The Man Who Had Everything

He stopped. Turned.

She stuck out a hip and propped a fist on it. “Buy a girl a drink?”

He grunted. “It’s barely noon.”

She hurried to catch up and looped her arm with his. “A root beer will do.” She linked her arm with his. “Love that hat.” It was leather, floppy and silly and it made her smile. And he was so big and tall and handsome, even in his pink long-john shirt and dirty bandanna. Just looking up at him had her heart beating faster. He was her favorite cowboy and he always had been.

He groused, “As a matter of fact, I was just thinking about where I could go to change.” The good news was he made no effort to pull away from her. In fact, he looked down at her as if he never wanted to leave her side—and hated himself because of it.

She could almost feel sorry for him. If she wasn’t so dang happy to be the object of his guilty lust. “You can’t change your clothes.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Well, if you change, then I’ll change. You know you’d hate that.”

A smile tried to tug at the edges of his scowl. “Okay. I admit it. You look damn cute in that skirt.”

“Thank you.” She shook the arm that wasn’t clutching his, making the fringe dance. “It’s this fringe, right? You just love a lot of fringe on a woman.”

“Er…that’s it. The fringe.”

The loudspeakers over by the grandstand in front of the town hall crackled to life and over the noise of the crowd, they heard the voice of the honorable Philo T. Brookhurst, town mayor. “Folks, step back off the street now. Time to cordon off Main from South Main to Nugget. We’re gearing up fast for the annual Thunder Canyon Races. Get your kids ready to win a twenty-dollar prize.”

She let go of his arm and grabbed his hand. “Come on. The toddlers run first. They’re always so cute, the way they forget where they’re going and wander off in all directions. Let’s get us a good spot.”

She hauled him along behind her, weaving her way through the crowd. He didn’t try to protest, so she figured she had him—for the moment anyway.

And she did. She had him.

He stayed close at her side. He bought her that root beer and they watched the races, every one of them, from the plump toddlers on up to the final race for “octogenarians and above.” A ninety-five-year-old woman won that one. She held up her twenty-dollar prize and let out a whoop you could hear all the way to Billings. Then the old gal threw her arms around the mayor’s thick neck and planted a big smacker right on his handlebar moustache.

Steph leaned close to Grant and teased in a whisper, “Now that is a feisty woman.”

“Yeah.” He sent her a smoldering look, one that strayed to her mouth. She wished with all her heart that he would kiss her. Right there on Main Street, with the whole town watching. But he didn’t. He only whispered back, “Damn spunky, and that is no lie.”

After the races, Steph gave Grant no time to start making those see-you-later noises. She asked him for a ride over to the fairgrounds. After all, she told him sweetly, Rufus had taken her pickup to pull Trixiebelle’s trailer over there for her.

What could he say? He would never leave her stranded without a ride.

He’d parked his black Range Rover behind the town hall.

“Very nice,” she told him, once she’d climbed up into the plush embrace of the leather passenger seat. She sniffed the air. “Mmm. Smells like money in here.”

“Smart aleck,” he muttered as he stuck the key into the ignition. Before he could turn it over, she reached across and laid her hand on his.

Heat. Oh, she did love the feel of that. Every time she touched him, a jolt of something hot and bright went zipping all through her body. Making her grin. Making her shiver in the most delightful way.

“Steph,” he warned, low and rough.

She leaned closer. “Kiss me.”

He was looking at her mouth again. “You’re just asking for trouble, you know that?”

“Uh-uh. I’m not…”

“Oh, no?”

“What I’m asking for is a kiss.” She dared to let her fingers trail up his arm. Amazing, that arm. So warm and hard and muscular beneath the grimy pink sleeve of his long johns.

“A kiss?” he repeated, still staring at her mouth.

“Yeah. A long, slow, wet one.” She brushed the side of his neck with her forefinger and felt a shudder go through him. “That’s what I want. And I know that you know the kind I mean…”

He said her name again, this time kind of desperately.

“Oh, yeah,” she whispered as he leaned in that extra fraction of an inch and pressed his lips to hers.

Oh, my. He tasted so good. She opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside, throwing her arms around him, letting out a moan of pure joy.

He stopped it much too soon. Taking her by the elbows, he peeled her off him and held her at arm’s length.

She tried to look innocent. “What? You don’t like kissing me?”

He said something under his breath, a very bad word. “You know I do. And if you keep this up…”

“What? You’ll make love to me? Oh, now wouldn’t that be horrible?”

“You’re just a kid and you—”

She swore then, a word every bit as bad as the one he’d used. “Maybe you’d like to see my driver’s license. It’s got my birthday right on there, in case you forgot how old I am.”

“You know what I mean. You don’t…date a lot.”

Gently she pulled free of his grip. “And you do. I know that. I’m not some dreamy fool, though you keep trying to convince yourself I am.”

He actually looked flustered, his face red and his blue eyes full of tender indecision. “I…meant what I said last night, that’s all. It wouldn’t last. And you’d end up hating me. I couldn’t take that.”

She held his eyes and banished all hint of teasing from her tone as she told him, “No matter what happens, Grant, I’ll never hate you.”

“You say that now…”

“Because it’s true.” She hooked her seat belt. When he didn’t move, she slanted him another glance. “Come on. Let’s go. The barrel race is up first. I have to track Rufus down and get my horse.”

For a moment, she thought he’d say more. But then he only swore again and reached for the key to start the engine.

* * *

She lost the barrel race.