His Tomboy Bride

If he saw the changes she’d implemented on the Rocking G, then he’d know for certain she could make well-thought-out, intelligent decisions. Maybe he’d be impressed. He’d see she wasn’t a girl under the spell of puppy love. He’d see her as a strong-willed woman who could run a ranch and marry any man she damn well pleased.

“That’s a good idea,” he said.

His voice resonated inside her like a gust of warm air. His hot gaze traveled the length of her, tracing every curve from the round of her breast to the indentation of her waist and swell of her hips. Her body tingled with his lingering glance. Far more vulnerable in these layers of lace than she cared to admit, Billie longed for her denim jeans and muddy boots.

“She’ll probably put you to work.” Martha smiled and turned her attention to the satin trim along the bottom of the veil.

“I don’t mind hard work.” His rough, work-worn hands emphasized the truth of his statement. He gave Billie a mischievous grin that set her nerves on edge.

No one had ever looked at her as Nick did now. It unraveled her composure. It made her jittery. But it also gave her a smug confidence she’d never experienced. She’d always known she could ride or rope as well as any cowboy. But she’d never known she could turn a man’s head. Or was she only wishing she’d caught Nick’s attention now?

“And we’ll talk,” he warned.

Terrific, Billie thought, just what she needed—a heart-to-heart with the man who’d unknowingly stolen part of hers.

Inside the barn, Nick inhaled the musty scent of baled hay and the sweet aroma of rolled oats. Memories assaulted his senses, reminding him of long days spent in the saddle...backbreaking workdays, happy days when Mr. Gunther would ask him to give Jake and Billie a hand with their chores. Those times seemed old and dim compared to the vibrant image before him. Billie walked out of a stall leading a sleek, chestnut quarter horse.

Even though she tried to hide the facts under an oversize plaid shirt, the evidence was clear—she was all woman. Her faded jeans hugged her slim hips as intimately as a man longed to hold a woman. The soft denim clung to her long legs and ended with frayed threads curling across well-worn black boots that boasted more cow manure and scratches than shine. With each step, she exuded confidence. He couldn’t decide which way he liked her best—rough as an ordinary cowhand or elegant as any New York model. Or which wreaked more havoc on his libido.

“How long has it been since you’ve ridden horseback?” Billie asked, a smirk tugging her lips into a half smile.

“High school, I guess,” he said, leaning against a stall door where he’d draped his jacket. The warmth of the day had encouraged him to roll up the sleeves of his starched white shirt “When Jake and I rode in that local rodeo. Remember? That was the day I knew I wasn’t cut out for getting dumped in the dirt and stomped on like a rag doll.”

Actually his dad’s dream of handing the business over to him had been the deciding factor. It had been his dream, too. But it hadn’t turned out the way he’d imagined.

“You decided you’d rather dig in the dirt?” A teasing smile pulled at her mouth.

“I let others do the digging. I’m the boss, remember?” His grin slowly faded with well-worn memories. “I always did like working with my dad, though.”

He missed not being able to anymore. He’d always imagined them working side by side, building their construction company together. Tom Latham had retired and left his company entirely to his son’s management. Sink or swim, it was up to Nick. Over the past five years his enjoyment had been squashed under the impact of reality. He’d liked working with his hands, building things, taking pride in his work. Now, running Latham Construction on his own kept him busy with management problems, obtaining permits, bidding on new contracts, handling employee relations. All the work and none of the fun.

“How is your dad?” she asked, her eyes full of interest and concern.

“Fine. Enjoying the easy life.”

She nodded and turned back to her horse, smoothing her hand over the broad expanse of its back. “I remember your dad whooping and hollering for you at that rodeo,” she said with husky warmth in her voice. “Didn’t you get thrown?”

His shoulders snapped to attention. “Hell, who wouldn’t have? That was a rank ol’ bronc. If I recall, Jake didn’t fare so well, either. And your fiancе didn’t even have the guts to try.”

“A real man doesn’t have to ride a bronc to prove himself.”

“Ah, so that explains Schaeffer’s...disinterest.” Nick grinned.

She gave him a tight smile and slipped a snaffle bit into the horse’s mouth, then slid a bridle over its head. Each movement shifted the unbuttoned plaid shirt and gave him a glimpse of the skimpier white cotton top beneath. The material stretched across her full breasts and lifted a notch to expose her smooth, flat stomach, which was two shades paler than her face and arms. His gut clenched tight as a Boy Scout knot.

