That Wild Cowboy

HE KEPT REMEMBERING her face. It had been two days since Clint had met Victoria Calhoun but he hadn’t heard a word back from her about the so-called deal she wanted to offer him with Cowboys, Cadillacs and Cattle Drives. He’d talked to his accountant, his manager and even the family minister, but he still hadn’t decided about taking on this new venture. His accountant’s eyes had lit up at the dollars signs mentioned. His manager’s eyes had lit up at the possibility of asking for even more dollars. Greedy, both of them. The minister—probably sent by Clint’s mother to check on him concerning other areas of his life—had lit up with the possibility of more funding for some of the church mission work.

Everyone wanted something from Clint. Either to take over his soul or save his soul.

And all he wanted was one day of peace and quiet. Just one. He’d had the house to himself all week but he’d had more people dropping by than ever. He needed to get out of the state of Texas, just to rest.

Or to be restless and reckless.

But it’d be worth taking this deal to have a little fun on the side with that perky but slightly buttoned-up camera operator and production-assistant-story-time-girl-Friday named Victoria.

He’d have to make up his mind soon. Clint knew offers such as this one came and went by the dozen. But an interesting working woman? Well, he hadn’t been around many of those lately. It’d be worth his trouble to have some good times with her. That and the nice salary he’d get for agreeing to this.

He could secure a good future for his only niece, fifteen-year-old Trish, or Tater, as he always called her. His little sweet Tater.

Still, taking on Victoria Calhoun would mean having to deal with one more female in his already full-of-females life. And he hadn’t exactly asked how anyone else around here would feel about constant cameras in their lives.

Clint listened to the sound of girly laughter out by the pool, his eyes closed, his mind in turmoil while he sat in the shade of the big, open patio, watching the steaks sizzle on the grill. With a cowboy hat covering his face to shade him from the bright glare of the afternoon sun, he listened to the women gathered for a quick swim before dinner.

“Well, he said he’d take me to the party.”

That would be Tater. The young, confused, teenage one.

“But did he ask you to the party? Because you wanting him to take you and him asking, that’s a whole different thing.”

That would be Susan. Or Susie. The bossy older one.

“Take, ask, what does it matter? I want to go with him but he treats it all like a joke.”

“It is a joke. Men like to treat us that way.”

“You two need to quit worrying about boyfriends and get outta that water and help me finish dinner.”

And that would be Denise. Denny—the nickname she hated. The divorced, even older one.

Man, he loved his sisters and his niece but sometimes they got on his last nerve. Favorite, Forceful and Formidable. That’s how he labeled them in the pecking order, youngest to oldest.

“Can’t a man get some shut-eye around here without all this squawking?”

“And you, Mister Moody. You need to turn those steaks ’cause your mama is on her way over right now.”

Clint opened one eye and squinted up at the one he liked to call Denny just to irritate her. Tater technically belonged to Denny, but everyone around here was trying to advise his niece on how to get a date for the summer party coming up in a few weeks. “Mama? You invited Mama for a cookout?”

“She does live right over there—sometimes,” Denise said, one hand on her hip while she pointed toward the white farmhouse near the big pond at the south end of the yard. When he’d built this house, their stubborn mother had insisted on staying on out there. “And she does come for dinner at least once or twice a week.”

“And she doesn’t like to see her grown son lying around like a lazy donkey,” Clint added, groaning his way out of the big lounge chair. “I sure enjoyed having the house to myself this week. Y’all need to take Mama to visit Aunt Margaret in Galveston more often.”

Denise gave him an impish smile. “I might consider that since I’m mighty tired of finding feminine clothes scattered all over this house each time I come back home. Not a good role-model-type thing for your niece.”

“I don’t mind the parties,” Tater said on an exclamation-point holler. “I’m old enough to handle things like that if y’all would just quit trying to ruin my life.”

“You have a good life,” Susie said with her infamousness sarcastic tone of voice. “Enjoy being young and carefree. Adulthood isn’t all that fun.”

Denny shook her head at her younger sister. “You know, you need a better attitude.”

“You don’t know what I need,” Susie retorted before she went back to scrolling on her phone.

Clint held up both hands, palms out. “I have no idea what any of you are talking about.”

“Right.” Denise turned and flipped the steaks herself, as was her nature with all things.

Control. Everyone around here wanted control but they were all out to control. Especially him.

Clint put his hat back on his head and sat back down in his chair, wondering when exactly he’d lost control of his own life. Maybe taking on this crazy reality show would serve them all right. At least then he could call the shots himself.

* * *

TWO WHOLE DAYS and Samuel was on Victoria to go back out to the Sunset Star Ranch. Okay, so she was accustomed to using a handheld camera to get a few shots when she went out on a scouting assignment, and she was used to going on these missions by herself since she’d been more than a production assistant from day one. Samuel depended on her spot-on opinions of people and he also appreciated that she stayed in shape for the physical part of her job, which sometimes entailed lugging cameras of all sizes that often weighed up to twenty-five pounds, or running around with hair and makeup, or soothing an angry castmate, or maybe, just maybe, getting a good scene without anyone having a real meltdown.

But mostly Samuel depended on her to ease a subject into becoming a reality star. One small camera, no pressure and nothing on the air without a consent release. That was part of what her job required and most days, this was the best part of that job. Discovering someone who’d make a great star always got her excited. Looking into someone else’s life and seeing the reflection of her own pain in their eyes always made her thankful for what she had and how far she’d come. Her job allowed her to create stories out of reality and in the process, she’d seen some amazing changes in people who started out all broken and messed up and ended up whole and confident again.

But for some reason, coming to talk to Clint Griffin again made her break out in hives. She didn’t think she could fix him without destroying part of herself.

“Get over yourself,” she whispered as she parked her tiny car and started the long hike up to those big double doors. She’d just reached the top step when the front door burst open and a young girl ran out, tears streaming down her face.

The girl glared at Victoria then stomped into a twirl and glared up at the house. “I hate this place.”

Victoria wasn’t sure what to say, but when she heard someone calling out, she stood perfectly still and went into unobtrusive camera-person mode. This was getting interesting.

“Tater, come back here.”

She sure knew that voice. Surely he wasn’t messing with high-schoolers now.

The girl let out a groan. “And don’t call me Tater!”

Then another voice shrilled right behind Clint, obviously addressing that heated retort. “Tell her to get back in here and finish helping me set the table.”

The woman whirled past Victoria in a huff of elegance. She had streaked brown hair and long legs and a dressed-to-impress attitude in a white blouse dripping with gold and pearl necklaces and a tight beige skirt that shouted Neiman Marcus. So he also dated lookers who knew which hot brands to wear.

By the time Clint himself had made it to the open door, Victoria was boiling over with questions and doubts, followed by a good dose of anger. She couldn’t work with this man.

Clint stared down at the driveway, where the two other women were arguing, and then turned to stare at her. His mouth went slack when he realized one of these things was not like the others. “Victoria?”

She nodded but remained still and calm, her leather tote and one camera slung over her shoulder. Let him explain his way out of this one.

Before he could make the attempt, two other women—one pretty but stern and definitely more controlled in jeans and a blue cashmere sweater over a sleeveless cotton top, and the other smiling and shaking her beautiful chin-length silver bob—virtually shoved Clint out of the way and completely ignored Victoria.

Clint put his hands on his hips and listened to the chattering, shouting, finger-pointing group of women standing in his driveway. Then he turned to Victoria with a shrug. “I can explain.”

“Yeah, right,” she retorted. “Do you have a harem in there, cowboy?”