Big City Cowboy

Elizabeth shook her head. “Sure he’s good-looking, but what’s so fantastic about a cowboy? I don’t get it. They smell like horses. They spend a good part of their days cleaning manure out of barn stalls. What about that inspires romance?”

Claire looked ready to tackle the cowboy. “They’re so rugged. So strong.”

“Janice Rogers and party,” cowboy hottie called out in a lazy drawl.

“That’s me, or us, rather.” Janice waved her hand and gave him a big smile.

“Let’s see about getting you ladies on some horses.” He pointed to Claire. “Come with me.”

Claire beamed and practically ran over Laura to get to the cowboy. Then she introduced herself, giggled and tossed her hair.

Elizabeth laughed. Watching this show unfold might be fun, after all.

The ranch hand tilted his hat and nodded. “Rory.”

“Even his name’s gorgeous,” Laura crooned dreamily to no one in particular.

“Clem, help this lady with Biscuit.”

Claire slowly started moving toward an older cowboy, but kept glancing over her shoulder at Rory all doe-eyed.

Then he motioned to Janice, who stepped on Elizabeth’s foot in her haste to reach him.

“Watch it,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Sorry,” her cousin said, but her gaze remained locked on the cowboy. If he offered to sell her the Rocky Mountains right now, she’d be whipping out her MasterCard.

Wait a minute. Elizabeth smiled. That’s exactly what she wanted people to do—open their wallets. Thank you, Lord, for sending the answer to my prayers. She just might be able to pull this campaign out of the fire.

When she’d proposed that Devlin Designs center its men’s jeans campaign on a cowboy, she’d had this type of female reaction in mind. Micah Devlin liked the idea, but not the models she’d suggested. Now she understood what he’d meant about something being missing in all the models dressed like cowboys. They weren’t authentic.

Bingo. Yes, sir. Rory could be the answer to all her problems.

By the time he motioned her forward, she had a tentative pitch mentally mapped out.

“I hope the horse knows what he’s doing, because I don’t have a clue,” she joked as an icebreaker. Starting her conversation with, “Come to New York to model designer jeans,” seemed a little abrupt. She needed to loosen the guy up first. Appear to be interested in his life here in the great outdoors.

“As long as you hold on to the reins and sit up straight, you’ll be okay. We haven’t lost anyone yet.”

“Elizabeth might be the first.” Janice laughed. “She’s not exactly athletic.”

Rory looked her up and down with eyes that were liquid gold. She could feel herself blush, something she hadn’t done in years.

“She looks like she can handle herself well enough.”

Apparently chivalry wasn’t as dead as everyone believed.

“Put your left foot in the stirrup,” Rory said as he pointed toward the saddle. “Then grab hold of the saddle horn with your right hand and pull up while you swing your leg over.”

She glanced at the horse, an amazingly large one, and then back at Rory. The man had to be kidding. “Have you noticed how big the horse is, and how short I am? There’s no way I can get up there.”

“You are a little thing,” he said, smiling.

Again, she blushed. This blushing was getting a little out of control.

“I’ll help you.”

How, exactly? She pictured this gorgeous man pushing her butt to shove her into the saddle. Could this experience get more humiliating?

She’d get on the horse on her own if it killed her. After placing her foot in the stirrup, she grabbed the saddle horn. Then she pushed off with her right foot and pulled as hard as she could. She was about to swing her leg over the saddle when she started slipping back down. Then she felt Rory’s firm hands on her rear end, and next thing she knew, she was sitting on the horse.

Now she wished she hadn’t skipped so many Pilates classes lately.

A minute later they headed off down a path into the great outdoors. The trees formed a canopy around them as they rode. The mountains loomed, harsh and demanding, making her feel incredibly insignificant.

Birds chirped. Wind rustled through the leaves. A stream babbled past. How did people stand the quiet?

Flies swarmed around her and the horse. She wanted to swat at them, but feared she’d fall off if she took one hand from the reins. To keep her mind off the insects and her already screaming thigh muscles, she focused on Rory at the front of their little caravan. The set of his shoulders spoke of his confidence. He moved in the saddle with a casual grace. Everything about him said how comfortable he was in his own skin. Then there was his voice as he tossed out tidbits about the area and its history. Slow, melodic and deep, it wrapped around her like a warm hug.

Rory pointed to the towering oak to his left. “That’s our wishing tree. If you make a wish and circle the tree three times, your wish will come true. Feel free to hop down and make a wish while we’re here.”

Laura and Claire immediately vaulted off their horses, dashed to the tree and circled it three times. “What did you wish for?” Janice called out as she joined her friends.

“I wished to find someone as wonderful as David,” Laura chirped, referring to Janice’s fiancé.

Claire giggled. “I wished Michael would propose.”

Janice dashed around the tree. “I wish that I’ll always be as happy as I am right now.”

Why did people wish for things like that? Only the foolish wished for something impossible.

“What about you?” Rory asked. He’d dismounted, and now stood beside Elizabeth.

Even if she were willing to get off her horse and risk needing Rory to give her another boost into the saddle, the only thing she’d wish for was landing him as a spokesman for the jeans campaign. Wishing wouldn’t make that happen. She’d rely on her business skills to accomplish it.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Come on, Elizabeth, make a wish,” Janice coaxed. “What could it hurt?”

If only her cousin knew.

The remainder of the ride passed in a blur of trees, rocks and mountains. Three hours later, when they returned to the corral, Elizabeth didn’t like the outdoors any better, but she knew her instincts about Rory had been dead on. He’d make the perfect spokesperson for Devlin Designs men’s jeans. He spun a good tale, which would work well in TV commercials, and then there were his looks and the way he moved. A guy either had a presence or he didn’t, and Rory had it in spades.

“I’m a management supervisor at Rayzor Sharp Media. It’s an advertising agency,” she said, ignoring her protesting muscles when he helped her off the horse. “You’d be the perfect model for one of my clients. You have a presence that can’t be taught or faked, while you’re real enough to connect with the average man.”

He laughed. Not a good sign.

“I’m not interested, but thanks for asking.”