Читать книгу The Cowboy Upstairs - Tanya Michaels - Страница 10

Chapter One

“Sorry—I was trying to listen, but I got distracted by the hot cowboy in tight jeans.” Even as Hadley made the apology, her gaze remained fixed across the dining room of the barbecue restaurant. The two women on either side of her craned their heads to look.

Across the table from the oglers, Becca Johnston sighed in exasperation. “Ladies, this is Cupid’s Bow. Good-looking cowboys in Wranglers are a common occurrence. What’s uncommon is a female mayor. So, could we focus?” If Becca won the election—no, when she won—she would be only the third woman in the town’s hundred-year history to be mayor.

Sierra Bailey, seated next to Becca, smiled in encouragement, not at all distracted by the prospect of a hot cowboy—probably because she went home to her own cowboy every night. Locals had been placing bets on when her devoted rancher would officially pop the question. “You’re going to make a wonderful mayor.”

“Thank you.” Becca truly appreciated the other woman’s support and all the hours she’d spent volunteering on the campaign, in addition to her full-time job as a physical therapist. “You’re forgiven for your poster idea.” Sierra had suggested the slogan Vote for Our Favorite Control Freak!

“If it helps,” Sierra said, “I meant it as a compliment. As Jarrett will tell you, I tend toward the bossy side myself.”

In Becca’s opinion, there was nothing freakish about wanting a life that was calm and controlled. Growing up in a house with six kids, she’d craved order. Now she planned to give that gift to her friends and neighbors.

Hadley refocused on the conversation, a glint in her dark eyes; the town librarian wasn’t as blatantly outspoken as Sierra or Becca, but God help you if you defaced a book or interrupted patrons trying to read and study in peace. “In men, they call it leadership skills, but women get called ‘bossy.’ I say good for you—both of you—for not being afraid to take charge.”

It isn’t like anyone ever gave me a choice. Unwanted responsibility had been thrust on Becca as a kid. And again two years ago when her real estate agent husband fled town after a shady investment, leaving her a suddenly single mom struggling to pay the bills. Some money from a late uncle had helped her survive while she brainstormed new revenue streams, but survival wasn’t enough. She wanted to triumph.

While Hadley had, thankfully, regained her concentration, Irene and Anita were still staring after the unseen cowboy.

“Who do you think he is?” Anita asked with a sigh. “Besides my future husband.”

“Wait—none of you recognize him?” Becca swiveled in her chair, craning her head for a better look. She needed to know as many constituents as possible; if he was new to town, she should introduce herself. Then again, if a “hot cowboy” had just moved to Cupid’s Bow, wouldn’t she have heard the gossip by now? The local grapevine prided itself on speed and thoroughness.

She blinked at her first glimpse of the man. Wow. Hadley hadn’t exaggerated his appeal. Unlike her friends, Becca wasn’t usually drawn to rugged men. Her ideal type was more polished and urbane, like her ex-husband.

The man in the weathered straw cowboy hat stood facing local rancher Brody Davenport as they waited for a table; she could see only the stranger’s profile, but it was impressive. Beneath the brim of his hat, a few curls of rich brown hair fell toward his eyes. His striking cheekbones were flawless and not even the unshaven stubble of an auburn-tinged beard lessened the effect of his strong jaw. And then there were his wide shoulders, corded forearms and, as promised, the breathtaking way he filled out his je—

Oh, hell. Suddenly Becca found her gaze locked with a pair of amused eyes. She couldn’t tell their color from here, but the cocky merriment as he caught her staring was unmistakable. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she whipped her head back around. But the movement made her feel cowardly. Looking in his direction wasn’t a crime, and she wasn’t one to be intimidated by a man. Ignoring the prickle of embarrassment, she glanced back toward him and offered a casual, unimpressed smile.

He smirked.

Arrogant cowboy. She didn’t want him; she’d just wanted his vote.

* * *

DESPITE BEING HUNGRY and eager to try the barbecue Brody claimed was the best in Texas, Sawyer McCall was irrationally annoyed when the hostess showed them to a booth around the corner. Following her meant he couldn’t get a better look at the group of women on the other side of the restaurant—specifically, the woman with pale red-gold hair who’d been scoping him out with such frank appreciation before she’d studiously tried to pretend otherwise.

Too late, sweetheart. She couldn’t erase the spark of awareness they’d shared.

Once seated at the booth, he and Brody ordered a couple sweet teas. While Sawyer studied the laminated menu, his friend began once again praising the restaurant.

