A Cowboy's Temptation

“This is really beautiful,” Darby couldn’t help but comment as the hostess cheerfully showed them to a table.

“As long as they feed me,” said Seth, apparently willing to let the topic of sleeping together drop.

She told herself she was glad to be back on safer ground. “I hear you,” said Darby as she took her seat. “I skipped breakfast. Hadn’t planned on also skipping lunch.”

“You’re not one of those women who starves herself.”

“Hardly. Commercial flights don’t serve food anymore. At least not to those of us who travel in economy.”

“I wish I could get all affronted and tell you I fly economy all the time.”

“But you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he admitted.

A waitress appeared and handed them each a leather-bound menu.

“You poor, cash-deprived rancher,” she muttered.

If Seth heard, he didn’t comment. Instead, he spoke to the waitress. “Do you happen to have Glen Klavit?”

“We do,” the young woman answered brightly. “A single or a double?”

“Double.” He looked to Darby.

“A lemon-drop martini,” she decided. She’d already been up for twelve hours. Under normal circumstances, it would be early evening.

“That’s the spirit,” Seth approved. He looked to the waitress. “Can you bring us some bread or something to go with our drinks?”

“Coming right up. Do you need a few minutes with the menus?”

“We do.”

With a friendly smile for Seth, she left.

There was a long moment of silence.

“You look very nice, you know,” Seth commented, his gaze warm.

The glow of desire in her stomach moved to her chest, creating a decidedly dangerous tightness. “I thought we’d decided this wasn’t a date.”

“You told me I looked like a million bucks. I was just returning the compliment.”

“I meant you had likely impressed the commission because you looked so much like them.”

“You don’t think you impressed them, too?”

“They took you more seriously.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, easing back in the padded leather chair. “I made my points. You made yours.”

“Familiarity,” she told him, opening the menu as a distraction from looking at him. “People are psychologically predisposed to agree with those who remind them of themselves, whether it’s philosophically or physiologically.”

“I bet you can’t say that three times fast.”

She met his gaze. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. Go ahead, try it.”

She wasn’t about to take the bait. “When the members of the commission see you,” she said instead, “they see themselves. When they see me, they see, well, not them.”

“You think they’re that shallow?”

“I think they, and you, don’t even realize it’s happening. The world is still organized around men: our governments, industry, the judiciary.”

“There are plenty of female judges.”

“A few,” Darby allowed. “But trial and incarceration is an adversarial process, and that’s how men typically frame the world. You can only win if the other side loses.”

His brows drew together in puzzlement. “That’s because one side is right and the other is wrong.”

“Rarely,” said Darby.

“We shouldn’t jail convicted murderers?”

“We shouldn’t jail victims of assault who fight back.”

“We don’t.”

“We sure try.”

Seth’s cell phone rang, and he checked the number.

“Sorry.” He glanced to Darby. “It’s my brother, Travis.” He answered the call as the waitress set down their drinks, along with a basket of assorted breads.

Seth’s eyes went wide in obvious shock. “What?” he barked into the phone. “What exactly did you do?”

He listened, glancing at Darby.

She wondered if she should give him some privacy.

“Really? Well, I suppose you didn’t have a choice, then.”

She started to rise from her chair, but Seth waved her back.

“No,” he said into the phone. “No, I get it. But I won’t be back in Lyndon until later tonight.”

Seth paused again. “I guess you will. Hang in there.” He shook his head. “I know you have. Okay. Bye.”

Darby knew she couldn’t be rude enough to ask what was going on, but she was exceedingly curious.

“It’s Travis,” Seth offered without any prompting. “He’s in jail.”

That wasn’t what she’d remotely expected to hear. Then again, she’d heard talk that Travis Jacobs could be hotheaded and impulsive. Of course, she’d never heard of him breaking the law.

“What did he do?” she asked.

“Ironically,” said Seth, choosing a French roll from the basket, “he fought back.”

“Someone assaulted him?”

“It was started by one of your disciples.”

“I don’t understand.” She truly didn’t.

“It seems a woman—I didn’t catch her name—who agrees quite passionately with your perspective on the railway got into it with Joe Harry while having lunch at Maddy’s Café. Joe got agitated. Travis stepped in again to calm him down. Joe swung first, but Travis swung last. And the sheriff locked him up.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah.” Seth sighed, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of his scotch.

“Where’s Joe Harry?” Darby asked. One would hope he’d be in jail along with Travis.

“In the hospital. It sounds like it’s precautionary. The man’s head is as hard as granite.”

“Do we need to go back to Lyndon right away?”

“No rush. Travis will survive. Besides, he’s the mayor’s brother. The sheriff will probably let him out before too long.”

“Is that a perk of being the mayor?” Darby couldn’t help but ask.

Seth pushed the bread basket toward her. “Getting my brother out of jail?”

She helped herself to a triangle of herb cheese flatbread. “Having that kind of power.”

“You think I’m interested in political power?”

“Many people are. It’s a valid question.”

“I ran for office to help the ranchers.” Seth tore off a chunk of the roll.

“By having power as the mayor.”

“No, by having an additional avenue through which to affect change.”

“For the ranchers,” she confirmed.

“For the citizens of Lyndon City.”

“I’m a citizen of Lyndon City.”

He flexed a grin. “You’re a misguided citizen.”

“That’s too simple,” she argued. “‘I’m right and you’re wrong?’ You have to do better than that.”

“I just presented a compelling case to the commission. You said so yourself.”

“I said they were biased in your favor. You grew up on one of the biggest, wealthiest ranches in Lyndon Valley. You—”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Huh?” The abrupt change in topic surprised her.

“Where did you grow up?” he repeated, looking genuinely interested in the answer.

“Why?” She tried to figure out his angle. Was he going to contend that she didn’t know Lyndon as well as he did?

“Quit being so suspicious. I’m not looking for secret information to throw back in your face. I’m trying to figure out what makes you tick.”

“Fairness and equitability make me tick, particularly where it comes to gender bias. You had every economic and societal advantage growing up on a significant ranch in Lyndon Valley. Add to that, you’re a man.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ranches are organized around men, with women taking on supporting roles.”

“They’re organized around cattle. Where did you grow up? I’m thinking it wasn’t a cattle ranch.”

“New Jersey,” she answered, seeing no reason to hide the truth. “I grew up in New Jersey.”

“Not a lot of cows out there.”

“No.”

“My sister Mandy herds cattle. My sister Abigail deals with financial statements. And my sister Katrina left home to become a ballerina. Nobody was pigeonholed based on their gender.”

“That’s not my point.”

“If your point is that it’s an uneven world, then I don’t disagree with you.”

“So you admit I’m operating under a handicap?”

“Your biggest handicap is that more people in Lyndon want the railway than don’t. If that wasn’t true, you’d walk away with it, man, woman or Martian. Now, tell me about New Jersey.”