The Accidental Cowboy

“Surprised it’s made it this far. Jammed into your bag. Is that any way to treat it?”

He tilted the hat. “I didn’t want to forget it. It’s my lucky hat.”

She grinned, thinking, That’s what she said. Professional, she reminded herself. Make small talk. “Did you find that in London or have you been west before?”

“Edinburgh has its own Wild West street in Morningside.”

“I’d never have imagined. Is that where you became interested in Arizona and beans?”

His expression froze. “Something like that.”

He was lying. Why would he lie about that? Crap. She’d nearly missed the turnoff for the ranch. “Not long now,” she said, glancing over at the kilted giant in his cowboy hat. “Well, if you want to go to a rodeo or ride the range, let me know. I’ve got connections.” Connections that she’d mostly severed long ago, right after winning the teen bronc riding championship, but her brother or dad would show him around if she asked...nicely. Of course, then she’d be grilled about what she planned to do with her life. Right now, get this man home and into bed—that’s what she said.

* * *

LAVONDA LED HIM into the long, low, mud-colored ranch house, explaining that it had been on the property for nearly one hundred years. She acted as if that were a great deal of time. He didn’t point out the “new” part of his family home had been built before Arizona was even a territory.

“It doesn’t look like they’ve dropped off your other stuff,” she said as she opened the front door. “The delivery guys just leave whatever here on the front porch. The woman who built the house was originally from Georgia and insisted a house wasn’t a home without a porch, although she probably called it a ‘veranda.’”

He stepped into the dim house, feeling taller than usual. The ceilings didn’t soar and the pixie of a woman who, he’d been told, cared for the property barely reached his shoulder. His nose twitched. “Is that a cat?” he accused, pointing at a feline that was wider than it was tall.

“Um...yeah?” Lavonda said as she kept moving despite the cat’s yowl.

“Get it out.”

“Excuse me? That’s Cat.”

“I bloody well know it’s a cat.” He sneezed. “No one told me you had a bloody cat.”

“The cat’s name is Cat. Why would anyone tell you about her?”

“Because I’m allergic.” Usually cats just made him sneeze. He hadn’t had a full-blown asthma attack since he was a child. He stumbled outside where the desert heat hit him like an anvil in one of those American coyote cartoons. He leaned over and made himself breathe slowly out and in. The stress and jet lag had laid him low, obviously.

“Should I call nine-one-one?” Lavonda asked, her dark eyes even wider than usual.

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine in a moment, but you need to remove that animal.” The damned thing had followed them outside. He stepped away. It followed him, trying to rub against his stockinged leg. Dignity be damned, he danced away and batted at the feline.

“Cat,” Lavonda said, reaching forward, snatching up her pet and dumping it in the yard.

“Has that animal been living in the house?” He’d have to dose himself with antihistamines. Good thing he’d be out in the field soon.

“She usually hangs out in the barn with Reese. They are in one of those weird different-species friendships.”

Damn it. Why couldn’t one thing go smoothly today? Just one bleedin’ thing? “My allergy medication is in the cases that have not been delivered. We’ll need to take a trip to the shops after all.” His eyes itched, but he refused to give in and rub them. He should be right as rain with over-the-counter tablets.

Her frown quickly turned it into a smile. “Sure. Anything else? Maybe you should check the fridge to see what we’re missing.”

His stash of Hobnob biscuits was in the other luggage, too. This sort of day called for a pint and his favorite oat biscuits—or should he say cookies now that he was in the US? Why had he thought flying all night followed by an afternoon at the games would be a good idea? Because he was an ass, his brother would say. Actually, it was even worse. He’d mixed up the dates and thought the games were next week. When he’d figured out the mistake, it’d been too late to back out.

“Check the fridge, then we’ll run to the store,” Lavonda said with a patient smile.

He sneezed. Damned cat.

* * *

BY THE TIME they got back to the ranch, he was so tired that even the dusty ground in front of the house looked comfortable. On top of the jet lag, the medicine had made him drowsy and a little dizzy. Though that may have been from lack of food. He should have let her talk him into stopping at the caravan parked beside the road in town. She’d said it had the best tamales and fry bread. He’d just been too tired. He wanted a bed now. “Which is my room?”

“Any, really. They all have linens—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish, going to the nearest room and dropping his duffel on the floor, followed by his shirt, shoes, stockings and kilt. He should take a shower. He had a rank odor of travel and competition about him. Tomorrow. He’d do that tomorrow. He stepped forward, looked down and stopped.

“Lavonda.” He choked out the name, totally awake now. “Ms. Leigh.” His voice finally reached an adequate volume.

“Yes,” she said tentatively as she knocked on the door. “What did you need?”

“Come in, please.” He didn’t take his eyes from the creature on his foot.

“Did you forget to get something at the store? It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Damn,” she said suddenly with feeling. “It didn’t get you, did it?”

“No.”

“Good. The sting won’t kill you, but it hurts like heck. Let me think a second.” She stepped completely into the bedroom.

His foot twitched all on its own, and the mammoth insect moved. “It would seem logical that the job of caretaker include ensuring all vermin have been eliminated?” Good, Jones, upset the one person who can help you. Maybe he could just kick out his foot, except now the beast had scrambled onto his ankle.

* * *

LAVONDA STARED AT the nasty, pissed-off bug as the TV news crawl flashed through her mind: Scottish professor killed by rogue scorpion as caretaker does nothing. She could stamp on it. No. It had moved up his leg toward—she’d keep her gaze from moving farther up his almost naked body. “Don’t move.”

“I had not planned to. Maybe you could swat it away with a stick?”

That was a good suggestion. She looked around the room. Nothing here. “I’ll be right back.”

“Certainly.”

He was pale, though she wasn’t sure if that was a usual lack-of-sun complexion or the bug on his foot. She had to admit it took balls—no, that was wrong. It took courage to stand still like that. She looked at the courage in question... What was her problem? The man could die... Okay, probably not from a scorpion, but still. She had started out of the room, when Cat came streaking in, howling like an animal possessed.

“What the bloody—”

“Cat,” she yelled as the animal landed on his foot, batting the bug away and then pouncing on it like the puma she apparently thought she was. With a triumphant meow, she squashed the scorpion. The professor sneezed. Cat sat, looking regal and pleased above the mess of bug innards.

“I guess I don’t need that stick,” Lavonda said lamely. “Cat saved you.”

She looked up from Cat and her prey. Jones stood in just his underwear, limned in gold from the last rays of the setting sun as it sparked off the hairs on his arms and legs, all of him very fit and substantial.

“Perhaps...” He sniffed loudly, then sneezed.

“Of course,” she said, and as she lunged forward to get Cat, she brushed against—oh my, that wasn’t his thigh. That was his courage. She looked up into his watering and surprised eyes. “Sorry?” Only she wasn’t. Crap. The body part in question seemed to be ignoring the fact that he had just narrowly avoided death. She scurried back. He turned and groped on the floor for his kilt. He wrapped it around his waist and buckled it on. He didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about...