“Back when I was doing the rodeo circuit, The Smoky Pig is what I missed most about Cupid’s Bow.” Brody smiled, looking happier than Sawyer had ever seen him. “Of course, that was before Jazz came back to town, or she would have been what I missed most.” Last month, Brody had married a former high school classmate, Jasmine Tucker, who’d left Texas after graduation and returned to her hometown only a couple years ago. Brody had fallen hard.

Sawyer still couldn’t believe the bronc rider he used to go out drinking with was someone’s husband now. “I can’t wait to meet her.” He grinned slyly. “Especially if she’s as gorgeous as you say she is.” According to her proud new husband, Jasmine had been a model in New York City.

“No flirting with my wife, McCall.” Brody shot him a mock glare before his tone returned to normal. “You know the only reason you weren’t invited to the wedding is because it was so small and so far away, right?” Brody had admitted that he’d suggested the Caribbean ceremony because he’d wanted to prove he could be worldly, too—that marrying him didn’t mean being “stuck” in Cupid’s Bow.

“You sure the real reason you didn’t invite me was because you were afraid she’d take one look at me and decide I was the better-looking cowboy?” Sawyer smirked, but then said, “Nah, I understand. I think it’s great you two put a couple stamps in your passports. I’ve always had wanderlust myself.” Granted, most of Sawyer’s travels had been regional—Texas, New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming.

“On-the-Move McCall. When was the last time you were home?”

Sawyer shrugged, as if the answer didn’t matter. “My life’s a thrilling blur of cattle drives and training horses, pretty cowgirls and small-town motels.”

At the mention of motels, Brody frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us until after the trail ride? You’d be more than welcome.”

Cupid’s Bow was about to have its centennial celebration, a week of Western-themed festivities culminating in a three-day trail ride that would recreate the journey of the town’s founders; on the strength of Brody’s recommendation, Sawyer had been hired as one of the ride leaders. Getting here a week early allowed him plenty of time to catch up with his friend, a chance to compete in a rodeo in the next county and the opportunity to finish a series of articles he’d been writing for a Texas travel magazine. Plus, you had nowhere else to be. He hadn’t been back to the family spread since his older brother had made it clear Sawyer was no more than a glorified ranch hand.

“I appreciate the offer of letting me bunk with you.” Originally, that had been Sawyer’s plan...or as close as he came to “planning” in advance. But he’d realized today just how smitten Brody was and how awkward the role of third wheel would be. “You and Jazz are newlyweds, though. You don’t need me underfoot. I’ll check into a hotel after lunch.” It would be an added expense, but he’d had a good year between prize money and breeding rights for the bull he’d invested in. His only splurge was a new truck.

“Sure, there are a couple of hotels close by. Or you could—never mind.”

Sawyer raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What?”

“Well, Becca Johnston has a room to rent. Since you’ll be staying for a couple of weeks, that might be more comfortable than a hotel, but she’s—”

“You boys decided what you want to eat?” A blonde waitress with a polka-dot manicure and thick drawl set their drinks in front of them. “Sorry I took so long. Lunch rush.”

Both men ordered their entrées, but as the waitress turned to go, Brody stopped her with a question. “Hey, Leanne, how would you describe Becca Johnston?”

“Terrifyingly efficient,” she said over her shoulder.

“That pretty much nails it,” Brody agreed. As the waitress walked away, he told Sawyer, “If you rented a room from Becca, your lodgings would be spotless, the meals would be tasty and she could answer any question you ever had about Cupid’s Bow. But you don’t want to cross her. Last man who did that is still missing.”

Sawyer froze with his glass halfway to his mouth, sweet tea sloshing, but then decided his friend was messing with him. “You made up that last part.”

“Exaggerated, maybe. But it’s true no one knows where her ex-husband is—including Becca. Long story short, she’s still pretty ticked. And she would hate you.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Sawyer demanded. “I’ve been told I have a winning personality.”

“Becca likes structure and setting rules. While you...are a pain in the ass.”

“But a charming one.”

Brody snorted. “Not as charming as you think. Is that our food?” He perked up at the sight of Leanne carrying a tray in their direction.

“Do you have her phone number or address?”

“Leanne’s?” Brody asked, sounding perplexed.

“Becca’s.”

“I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea. Although, I suppose that’s why you’re pursuing it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brody gave him a knowing glance. “Never met anyone who hates being told what to do more than you.”

“It’s not like I’m being stubborn for the sheer hell of it,” Sawyer defended himself. “A private room is bound to offer more peace and quiet than a hotel filled with tourists in town for the centennial celebration.”

“I’ll give you directions to Becca’s place, but it’s your funeral if you track in mud or pick an argument with her.”

“Pretty sure I can handle myself.”

“Maybe. If not...can I have your truck?”