A Cowboy's Temptation

“What official business do we have, other than fighting?”

“Persuasion. I need to persuade you to join my side.”

“You’ve tried.”

“Have you ever seen the art gallery?”

“Excuse me?”

“City Hall has an official art gallery. All citizens are welcome. I’m thinking it might help you understand our roots, the importance of a strong ranching community in the Valley. Now that I think about it, I realize it’s vital for the cause that you take a look.”

“An art gallery isn’t going to change my mind, Seth.”

“You don’t know that until you’ve seen it.”

“Isn’t it closed?” she asked, taking note of the steady stream of staff exiting the building.

“Not yet. Besides, I have the keys.”

Would it hurt to tour the art gallery with Seth? Neither of them would change the other’s mind. And it would give them a few more minutes together. She’d missed him. She hadn’t realized until that very moment just how much.

He cocked his head. “This way.”

Giving in, Darby slung her bag over her shoulder and fell into step beside him.

“It’s mostly oil paintings,” he explained in a loud voice as they crossed the reception area. “But some of them date back to the 1700s. I’m sure you’ll find them compelling.”

“I’ll look at them,” she responded for the benefit of the people moving through the lobby. “But you won’t change my mind.”

“There’s one of my great-great-grandfather’s original homestead,” Seth continued. “Back then, the ranching community worked incredibly hard. It was a tiny house. I can’t even imagine how they lasted through the winter with four boys.”

They left the lobby, taking a small marble staircase with polished brass railings to a short hallway half a story down.

“Is the house still there?” she found herself asking, feeling oddly curious about his ancestors.

“The potbellied stove, the chimney and a bit of the foundation. Mandy thinks we should restore it.”

“You should.” Darby agreed with Mandy.

She couldn’t even imagine having that kind of family history at her fingertips. Her mother hadn’t owned real estate. And she was pretty sure her grandparents had never put down roots. The only thing her mother ever said about them was that Darby’s grandfather was a drunk of a salesman, and her grandmother should have known better than to marry him.

They’d had one small photo album in the apartment, and it contained a few pictures of her grandparents around a spindly Christmas tree. That was all Darby knew of them.

Seth pulled open a glass door, and lights automatically came up in the gallery.

It appeared to be a series of small, connected rooms, compact but immaculate, with cream-colored walls, polished,pine benches and diffuse spotlights on each of the paintings.

“It goes in approximate historical order,” he explained, pointing to one of the walls.

“I see a theme here,” she noted, moving slowly along the oil paintings of fields, log cabins, mountains and cattle.

She quickly found herself absorbed by the early lives of the settlers. Making her way from painting to painting, she stopped to gaze at some beautiful horse portraits.

“Madeline Parker,” said Seth, his voice low. “She was born in the Valley in 1901. Extraordinarily talented. Her paintings have become quite valuable. There’s even one hanging in a museum in Houston.”

“Did she paint anything besides horses?”

He turned and indicated the wall behind them. “We have one of her landscapes.”

Darby moved, positioning herself five feet from the scene of flowers and mountains. The painting showed a small, aging house in the background and three horses in the distance.

“It’s breathtaking.”

Seth motioned to the picture next to it. “This one is my great-great-grandparents’ house.”

Darby gazed at it for a long moment, easily imagining a close-knit family moving around the little house, laughing, eating, sleeping, working. She turned to look at Seth’s profile. “So that was the original Jacobs ranch?”

“Yes. It’s higher up in the hills than the main compound now, so it looks quite different.”

“You should live up there,” said Darby, turning back to the painting. “Seriously, Seth. If I were you, I’d turn that old foundation into a brand-new house.”

“You think?”

“Mandy’s onto something. I think your great-great-grandparents would definitely like that.”

“You know this how?” he asked indulgently.

“Because, if I was anybody’s great-great-grandparent I’d be thrilled to know they lived in the same place I had lived.” She paused. “Well, of course, I don’t mean in that crappy, basement apartment. Nobody’s grandchildren should be forced to live there. I mean, if I had a beautiful homestead on a gorgeous piece of property, I’d love it if it carried on through the generations.”

Seth didn’t respond, and she let her gaze linger on the painting for a long time before moving around the corner to the next gallery.

It took nearly an hour for them to make it through, ending up with the newest oil paintings of Lyndon City and the rodeo fairgrounds.

“What’s through there?” she asked, pointing to a narrow stone archway with a velvet rope across it.

“Want to see?” he asked on a definite note of mischief.

“Are we allowed?”

He unhooked the velvet rope. “You really aren’t getting the part where I’m in charge here, are you?”

“That doesn’t mean we should break the rules.”

He gestured for her to go first. “Seriously? You’re that straight-laced?”

She started down the passage. “You think I’m straight-laced?”

“I didn’t. Not until now.”

“Well, I’m not.” She gave her hair a little toss. “I can be quite the maverick.”

He choked out a laugh, as a metal door loomed up in front of them.

“What?” she demanded. “You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that.”

“What is it?”

“I was going to make a roping and riding joke, but that would be completely inappropriate.”

What was completely inappropriate was Darby’s reaction to his words. Arousal shunted through her body, bringing a rush of heat to her skin.

“You asked,” he intoned behind her.

She reached for the doorknob.

“It’s locked,” said Seth, reaching into his pocket, fishing out a key.

She stepped aside.

“I’m sorry,” he told her as he inserted it into the lock. “I shouldn’t be so crude.”

“No need.” She struggled to keep her voice neutral. “I’m sure it would have been a very funny joke.”

He opened the door wide, revealing a small, windowless, carpeted foyer.

“What’s this?”

“The mayor’s residence,” he answered in a soft tone. “That way.” He pointed to a hallway in front of them, leading to the main floor and public rooms. “I’m happy to give you an official tour.”

Then he pointed to a small staircase at one side, his intense gaze locking on to hers. “That way is a shortcut to my private suite.”

Under the spell of his blue eyes, her stomach did a free fall, memories of their lovemaking blooming in her mind, desire coalescing between her legs.

He waited, obviously letting her be the one to decide.

“Can we?” she whispered, half to him, half to herself, wondering if she dared.

“Totally up to you.” He took her hand, wrapping it in his strong fingers, bringing her knuckles to his lips for a gentle kiss.

How much worse could it get? she asked herself. They’d already made love twice. They were, for all intents and purposes, indulging in a clandestine fling. How could doing it once more change anything?

He reeled her in, placing the other arm around her waist, easing her against him. “What do you think?”

She nodded, slowly at first, then more decisively.

“Maverick,” he muttered, a grin spreading across his face as he turned her for the staircase.

Decision made, they rushed up to the landing, coming to a hallway outside Seth’s private door. He let them in, clicking it firmly shut behind them, immediately hauling her into his arms for a long, deep kiss. His hand held the back of her head, anchoring them together, while hot lips urged hers apart and his tongue plundered.

He pushed her blazer off her shoulders, tossing it aside. Then he stripped off her tank top, stopping the kiss only long enough to get the top over her head.

When he popped the button on her jeans, she kicked off her shoes. In a moment, she was naked, his warm palms running over her skin.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, kissing her ear, her cheek, the crook of her neck. “I miss you all the time. I think about your scent. I think about your taste.”