Vicki Thompson - Killer Cowboy Charm

Tuck’s throat worked, but he was speechless.

Clint understood the reaction. Up close, she was damned impressive. A jolt of sexual awareness hit him every time she came near.

“You smell fine,” he said. Wonderful, in fact, he realized. He hadn’t thought about it earlier because he’d been too absorbed in how she looked, which was also wonderful. “Meg, this is Tucker Benson, my foreman.”

Tuck cleared his throat and shook her hand. “Meased to pleet you. Uh, what I mean is—”

“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Tucker.” She sailed right past his awkwardness. “Clint says you run the operation here at the Circle W. He made it very clear that he doesn’t know one end of a horse from the other.”

“Uh, yeah, well…I do my best.” Tuck glanced over at Clint.

Clint returned the look, silently warning Tuck not to get him into any trouble.

“And I’m sorry about the smart remark,” Tuck continued. “I was teasing Clint about the cushions.”

“Cushions?” Meg glanced over at the couch and then down at the floor. “Are you two looking for loose change or something?”

Clint sighed. He never should have suggested eating in front of the fire, because he didn’t have the right setup for it. If he could think of a logical explanation for the cushions on the floor, they could go back to the concept of eating at the huge dining table. It was the lesser of two stupidities.

“Clint thought it’d be nice for the two of you to eat in front of the fire,” Tuck said.

“Or maybe not,” Clint said. “Maybe the dining room is the best choice. Wherever you’d be the most comfortable.”

Meg looked confused. “I heard you tell Jamie dinner was at six. So I thought he’d—”

“Jamie’s having a great time down at the bunkhouse,” Clint said. “So he’s joining the rest of the boys down there tonight.”

“Oh.” Meg’s hesitation was so slight as to be almost unnoticeable. “Was there…anyone else you wanted to invite to dinner?”

Clint didn’t know if she’d asked because the setting was too dorky or because she was worried about spending more time alone with him. “Like who?”

“Um, maybe your girlfriend?”

Oh, God, did she want him to have a girlfriend? If so, she was out of luck. “No current girlfriend,” he said.

“Well, then, let’s eat in front of the fire. Sounds fabulous.”

Maybe he was projecting, but he thought she sounded nervous or something about the idea. After all, she’d been taunting him and now she might be worried that he’d expect her to follow through. He expected zip from her, but he couldn’t very well say that now.

Between José’s hopes for his enchiladas and the bunkhouse gang wimping out, it looked as if Clint would be eating in front of the fire tonight, alone with Meg. He would have to look and not touch. And he wanted to touch…everything. But he would behave himself, even if it killed him.

“IS THERE ANYTHING I can do to help?” Meg doubted it, but the manners her mother had drilled into her prompted her to ask. Meanwhile she was digesting the news that Clint had no girlfriend. Clear sailing. Her heart raced as she contemplated the possibilities.

“I think everything’s under control,” Clint said, though he didn’t look as if he really thought so. “I’ll clean out the old ashes before I build the fire.”

“Then I’ll, um, watch.” Meg felt a little shaky, so she settled down on the one remaining couch cushion.

“And I’ll get on out to the bunkhouse,” Tuck said. “I think the poker game’s about to start.”

“Just don’t keep Jamie up too late.” Meg had to remind herself of her purpose in being here. “We have to be on the bird at 7:30.”

“The what?” Tuck frowned in obvious confusion.

Clint interrupted his shoveling of the ashes. “The bird’s the TV satellite,” he said. “They rent time on it so they can do a remote broadcast from the live truck, which is that white van they came in.”

Meg suppressed a smile. Clint seemed quite proud of his newfound info. And he was about twenty times more appealing now that she knew he wasn’t involved with someone.

“Interesting.” Tucker acted as if he wanted to hang around a little longer. “So tomorrow, when you broadcast from here, are you planning to have anybody besides you on camera?”

Forcing herself to concentrate on her job instead of Clint, Meg made a spur-of-the-minute decision. “I would love to interview you for a couple of minutes, Tucker. Would you be willing to do that?” She’d originally planned to interview Clint, but he didn’t seem to own the right outfit for the broadcast. Tucker was too old to qualify for the contest, but he’d add some great color to the first segment.

The foreman looked quite pleased with the prospect. “You can call me Tuck, and I expect I could work that in. Just tell me what to do.”

“I’ll ask you a few questions about ranching, how you got into this line of work. I’m trusting Jamie to set up the shot and the lighting, so tell him I want to interview you and he’ll decide the best location. If you could be ready about seven, we can do a little practice run.”

“All right.” Tuck’s smile gleamed white against his tanned skin. “Sounds good. I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

After he left, Meg glanced toward the fireplace where Clint was shoveling the last of the ashes into a bucket near the fire. He looked terrific doing it, too. And he had no girlfriend. “I hope you don’t mind if I interview your foreman. Maybe I should have asked you before I suggested it to him.”

“That’s fine. Tuck’s the one to talk to about the ranch.” He tapped the last of the ashes from the shovel and replaced it in the holder with the rest of the fireplace tools. “Like I said, I’m no expert. He is.”

Something about this scenario didn’t add up. “I’m curious as to how you fill your time here, if you don’t spend it on ranch chores?”

He stood, but he didn’t turn around. His answer was a little slow in coming. “I keep the books. We run a boarding and training stable here. We also offer trail rides.”

“I see.” She couldn’t imagine an accounting system that would require a full-time effort. But she could imagine this man naked, and the concept made her drool.

He turned toward her. “And I, um, do a little consulting.”

“Oh, really? On what?” Maybe she could get him to consult with her on this little problem of sexual deprivation.

“Business. Business consulting, for the merchants around here.”

Considering the number of merchants she’d noticed on the way here, that wouldn’t occupy him for long, either. “Sounds like a nice relaxed life.”

“Yep. Relaxed, that’s me.” He stood and hooked his thumbs through his belt loops.

That stance was all it took for her to be convinced. Instantly she pictured him in jeans and a yoked Western shirt, boots and a worn Stetson. This man was a cowboy, her fantasy man. And he didn’t want her to know.

“You must even have time for hobbies,” she said.

“Some.”

“Such as?”

“Oh…birdwatching.”

If he was a birdwatcher she was Jay Leno. But she pretended to believe him. “I’ve always thought that would be fun, hiking in sensible shoes with a pair of binoculars around my neck. But I don’t have the time. What’s the most unusual bird you’ve ever spotted?”

He met her gaze. “I can’t believe you’re interested in birdwatching.”

“I can’t believe you are, either.” But she would be thrilled if he could be interested in her for the next couple of days.

“Maybe I made it up because I don’t want you to know I’m a lazy son-of-a-gun who whiles away the day on the front porch with a can of beer in his hand.”