Thunderbolt over Texas

“Your car is fried.”

“You know, I just proposed to you.”

He stood up. “And you thought I’d say yes?”

“I’d hoped—”

“In what universe?” His voice rose, bouncing off the cabin walls. He was offended, offended on behalf of his grandmother, his ancestors and his heirs. “In what universe would I agree to marry a complete stranger and give away a family heirloom?”

She stood, too. “Oh, no. I didn’t mean—”

“I have horses to shoe.” He was done listening. She could fix her own car for all he cared, or call a taxi or hoof it up to the main road.

“Right now?” she asked.

“Right now.” He scooped a battered Stetson from a hook on the wall and stuffed it on his head.

Sydney watched Cole march out of the small log cabin. Okay, that hadn’t gone quite as well as she’d hoped. But then again, he hadn’t really given her a chance to explain. She wasn’t trying to steal the Thunderbolt. She merely wanted to display it for a few months.

She was pulling together a Viking show exceptional enough for front gallery space at the Laurent. With the Thunderbolt as the centerpiece, she would thwart Bradley Slander and save her career. All she needed was the cooperation of one cowboy.

She moved to the cabin door and watched him head up a rise while she contemplated her next move.

The man had the broadest shoulders she’d ever seen. Solid as an oak tree, he had a confident stride and a butt that could stop traffic. She watched for a few more steps, then she forced her gaze away. His butt was irrelevant. The marriage would be in name only.

Her focus had to be on the brooch, not on the man. It wasn’t as if she could put Cole on display in the front gallery. Although…

She squelched a grin and glanced at the rental car.

A breakdown, huh? Car trouble could be her ticket to more time with him. Swallowing the dregs of her coffee, she made up her mind. If that baby wasn’t broken down now, it soon would be.

She waited until Cole disappeared over the hill. Then she popped the hood, yanked out some random wires and closed it up again, hoping she’d done some serious damage.

Dusting off her hands, she tucked her clutch purse under her arm and headed up the hill.

Three-inch heels were definitely not the best choice for the Erickson Ranch. Neither was a straight skirt and loose hair. By the time she closed in on Cole, she was disheveled and out of breath. She’d scratched her hand ducking through a barbed-wire fence, got a cactus stuck to the toe of her shoe and attracted a pair of horseflies that were now moving in for the kill.

Cole looked completely unfazed by the climb. He stood a hundred yards away, on the crest of the hill, with a coiled rope in one hand. He raised his thumb and index finger to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle that she was willing to bet would get the attention of every cab driver on Fifth Avenue.

The ground rumbled beneath her feet and she took an involuntary step backward. Then she forced herself to hold still and sucked in a bracing breath. If it was a stampede, it was a stampede.

The Thunderbolt had the power to launch her career to the stratosphere. And she’d studied too long and too hard to quit now. Better to be trampled to death trying to get her hands on it than give up and become a tour guide.

A herd of some twenty horses appeared on the ridge, their manes and tails flowing in a wave of black, brown and silver. In the face of their onslaught, Cole stood his ground. He lifted his battered cowboy hat and waved it in the air. The herd slowed, parted around him, then shuffled to a stop.

Okay. Now that was sexy.

And she wasn’t dead.

The day was looking up.

Cole captured a big gray horse and led it through a gate. Sydney quickly followed. She was intimidated by the big animal, but she was more frightened of the two dozen of his friends they were leaving behind.

Cole tied up the horse then ran his hands soothingly along its neck. “Was there something about my no that was ambiguous?” he asked Sydney.

She found a log to perch on and gingerly plucked at the little round cactus on her shoe. Her skirt would probably be ruined, but that couldn’t be helped. She played dumb. “You said no?”

He turned to stare at her for a moment. “Just in case you missed it the first time, no.”

“You haven’t heard me out.”

“You’re trying to steal my family heirloom. What’s to hear out?” With a firm pat on the horse’s neck, he headed for a nearby shack.

She scrambled to her feet and followed. “I wasn’t going to keep the brooch.”

He opened the door. “Ah. Well, in that case…”

Her spirits rose. “Yes?”

“No.” His answer was flat as he retrieved a wooden box and a battered metal stand.

Once again, he hadn’t let her give enough information for a logical decision. “Are you always this unreasonable?”

“Yes.”

“You are not.”

He pulled the door shut. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Will you at least listen to my offer?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever listened to the wedding vows?”

“Of course.”

He started back to the horse. “There’s a little thing in there about loving and honoring and till death do us part. And there’s generally a preacher standing in front of you, along with your family and friends when you make those promises.”

Sydney hesitated. She hadn’t actually thought through the details of the ceremony. She’d pictured something in a courthouse, a minimum number of words, mail-order wedding bands and a chaste kiss at the end.

“I could honor you,” she offered.

He stopped and turned, leaning slightly forward to pin her with a midnight-blue stare. “Could you love me?”

Sydney stilled. What kind of a question was that?