Cowboy Proud

He was a cowboy—he didn’t understand the type of sexual byplay that involved a high-powered, corporate woman who’d walk in and out of his life so fast she’d leave his head spinning. The woman probably collected men the way most women around here collected canning jars. Store them on the shelf until she had a use for them and put them away when that usefulness passed. Cade would never allow himself to be put on a shelf any more than he would live through the daily wear and tear a relationship would bring. And what in God’s name was he doing, thinking in terms of jam jars and relationships? He’d only met Emma three hours ago. Yeah, they’d flirted, but that didn’t mean he’d be off ring shopping come morning.

The last sliver of sun disappeared behind the variable peaks and crags of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, casting the early-evening sky in broad swaths of brilliant color. The storm brewed southwest of them, spitting lightning as the winds increased and kicked up dust.

He pulled off his sunglasses and clipped them to the visor. At the rate the two of them were going, he and Emma would make it to the ranch before full dark set in roughly an hour from now. When Eli, the attorney in the family, heard how the trip had gone down, when he learned that Cade had flirted with and challenged a contractor-slash-guest about falling in love, the fact that they were blood wouldn’t keep Cade’s ass out of the sling his older brother would aim to park it in. The only blood that would matter was whatever they shed as they beat the crap out of each other. Most annoying? Cade knew he had it coming. Every. Meaty. Fist.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened until he was choking the ever-loving hell out of the black leather. Sometime in the past half hour, the radio had officially devolved to short bursts of music followed by long runs of staticky white noise. The sound skipped across his nerves like a stone across water. Every point of contact was brief but annoyingly sharp.

If the dude ranch did well, the first thing he’d invest in was satellite radio. Screw the recurring expense. They could use it to play music in the sawdust-floored dining hall during gatherings and events. Hell, if he was going off the deep end anyway, maybe he’d forgo his cautious nature altogether and order the setup when he got home. He’d even add a second receiver to his truck as a personal bonus.

Mind on the possibilities of satellite radio, Cade reached out and turned down the volume, switching the output from FM to CD. Tyler Farr’s voice poured out of the sound system, his mournful song telling a story of heartbreak and betrayal. If Cade’s soul could have audibly sighed, it would have. Good music always did that for him, helping him calm and find his center no matter how strung out he was. Years of habit made Cade take a couple of deep breaths. Settling into the music, he began to sing.

Emma rounded on him, eyes wide. With deliberate care, she slipped her sunglasses into her short hair, little strands standing out in every direction. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Cade jerked, twisting the steering wheel to the right as he shot Emma a sharp look. “Singing. Why? Would you rather listen to the static?” He reached for the radio controls, surprised when she gripped his wrist hard enough the smaller bones ground together. Extricating his hand, his reproach was gentle. “That’s my roping hand.”

“Sorry.” Her apology, issued on a single breath, seemed almost anxious. “Will you sing some more?”

His brow creased. “Why?”

“Your voice is...” She waggled one hand between them before flattening it over her heart and drawing a slow, deep breath. “I’ve never heard anything as striking. Beautiful, even.”

Heat burned across his cheeks and he wished the option to hide behind his sunglasses still existed. “I don’t usually, uh, sing. For people.”

Her eyes widened. “Why on earth not? Your voice is amazing!”

“My mother...” He hesitated.

“She must have been proud,” Emma said on a soft smile.

“She died when I was nine. Last request she had was that I sing her to sleep.” His eyes burned, piquing both his irritation and his embarrassment. He tried to clear the gruffness from his throat.

She moved forward a fraction, froze, then settled deeper into her seat. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I can relate, though. I lost both of my parents at once.”

“Accident?”

She nodded. “Two years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too, but probably not as sorry as you were—are—about your mother.” Heat stained her cheeks a deep rose. “Forget I said that. I apologize.”

“I’m surprised the fact we lost her so early on didn’t make it into the commercial file you have on the ranch.”

“Why would it?”

“Just seems it would’ve been a marketing ploy—three brothers brought together after the loss of their mother but driven in different directions.” He shrugged. “Almost seems too easy to avoid using.”