Guilt lifted his gaze and urged him to give her an apology. But she didn’t seem to notice him. Her attention was focused on the horse. She lovingly stroked the mare’s nose. She had a way with animals. Her father had often entrusted her to care for scrawny calves that wouldn’t nurse, and she’d turned them into big, strong beasts.

“I recall—” Nick rubbed his jaw “—you were plenty interested in cowboys back then. Weren’t you worried about me? Didn’t you run out into the arena to see if I was all right?”

He remembered Billie rushing toward him as he lay in the dirt, his pride bruised as much as his backside. Fear had creased her brow, clouded her eyes. Embarrassment had pushed him onto his feet despite the pain in his knee. He’d brushed past her, trying to hide his limp.

Now, for some odd reason, a part of him longed for her to show some concern again. It made no sense. He didn’t need her, any more than he needed anyone else. Being near her unsettled him. Maybe he was simply feeling nostalgic, wishing for a simpler, easier time.

Her cheeks brightened to an enticing pink. She reached for a blue-and-green-plaid saddle blanket. “I was a silly schoolgirl then.” One of her shoulders lifted as if she shrugged off the memory. “You were grumpy as an old bear, growling at me to leave you alone.”

He chuckled. She’d cared about him once. Had those feelings faded like the blue in her jeans? Of course they had, he realized as disappointment pinched his already knotted gut. “No guy wants attention drawn to him when he’s just landed on his rump in front of a hometown crowd. I wanted to lick my wounds in private.”

“Well, trust me, if you get thrown today, I’ll ignore You: ”

“No, you won’t. You’ll laugh.”

“Maybe.” She gave him a sly wink and laid the saddle blanket over the horse’s back.

“You won’t offer to kiss it and make it all better?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. They were a mistake. Instantly he regretted them, but he found himself holding his breath, watching her with more anticipation than he should have, waiting for her response.

Her eyes darkened like a cloud blotting out the sun. “I’m an engaged woman.”

A wintry chill whipped through him. His face stiffened. He needed that reminder. He needed to get a firm handle on his feelings, his responsibilities. “What’s the mare’s name?”

Billie’s eyes narrowed, then she looked at her horse. She nuzzled the side of the mare’s neck. “Calamity.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is she a klutz? Or always causing trouble?”

Billie grinned, her white teeth flashing against her honey-colored tan. “If there’s a root snaking over the ground, she’ll find it and trip. If there’s a gopher hole, she’s bound to step in it. She’s been lucky not to hurt herself too badly. But she’s great with rounding up calves. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

He watched Billie’s hands move over the horse in a loving, confident manner. He remembered how she’d cared for her father’s animals, staying up late to help a colt enter the world, handling vaccinations deftly, crying when a sick kitten couldn’t be saved. She had a tender heart. And he wouldn’t let Doug Schaeffer trample it.

Billie flung a saddle over Calamity’s back. Nick stepped to the side, bent and handed her the leather girth beneath. Their fingers brushed. His smile disappeared. With supreme effort, he clamped down on the desire to find out what it would feel like to hold her for real this time.

“You still remember which side to mount on?” she asked, humor lacing her words.

“Just give me a running start,” he said, wondering if her mind swam with the same memories. Focusing on the past helped him picture the future. Billie was getting married—to someone else.

She glanced at him, a question lighting her eyes, then laughter burst out of her, the full, throaty sound stirring his interest again. “Oh, God, you remember that?”

“How could I forget you trying to ambush Jake and me like a Comanche on the warpath?”

Shaking her head, she grabbed the reins and headed out of the barn. “Come on, I’ll saddle your mount.”

“Which one am I riding?” he asked, stepping into the warm sunlight. The rays caught the gold shimmering highlights in Billie’s blond hair and the intensity of her blue eyes.

“Diablo. You remember him, don’t you?”

How could he forget Jake’s surly black gelding that liked to kick and bite more than Billie the Kid? He nodded, wishing he’d brought his old rusted spurs. “Meanest bronc this side of the Red River.”

Her mouth twitched as if she couldn’t decide if she should smile. He figured she’d hold her laughter till he got thrown and busted his butt. She looped Calamity’s reins loosely over a post, grabbed a rope and walked down the fence line. “Come on, we’ve got to catch him first. He’s not very sociable these days.”

When had Diablo ever been? Nick stuck his hands into his pockets. He was in for a long afternoon.