The Cowboy's Seductive Proposal

“Executive director of advertising.”

“I’m impressed. And what do you do? Sell advertising?”

“No. I’m a graphic artist. I plan the layout and design, write copy, sometimes do the entire ad campaign or promotion. I have certain accounts I regularly handle, as well as others I do occasionally, and I have six people I supervise.”

While she talked, she was aware of his steady scrutiny. She became more conscious of her appearance, knowing her hair needed combing and her makeup had long ago disappeared. Her blouse was wrinkled and she had a green stain on her collar, probably from the spirea. Jared looked relaxed, one knee slightly bent, his booted foot propped against the wall.

“Do you always work this late?”

“No. We’re working on a big account, and the client wanted changes at the last minute, so we’re rushing to get everything done. We present the pitch in the morning.”

He nodded. “Have any particular food you like to eat?”

“Maybe Italian.” She glanced at Merry. “Won’t we be keeping the baby up long past her bedtime?”

Jared shook his head. “She sleeps off and on around the clock. And whether she’s tucked into her bed or out with us, Merry will sleep. When she’s ready to snooze, nothing will stop her. Don’t worry, she won’t lose sleep,” he said, smiling.

“You know best,” Faith replied.

The elevator doors opened and she led the way to a glass door that she unlocked.

“You can wait in here.”

They entered a large reception area with beige carpeting, dark wood furniture and pots of green plants. Faith turned to him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We have all the time in the world. At least, until the rodeo tomorrow night.”

Feeling the familiar sense of being caught in something she couldn’t control, Faith left through a glass door and returned to work. She moved down the hall to a wide table where brochures and folders were spread. Nearby a colorful graph filled the screen of her computer.

Her co-worker and immediate supervisor, Porter Gaston, glanced toward the glassed-in waiting room and his blond brows arched. “Who’s your friend?”

“Jared Whitewolf. We’re going to dinner later,” she tried to say casually, wishing the announcement would go unnoticed, yet knowing it would be as overlooked as a firecracker exploding in a prayer meeting. Without really seeing it, she studied the brochure in front of her.

“You’re kidding.”

Looking up, she could see the incredulity in Porter’s blue eyes.

“Who the hell is he? Where did you meet him?” he demanded.

“He’s a friend. Shall we get back to work?” She stared at Porter, feeling a challenge rising. For the first time in her life she was doing something unexpected, unscheduled and uncharacteristic. While Porter looked at the reception area again, she turned to the computer.

“Faith, how long have you known this guy? I know I’m prying, but we’re friends.”

She turned to face Porter. “I haven’t known him long, but I’ve talked to his brother, who is a detective. Jared is a nice guy.”

“Well, damn. I can’t believe you’re going out with him. Here Madge and I have been trying for two months to get you and Kent together and you’re always busy. Yet here in the middle of this project, out of nowhere you’re going to dinner with some stranger.”

“It’s just dinner, Porter.”

“How long have you known Whitewolf?”

“His name is Jared Whitewolf.”

“Sorry. You’re evading my question.”

“I met him today.”

“Good Lord! And now you’re going to dinner with that ponytailed cowboy? Faith, the papers are filled with stories about women who get picked up by strangers and the terrible things that happen to them.”

“Look, I already told you, his brother is a detective, and I spoke to him. The guy is safe. He seems nice. He has a sweet little baby. He has a house on South Peoria. I read about him riding in the rodeo. I’ve seen a program with a write-up about him. He’s won a lot of rodeo prizes—”

“This is really you talking?”

Annoyed, she turned away. Porter was echoing her own thoughts and causing her regrets to multiply. She didn’t know Jared Whitewolf. And even if he was as reliable and charming as his brother indicated, she should be practical and go home to catch up on much-needed rest.

“Sorry,” Porter said. “I think I should meet him.”

“We will in a minute. Let’s finish this up.”

She met Porter’s quizzical gaze and then he shrugged. “All right. Look at the layout here.”

She moved around the table, scrutinizing papers that held graphs and charts and slogans. In minutes she was concentrating on her work again and had returned to the computer, rearranging the information and design. As she moved back to look at a brochure, she glanced through the glass partition.

Jared Whitewolf had tossed aside his hat. He stood with his back to her while he looked at framed pictures of advertising layouts the company had done. Her gaze ran over his thick black hair and his broad chest. The T-shirt molded the sinewy muscles in his shoulders and upper back. His jeans hugged slender hips. He was as foreign to her life as an intergalactic being. And Porter was right She should tell Jared Whitewolf that she would be working incredibly late and that she would be too exhausted to go anywhere except home. Alone.

She thought of men in her past that she had dated. Without exception, she had known them years before dating them. Buddies, school chums, childhood friends—even Earl Baines, a co-worker whom she had dated the longest. She didn’t know anything about cowboys, bull riders or men who spent their afternoons in the park with a baby and wore jeans and T-shirts. She glanced at Porter, who was seated at his desk. He had shed his suit coat, but he still wore his tie and white shirt with well-creased navy slacks. He was the kind of man she knew—professional, ambitious, punctual, whose life was filled with schedules and routines as much as her own.

She would tell Jared Whitewolf goodbye. It was absurd to think of doing anything else.

“Faith, can you look at this?” Porter asked without glancing up. “I think we should move this slogan and the picture of the machinery to the top of the page.”

She crossed to his desk and bent over the layout in front of him, forgetting Jared Whitewolf.

It was half an hour later, as she walked back to her computer with papers in hand, that she remembered her date. She glanced toward the reception room, knowing she should put the papers on her desk and send Jared home.

He sat on one of the chairs, and Merry was in his arms while he gave her a bottle. His head was bent over her, and Faith could see his lips moving and knew he was talking to her. Merry reached up a tiny hand, pale against his dark skin, as her fingers explored his jaw. Something seemed to unfold inside Faith and longing swamped her. She tried to picture Porter holding a baby, giving it a bottle, but it was impossible.

It was equally impossible to imagine either of her brothers—or even her father—tending a baby. With five children, her father had still managed to escape giving one of them a bottle unless he had been settled in front of the latenight news and her mother had placed a baby and a bottle in his arms. Nor could she imagine any of the men she had dated spending the day in the park with a baby like Jared had unless pressed into the duty.

Everyone in her life was as predictable as the sunrise. The men were busy with careers; the women busy with home and children. She was the oldest female and the only unmarried one in her family. Restlessness and a growing dissatisfaction tugged at her while Faith watched Jared Whitewolf. And she decided that this was one night she would spend a couple of hours breaking out of her routine. For once, she would let go of her orderly existence and see what life would be like with someone like Whitewolf.

His head rose and he met her gaze. They stared at each other, and even with a glass partition separating them, her pulse jumped and she felt weak-kneed and fluttery.

She waved the papers at him and he nodded, then she hurried to her alcove to try to finish. They had only the last touches now, and then she and Porter would be ready for the presentation tomorrow morning.

Ten minutes later she looked up to find Porter standing in front of her, gazing down at the brochures and folders and layouts. “We’re done!” she exclaimed. “Ten after nine. Not bad.”

“It looks great,” he said with satisfaction. “Damned good job. I think they’ll go for it.”