“I would never exploit your pain that way,” she bit out.

“You don’t seem the type, maybe, but what about the guy that’s been working with Eli? What’s his name...” He rubbed his chin. “Michael?”

“Your account’s in my hands now. I won’t take easy routes or cheap shots.”

The invisible fist around his heart eased up some, but he couldn’t thank her. Not yet. The most he could manage was, “Good to know.”

“I’ve been working my way through the file. Michael has a lot of notes, so it’s taking a bit to sort through it all.”

He shot her a hard glance. “Cutting it a little close, having someone new take over so near the event. You don’t—can’t—possibly understand what we want for the place.” Or, more importantly, what they didn’t want.

Emma nodded. “In general, I agree. But what I’m envisioning as we drive is a remoteness that’s become a way of life, a sense of total privacy, of communion with your heritage and your responsibilities to earth and animal. Definitely not the big, commercial, circus-y production you find in lower-end travel brochures.”

Cade fought the urge to let gravity have its way with his jaw, pulling the damn thing open. How could she possibly key into the very things that were important to the family? How could she read all of them so well without ever having met them? “Is that what Michael had in his notes?” It was the only explanation.

Grimacing, she shook her head. “He had plans for showy ads and more adventure-style photography. I’ll have a lot to do to change directions in two weeks, but it can be done. First thing I’ll do tonight is issue, via email, a formal stop order for all advertising until I can provide new directives in writing. I want a paper trail. Then I’ll revisit the long-term exposure plans that Michael created for your account.”

Shooting her yet another quick glance, he was surprised at the ferocity on her face. “Problems in paradise?”

“While there are undeniable perks, the reality is that owning your own commercial business is far from paradise.” Her eyelids fluttered shut, her head thumping the headrest. “Let’s leave this conversation with ‘I’m looking into it’ and fully intend to keep your account on my personal client list.”

Hmm. “Dun & Bradstreet didn’t give you a bad report by any means, but Eli said your creditworthiness had slipped in the last twenty-four months due to some serious fluctuations in cash flow when compared to the previous five years.” The shock on her face said she hadn’t expected them to do such intensive research on her.

“If you have concerns regarding my company’s financial stability or my ability to do my job—” she started, but Cade cut her off.

“We hired you. That ought to tell you everything you need to know. We’re not the type to make poor business decisions.” He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “We can’t afford to.”

The next few mile markers passed in silence, the emotional tension escalating inside the truck seeming to rival the storm building outside. Anxiety crackled between them as true as Mother Nature’s lightning did between sky and earth. The charge in the air gave off the same general discomfort, the kind that said, “Take cover.” Cade tried to reduce the strain by changing the subject.

“I’ve never been to New York,” he offered.

“Hmm.” Emma continued to stare out the window.

“You can do better than that, Graystone.” So could he. “Tell me something about yourself, seeing as none of us have really talked to you.”

“What would you like me to volunteer?” The question was polite but lacked the force of personality she’d shown.

“You single?”

Surprise colored her cheeks and brightened her eyes as she whipped around to face him. “What? That’s irrelevant when it comes to our business dealings.”

He fought the urge to grin. “Not really. The bet still stands. Love or loathing. No way can I win if you’re going home to someone in two weeks, someone who’s already got your heart. Of course,” he said, openly considering her, “I can’t imagine you’re the type to take such a wager if you had someone back home. And I doubt you’d have such a...unique take on happy endings if you were working toward your own, would you.”

When she didn’t answer, he rested his right forearm against the headrest on her seat, letting his fingers trace the silken skin of her neck. He was struck by the urge to move his fingers higher. Following the instinct, he played through the hair at her nape. Soft but thick.

He fought the craving to massage up her neck until he could play with the thick mass over her crown. He should move away, stop touching her, his personal temptation, without remorse. He was about to pull his hand away when she made a slight sound of encouragement. “Feel good?”

“Didn’t realize how stressed I’ve been.”

“So, will you answer me?” he said gently, never ceasing his tender attention.