her family, shapely black brows rising in a question. Dani shrugged and Toni, just arriving, waved.

“What do they want with Nik?” she inquired. “Simon and I just got here so—”

“Come on up, now,” the mayor’s amplified voice interrupted. “Don’t be shy!”

At Mayor Rosie’s urging, Niki’s admirers lifted her to her feet and guided her toward the bandstand in the middle of the park. A sprinkling of applause built to a crescendo, despite the fact that no one appeared to know what was going on.

Tilly certainly didn’t, but whatever it was, it was bound to be good. They didn’t do bad things at community picnics in Hard Knox, Texas. So she smiled and applauded along with everybody else.

Mayor Rosie held up her arms for silence while Niki waited uneasily, casting her sometime boss dubious glances. Niki had gone to work as a barmaid at Rosie and Cleavon Mitchell’s Sorry Bastard Saloon soon after the Keenes’ move to Texas a few years back. She still worked there part-time, not because she needed the money anymore, but because she enjoyed it. Niki was a simple girl with simple needs.

“Friends and guests,” Rosie said in her deep Texas drawl, “we got us a real nice surprise today. Seems like our own Niki Keene, darlin’ of the Sorry Bastard, has been named a finalist in the Queen of the Cowgirls contest sponsored by Mother Hubbard’s Wild West Duds! And I got a certificate here to prove it!” She waved the document triumphantly aloft.

Tilly frowned and muttered, “What’s Mother Hubbard’s Wild West Duds?”

Toni chuckled. “It’s a western clothing company. In fact, it’s a favorite of Niki’s. That vest she’s wearing is a Mother Hubbard.” She glanced at Dani. “Can you believe it? Entering a contest and not even telling us, her own sisters.”

“No, I can’t believe it.” Dani shook her head firmly. “There’s something funny going on here. That contest has been publicized far and wide in magazines, even on TV. No way Niki would go for that. The winner will have to spend the next year being company spokesperson and posing for photographers. Niki would sooner walk on hot coals than do that.”

Sad but true, Tilly thought as she watched a protesting Niki shake her head vehemently. If there was one thing her beautiful granddaughter didn’t like it was being in the limelight.

Niki leaned forward to be heard via the microphone. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake, Rosie,” she said, hastily amending that to, “Mayor Rosie.”

Rosie grinned and shook her head, but her expression turned slightly desperate. “No mistake at all, Niki. That’s your name on this certificate, see?”

“Nevertheless,” Niki said in gentle but determined tones, “this is obviously some kind of a mistake. Thank you very much, but I didn’t even enter the contest.”

With a smile to soften her position, she turned away.

“Wait, Niki!” Now the mayor looked really worried. “This is no mistake, hon. Whether you entered or not, you’ve made the finals, which is a wonderful thing for your adopted hometown. Won’t you—”

“I wish I could, but it’s impossible. Thanks, but no thanks.” With a wave of her hand, Niki walked down the steps and disappeared into the crowd.

A pregnant pause ensued. Then Granny sighed. “Niki doesn’t even like horses,” she announced, her voice clear in the stunned silence. “If those folks want a cowgirl, they’ve definitely got the wrong gal!”

LURKING NEARBY, Clay Russell, World Champion All-Around Cowboy and well-paid national spokesman for Mother Hubbard’s Wild West Duds, heard every word the old lady said. Wearing subdued western garb and dark glasses, his hat pulled low over his eyes, he’d managed to avoid being recognized thus far. A desire to keep it that way was the only thing that prevented him from approaching the Mrs. Santa Claus look-alike.

Out of rodeo for the moment with an injury that had left him doubting his future, Clay was traveling from town to town and sometimes state to state at the insistence of Mother Hubbard herself—Eve Hubbard, autocratic guiding force behind the phenomenal success of the western clothing manufacturing company. His current assignment: to scope out the twelve finalists chosen from thousands of photographs generated by the contest and then report back to Eve.

Hard Knox was his final stop before heading back to Dallas to make his report. Eve not only wanted to know how each contestant looked in person, she wanted to know how Queen of the Cowgirls wannabes handled themselves when they were informed of their finalist status.

Niki Keene had failed that test, Clay thought, still idly eavesdropping on her family, joined now by two men apparently married to her sisters. All the other finalists in all the other towns had squealed and jumped up and down and hugged—in some cases kissed—everyone in sight. This one had said a firm “thanks, but no thanks” and walked away.

