A Cowboy Comes A Courting

“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.