It Takes a Cowboy

“Well, I—”

He reached out, took her arm and hauled her into the neatly furnished little cottage, talking the whole time. “I gotta tell you, Blair,” he said, closing the door. “I was a little worried about who would buy me. Did you see the women out there? Some of them looked like they wanted to eat us alive. And that little granny who bought Rob? What do you suppose she wanted, a grandson for a weekend?”

“I’m not—”

He reached for hi

s tie, yanking it loose and over his head, still knotted. The movement mussed his hair from the neatly brushed-back style of before, causing a heavy lock to fall forward on his forehead. “I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t have done this for anyone but Lindsay. I’d rather bungee jump off the Empire State Building or wrestle the meanest bull ever born than stand up on that auction block again.”

Bungee jump? Wrestle bulls? That didn’t sound like something a conservative businessman would say. “Scott, I...”

He tossed his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs and reached for the top button of his shirt. “Anyway, I hope they made enough money today to keep them afloat—maybe enough positive PR to keep the donations coming in. Too many kids out there would be in a spit-load of trouble without this place.”

“Yes, I know it’s—”

“Thanks to people like you, Lindsay’s got a real chance to make it. Sixty-five hundred dollars...well, that was incredibly generous. I’ll have to make sure,” he added with a grin, “that you get your money’s worth.”

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it toward the same chair that held his jacket. His bare chest was broad, tanned...and made Blair’s heart almost stop. Her fingers curled at her sides—she assured herself it wasn’t an effort for her to keep from reaching out to touch all that lovely expanse of male skin. She lied, of course.

“Mr. McKay!” she sputtered. “What are you doing?”

“I’m changing clothes,” he said with a smile that was suspiciously bland. “I hate wearing suits, but I thought we were supposed to dress up for this thing. Come to think about it, Lindsay was the one who suggested the tie. I’ll have to figure out a way to repay her for that.”

He snatched a duffel bag off the couch and moved toward the bathroom. “I’ll finish changing in here. Help yourself to something to drink, if you like. There are sodas and juice in that little fridge. I’ll be out in a minute.”

The bathroom door closed in her face. Blair stared at it in dismay. What had just happened here? The dignified, conservative businessman she’d spent a large chunk of her savings on had transformed right in front of her eyes into a bare-chested, fast-talking crazy man.

Oh, how she wished she had read one of those auction brochures before she had made such an uncharacteristically impulsive and imprudent gesture!

She should probably leave now, admit defeat and consider her monetary loss a donation to a very worthwhile cause. She wasn’t at all sure Scott McKay would be the right person to get through to Jeffrey. Pushing a picture of his gorgeous bare chest out of her mind, she took a step toward the exit.

“Hey, Blair!” Scott called through the bathroom door. “Would you mind pouring something cold for me, too? After sitting out there in that arena all afternoon, I’m damned near dried out.”

Blair sighed. His words reminded her of what a generous and unselfish gesture he had made on behalf of the ranch. She would have absolutely hated being paraded in front of a hooting, cheering crowd. Maybe Scott was still just a little nervous and hyper after that experience. That would be understandable, she thought, remembering the slightly bemused expression he’d worn during the auction.

Maybe she should give him a second chance.

“Soda or juice?” she called out.

“Whatever you’re having, darlin’.”

Darlin’. She swallowed a groan, tried again to forget how good he had looked a moment ago and poured orange juice into a glass she found in a cabinet beside the mini-refrigerator. She didn’t want anything for herself. She sincerely hoped Scott would reappear with his hair neatly brushed again, maybe wearing a polo shirt and khakis—something suitably conformist and respectable. Something that would convince her he was the right man for the job she had in mind.

The bathroom door opened and she turned, holding out the glass of juice she had poured for him. And then she nearly dropped it on the floor when he stepped out and she got a good look at him.

“Oh, damn,” she said in consternation. “You’re a cowboy.”

CHAPTER TWO

FOR SOME REASON, Scott was getting the idea that Blair Townsend wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the purchase she had made. In response to her comment, he glanced automatically at the clothes he’d just pulled on—a blue-and-white-striped denim shirt, a pair of jeans cinched with a worn leather belt and the boots he’d had on earlier.

Regular-type clothes, he thought with a frown. Why was she looking at him as if he’d just switched heads instead of shirts? “I’ve been called a cowboy a few times,” he acknowledged. Among other things.

She seemed to brace herself. “Rodeo?”

Reaching for the juice glass, he studied her face, reading disapproval in her expression. When he’d first met Blair Townsend, he’d been relieved that his buyer was young and very attractive—he still shuddered when he wondered what that older woman had wanted from a weekend with poor Rob Carter. He thought Blair looked rather prim and uptight in her conservative clothes—a cream-colored short-sleeve sweater set, pearl necklace and tailored slacks. It was a more professional-looking and less casual outfit than most of the ranch guests had been wearing that afternoon, but other than that, his first impression of her had been quite positive. Now he was beginning to wonder if the old lady might have been more fun. “I rodeo sometimes—when I feel like it.”

“What do you do when you don’t feel like it?”