That Wild Cowboy

“We have toast or biscuits,” he said, serving the meal so Tessa could go back inside and watch her morning shows. “Tessa’s biscuits make you want to weep with joy.”

To his surprise, she dismissed the skinny toast and grabbed one of the fat, fluffy biscuits. After slapping some fresh black-cherry jam and a tap of butter on it, she settled into the oversize chair and closed her eyes in joy.

“You’re right about that. This is one amazing biscuit.”

“Try her scrambled eggs. She uses this chipotle sauce that is dynamite.”

“I love spicy food,” Victoria replied, grabbing the spoon so she could dollop sauce across her cluster of eggs.

Clint hid his smile behind what he hoped was a firm stance of boredom. But he wasn’t bored at all. For someone who’d insisted she wasn’t hungry, she sure had a hearty appetite. He sat back and enjoyed watching her eat. “Where did you learn to speak Spanish?”

She lifted her coffee mug, her hand wrapped around the chunky center, bypassing the handle altogether. “This is Texas, right?”

He nodded, took in her tight jeans and pretty lightweight floral blouse. “Last time I checked. I mean, where did you go to school?”

She gave him a raised eyebrow stare. “In Texas.”

“Hmm. A mysterious...what are you? Producer, docu-journalist, director?”

“All of the above sometimes. Mostly, I’m a story producer, but I’ve worked in just about every area since joining the show a few years ago, first as a transcriber and then as an assistant camera person.”

“Are you always this tight-lipped?”

She finished her eggs and wiped her mouth. “Yes, especially when my mouth is full.”

And it sure was a lovely mouth. All pink, pouty and purposeful. He liked her mouth.

He waited until she’d scraped the last of her eggs off the plate and let her chew away. “When was the last time you had a good meal?”

She squinted. “I think yesterday around lunch. Does a chocolate muffin count?”

“No, it does not.” He loaded her plate again. “So you television people like to starve?”

“I’m not starving. I mean, I eat. All the time. I just got busy yesterday and...well...the time got away from me.”

“You need to eat on a regular basis.”

She gave him a look that implied he needed to back off. “I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

Clint drank his coffee and inhaled a buttered biscuit. Then he sat back and ran a hand down the beard shadow on his face. “Okay, fair enough. So, now that you’ve had some nourishment, why don’t we get down to business? Why do you want me on your show? And I do mean you—not the suits.” He leaned over the table, his gaze on her. “And what’s in it for me?”

Tilting her head until her thick honey-streaked brunette ponytail fell forward toward her face, she said, “That’s three more questions from you. I think it’s my turn now.”

Clint liked flirting, but business was business. “You don’t get off that easily. You came looking for me and I’m not signing on any dotted lines until I know what the deal is with this television show. And I’m certainly not making any decision this early in the morning. At least not until you answer my three questions, sweetheart.”

She glared at him and grabbed another biscuit.

CHAPTER TWO

VICTORIA RUBBED HER full stomach and wished she’d resisted temptation with those incredible biscuits. She was not a leggy blonde, after all. More like a petite and too-curvy brunette. And she had a job to do.

She also had another temptation to resist.

Him.

He smelled like freshly mowed hay. With his hair still damp and his five-o’clock shadow long past that hour, he looked as dangerous and bad as his reputation had implied. But he also looked a little tired and worn down.

Long night with the blonde?

Squaring her shoulders, she took in a breath and got back to business. After all, she was burning daylight just sitting here chewing the fat with this overblown cowboy.

“Okay, my producer, Samuel Murray, is a whiz at doing reality television. He has several Emmys to prove it.”

Clint nodded, leaned forward. “I got trophies for days, darlin’. And my time is valuable, so why should I sign up to have you and that fancy camera poking around in my life?”

How to explain this to a man who obviously thought he was so above being a reality?

“Well, you’ll get instant exposure. You’ll become famous all over again. You can revive your—”

Clint got up, stomped around the flagstone patio floor. “My what? Rodeo career? That’s been over for a long time. My songwriting? That’s more of a hobby, according to what I read in the papers and heard on the evening news.” He lifted his hand toward the vast acreage behind the yard. “This is it for me right now. Just a boring cattle rancher.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear and read,” Victoria replied, surprising herself and him. Why should she care how he felt or what he thought? “And the viewers love anyone who is living large.” She indicated the house with a glance back at it. “And it certainly seems as if you’re doing just that.”

Once again turning the tables on her, he asked, “And what do you believe? What have you read or heard about me? How am I living large?”

Should she be honest and let him know upfront that she despised everything he stood for? That beginning with high school and ending with a called-off wedding and later, one long kiss from him, she’d dated one too many cowboys and she’d rather be in a relationship with a CPA or a grocery store manager than someone like him? That she thought he was one walking hot mess and a complete fake?

“No need to answer that,” Clint replied, his hands tucked into the pockets of his nicely worn jeans. “I can see it in your eyes. You don’t like me and you don’t want to be here, but hey, you have a job to do, like everyone else, right?”

Victoria didn’t try to deny his spot-on observation. “Right. If we can work together, we both win. I get a nice promotion and you get the exposure you need to put your name back out there, so to speak.”

Clint lowered his head and gave her a lopsided grin. “Meaning, I can either make the best of this offer or I can show myself in a bad light and make things worse all the way around.”

She’d thought the same thing, driving out here. If he acted the way the world thought he acted, he wouldn’t win over any new fans. Or they’d love him and watch him out of a morbid fascination with celebrities doing stupid things. Watch him to make themselves feel better, if nothing else. Why the world got such a perverse pleasure out of watching others have public meltdowns was beyond her. Victoria valued her own privacy, which made her job tough sometimes. Filming someone in a bad light had not been her dream after college. But a girl had to earn a paycheck. She’d get through this. Right now she needed Clint Griffin to help her.

“I won’t lie to you,” she said, hoping to convince him. “This could work in your favor or it could go very bad. But I think people will be fascinated by your lifestyle, no matter how we slant it.”

“Oh, yeah.” He turned to grab his coffee then stared out over the sunshine playing across the pasture. “Everybody wants a piece of Clint Griffin. Why is it that people like to watch other people suffer?”

Wondering how much he was truly suffering, Victoria watched him, saw the pulse throbbing against the muscles of his jawline. Hadn’t she just thought the same thing—why people liked to watch others suffering and behaving badly?

She ignored the little twinge of guilt nudging at her brain and launched back into trying to persuade him to cooperate.

“I think people like reality television because they get to be voyeurs on what should be very private lives and they see that celebrities are humans, too.”

He turned to look at her, his eyes smoky and shuttered. “They like to watch people hurting and trying to hide that hurt. They like to see someone who’s been given everything fail at it anyway. That’s why they watch.”

“I suppose so,” she conceded. “It’s a sad fact, but today’s reality television makes for great entertainment. And I do believe you’d make a great subject for our show.”