Obviously, she wasn’t Queen of the Cowgirls material—but she was drop-dead gorgeous. Although he’d only seen her for a few minutes, she’d formed an indelible impression in his mind’s eye—heavy black hair hanging over her shoulders in thick braids to frame a perfectly oval face dominated by high cheekbones, full red lips and eyes so deep a blue they were almost purple. Her golden skin glowed and the curves of her body were as perfect as her face.

And if he wasn’t mistaken, she was wearing Mother Hubbard’s Wild West Duds: faded form-fitting jeans and a denim vest fastened across her breasts with leather tabs. The bottom edge of the vest barely met the waistband of her jeans, giving tantalizing glimpses of a taut middle. The shadowy cleft between her breasts, shown to advantage by the deep vee of the easy-fitting vest, made promises he suspected would easily be fulfilled.

So she was good-looking. So were all the others, he reminded himself. But judging by what the little old lady had just said about horses, Niki wasn’t worthy of the title with all the perks and prizes that came with it. Too bad—but maybe there had been a mistake.

“How do you suppose this happened?” It was the sister bouncing the toddler on her lap who asked. “Niki was obviously dumfounded.”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Dani.” The other sister shrugged. “But she should go for it and grab it if she gets the chance. Tons of prizes come with that title. I know how Niki feels about exploiting her looks, but it’s not like this would be the first time. She was Miss Elk Tooth who knows how many times, and Miss Texas Barmaid and Miss Sunshine for the weather people and Miss Smile for that dental association and Miss—”

“Oh, my!” The grandmother flsung up her hands. “Don’t go any further, Dani, for heaven’s sake. She got finagled into each and every one of those titles.”

Yeah, sure, Clay thought. One title maybe, but all those? I don’t think so.

“I think she ought to do it.”

“Now why would you say that, Jack?” The grandmother inquired mildly.

The man hovering over the sister with the baby, the one who looked like a rancher, shrugged. “It’d be good for the town. We could put it in the Bar-K brochure and it would be good for business.”

“You talk like she’s already won,” the other man remarked.

Both sisters blinked in surprise and the one with the baby said, “And your point is what, Simon?”

The man Simon, who didn’t look like a rancher, a cowboy or any other country type, leaned down and kissed the top of Toni’s head. “Just because Niki’s great looking doesn’t mean this contest is a slam dunk. She isn’t the most beautiful girl in the world, after all. Toni is.”

“Simon!” Toni gave him a satisfied glance. “You’re prejudiced.”

“Newlyweds are supposed to be prejudiced,” Grandma said. “Dani, what do you think? Would Niki take it?”

“Absolutely not.” Dani, still bouncing the baby on her knee, shook her head vehemently. “After what happened the last time, she swore her Miss Whoever career was over.”

“What happened?” Simon inquired.

“The contest coordinator got fresh with her,” Dani said darkly. “They also over-scheduled her and were downright unreasonable in their demands. So no, I don’t think she’ll change her mind and I don’t suppose I can really blame her.”

Clay edged away. It was just about time for him to hit the road for Dallas to report on the total unsuitability of this particular contestant. Regardless of what her family might think, she wouldn’t be a shooin even if she competed.

“And then…” The grandmother sighed. “There’s that thing she has about horses.”

A quick glance showed Clay nothing but uniformly glum faces. What the hell was this about Niki Keene and horses, he wondered. Not that it mattered. She had too many other negatives and only one positive that he could see.

Grandmother turned suddenly brisk. “It’s not up to us anyway. Dani, I’m going back to the ranch now. If you and Jack would like to stay and help Toni and Simon herd our dudes, I’ll take the children with me.”

“Jack?” Dani deferred to her husband.

“Sounds good. We can drop by the Sorry Bastard and try to talk some sense into our stubborn beauty queen.”

“‘Try’ is the word, all right.” She turned to the other couple. “Okay with you guys?”

While they made their plans, Clay drifted away. He really ought to hit the road for Dallas. It was going to be late before he got there as it was.

Still—

What was Niki Keene doing at a saloon? He’d noticed the Sorry Bastard on his arrival in town hours earlier. Was she a closet drinker or did she work there? Unbidden, her image flashed again across his mind’s eye and he shook it off. No way she could be as good-looking as he remembered.

Nevertheless, he might just trail along to the Sorry Bastard out of simple curiosity—and to take one more look.

WHEN NIKI SAW her sisters walk through the door to the Sorry Bastard, she was ready for them. They’d be on her case, no doubt about it. They’d nagged her into accepting the Miss Elk Tooth title back in Montana, even though she’d never entered the contest; they’d nagged her into taking the Miss Texas Barmaid title and the Cowboys’ Dream Girl title and all the rest.

But Queen of the Cowgirls? That was going much too far. What about truth in advertising?

Niki turned toward the bar, stifling a smile. She wasn’t a cowgirl, had never been a cowgirl, didn’t want to be a cowgirl. The fact that her family owned a dude ranch hadn’t changed her mind about that one iota. Let them saddle the horses and guide the trail rides and herd the cows. Niki was perfectly content cleaning cabins and peeling potatoes.

“Two draft beers, Ken,” she said to the mustachioed bartender. While she waited, she surveyed the room with detached interest. The large barroom with its hardwood floors and broad log pillars boasted a good-size crowd, many of them strangers in town for just a day or two for the annual festivities. Then there were always the dudes, who came and went so regularly that—

Her restless gaze stopped short on the broad back of a man standing before that god-awful display Rosie and Cleavon had made of Niki’s past exploits. It was an utter embarrassment to her that her pictures took up the entire back wall: Niki as beauty queen with satin ribbons across her chest and insincere smiles on her lips. They said it was good for business and maybe it was, but she felt funny about it just the same.

But who was the man lingering before the display? A stranger, she knew instantly, without even seeing his face. Not a dude, judging by the way he wore his jeans and western shirt, and the way he’d removed his hat and held it in front of him as he perused the wall with care.

Slim hipped and broad shouldered, long legged and narrow waisted… As she watched, he moved slightly and a beam of light from the dusty window touched his hair, turning it from dark to golden-brown. Thick hair, worn stylishly shaggy—

“Beers are ready, Nik.”

Ken’s voice snapped her out of her examination of the stranger and, gratefully, she turned. She didn’t like to be distracted that way. She wouldn’t say she was exactly down on men, but she wasn’t exactly “up” on them, either.

She delivered the beer, then bowed to the inevitable and made her way to her sisters’ table. They gave her such ingratiating grins that she knew she was in for it.

“Where’s the rest of the family?” she inquired, trying to head them off at the pass.

“Granny took the kids home and the men are rounding up dudes,” Dani said. “Toni and I thought we’d drop by and say hello to the next Queen of the Cowgirls.” Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” Niki dredged up a resentful smile. Suddenly she straightened beneath the impact of a new thought. “Did you two enter me in that contest?” It was more accusation than question. “Because if you did, I swear I’ll—”

“Not me!” Dani threw up her hands and looked at Toni.

“Not me, either, although obviously somebody did. But now that it’s happened…” She fixed Niki with an assessing stare. “You might have been a bit hasty, Nik. This is a biggie.”

“Oh, really!”

“Don’t scoff, this contest is national. The winner gets a modeling contract and a year’s worth of public appearances for that clothing company. What’s the name…?”

“Mother Hubbard.” Niki looked down at herself. “As luck would have it, I wear a lot of clothes from that label.”

“It’s fate,” Toni declared. “The winner also gets a great Mother Hubbard wardrobe.”

Niki groaned. “Like I care? I can afford to buy my own clothes. Look, we’re really busy around here. Can I get you something or did you just drop by to torment me?”

“I’ll have a diet anything,” Dani said.

“Me, too,” Toni agreed. “But seriously, Niki, you should think this over more carefully. If you were Queen of the Cowgirls, it’d be great for the town, and the ranch, too.”

Niki didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at that comment. “Antoinette Keene, you bite your tongue! I’m not even a cowgirl, let alone queen. They could get me for fraud.”

“Don’t be silly.” Dani waved a hand airily. “It’s just a name. They don’t care if you’re really a cowgirl, they just care if you look good in their clothes. And you do, so what’s the problem?”

“The problem, Sister dear, is that I’d feel like a fraud whether anyone else thought so or not. Plus I don’t want to be a model—” She shuddered. “—and I sure don’t want to get tied up for an entire year.”

“But the town! The ranch!”

“Are doing very well, thank you very much.” Niki glanced around restlessly. “Look, I’m perfectly happy with my life as it is. I don’t need any new complications.”

“Maybe you won’t win,” Toni suggested hopefully. “I mean, silly as that seems, there are eleven other finalists according to what I read in some magazine or other. The winner will be chosen in Dallas, I think it is. So you could just take the publicity for being a finalist—for the good of the town, of course—and hope you’d lose.”

Nikki shivered. “Do you have any idea how much I would detest standing up with eleven other contestants to be judged like a Holstein cow? If I was ever in doubt—and I wasn’t!—you just made the decision for me, Toni. No, no, a thousand times no. End of conversation.”

“But—”

“Hey, Niki!”

Niki turned toward the voice automatically, then grimaced. “Oh, good lord, there’s the reporter from the Hard Knox Hard Times. Don’t tell me she wants to talk about this cowgirl nonsense!”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Dani said smugly, “but it’s a big deal, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“I’m too busy.” With a quick wave toward the reporter, Niki shrugged as if she had no choice, then turned toward the bar. “I’ll get those sodas right away.”

“Coward!” Toni called after her fleeing sister.

Niki ignored that unjust comment.

THE SALOON was so dim that with his dark glasses firmly in place, Clay could barely see to make his way across the room between crowded tables and thick log supports. He’d spotted an empty table behind one of the broad beams near where the Keene sisters sat. If he could just reach it before someone else spotted it—

Stepping around the log barrier, he came face-to-face with a cowboy who looked equally startled.

“Sorry,” Clay said, “but I’m after that—”

Table. The one at which the young cowboy now sat, smiling up ingenuously.

“No problem,” the cowboy said. He stuck out his hand. “Name’s Dylan Sawyer. You lookin’ for a place to sit?”

No, Clay was tempted to snap back, I just enjoy dashing across crowded rooms. Instead he said, “Yeah, and I almost had one.” He shook the other man’s hand. “Call me Clay.”

Dylan Sawyer nodded. “Will do. I’m expectin’ a few friends, but you’re welcome to join us.” He indicated an empty chair.

Clay didn’t have to be asked twice. Sitting down, he put his hat, brim up, on the table. “You work around here?” he inquired.

Dylan nodded. “At the Bar-K.”

Clay’s scalp prickled. “I…think I’ve heard of it.”

“Belongs to the Keene triplets. You a stranger?”

“Just passing through.”

“You still might’a seen Niki Keene earlier when they tried to give her that Cowgirl prize, whatever it was.”

“Queen of the Cowgirls. Yeah, I saw. But… I thought she was just a finalist.”

Dylan laughed incredulously. “Same difference. I figure it’s in the bag. That is, if anybody can get her to change her mind about pullin’ out of the contest.”

Civic pride accounted for the young cowboy’s confidence, Clay figured. Curiosity made him add, “Think she’ll go for it?”

“Who knows.” Dylan shrugged. “But if she does, she’ll win and I’d put money on that. I mean, did you ever see a better-lookin’ woman in your entire life?” Twisting around in his chair, he stared pointedly at the bar where Niki was picking up another tray of drinks. “She’s real nice, too.”

“She’s a looker, all right,” Clay conceded softly.

And just at that very moment she looked up and her gaze locked with his.

THE STRANGER’S bold stare shot through Niki like a jolt of electricity and she caught her breath. It was the man she’d seen before, only she’d seen him from the back. He’d been looking at her pictures and now he was looking at her with an intensity that made her pulse pound. Questions arose.

Why in the world was a cowboy wearing dark glasses in a dim bar?

And why was he sitting at a table with Dylan Sawyer as if they were old friends?

“Niki, table nine’s waitin’ for those drinks.”

“Sorry, Ken.” Flustered, she picked up the tray and tried to ignore the stranger. She was sure she couldn’t actually feel his gaze pinned between her shoulder blades but it certainly seemed as if she could. Every hair on her head prickled with awareness.

And she was going to have to walk up to that table and take his order. Sure, she could get Tracy to do it but that would be cowardly. Niki was no coward.

Beers delivered, she straightened her shoulders and pasted a smile on her lips. For a moment she was tempted to find that reporter and subject herself to the unavoidable newspaper interview, but that would only delay the inevitable.

Chin up, she approached the two men. The closer she got, the better the stranger looked—except she couldn’t see his eyes. She could see the hard jaw that contrasted so strikingly with a full and sexy mouth, though. When he smiled his teeth were an even white flash against dark skin.

“Dylan.” She acknowledged the young rider for the Bar-K with a dip of her head. Her gaze swept over to include his companion. “You gentlemen ready to name your poison?”

“I’ll have a draft,” Dylan said. “Clay?”

For a moment the stranger named Clay hesitated. Then he rose slowly, strong hands braced on the tabletop and sunglass-shaded gaze boring holes in her. “I guess there’s nothing here I really want,” he said, softly and politely. Picking up his hat, he nodded, turned and walked out of the saloon.

Niki stared after him, lips parted in astonishment. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

The man hadn’t been talking about a drink at all. He’d had something entirely different on his mind and she didn’t think she liked the possibilities that presented.

“Beer coming up,” she snapped at Dylan, as if it were his fault. And for the rest of the day she brooded about the good-looking stranger who might have been putting her down…or maybe not.