The smolder of his unique eyes warmed her from her head to her toes, and she was convinced he was somehow dissolving her clothes with his heated gaze. Her nipples hardened against the soft fabric of her bra, and she silently thanked God she’d chosen one with padding that morning.
Dusty looked down at his feet, shod in black ostrich cowboy boots. Expensive black ostrich cowboy boots. Here was money. The McCray brothers no doubt owned McCray Landing now since their father had passed away a couple years ago.
“So”—she cleared her throat—“you’re the man to talk to about riding this bull?” She gestured to Diablo, who snorted angrily.
“Darlin’, I’ll say it again. There ain’t a woman alive who can ride that bull.”
“I say there is,” Dusty said. “And you’re looking at her.”
“She calls herself the Bull Whisperer, bro,” Chad said.
Zach eyed her again, an amused smirk on his face. Was he looking at her chest? She crossed her arms.
“You think you can talk to bulls?”
“I don’t exactly talk to them. It’s not a literal whisper, Mr. McCray.”
“Mr. McCray? Hell, that’s my grandpa. You call me Zach, Gold Dust.”
“Fine. It’s not a literal whisper, Zach.”
“Yeah, not a literal whisper.” Chad’s lips twisted into a wide leer. “She uses a flute and a turban. She’s a regular bull swami.”
The three men chuckled as Dusty rolled her eyes. Some things hadn’t changed in seventeen years. Chad teased her as relentlessly as ever. She turned back to Zach.
“Look, I understand bulls, and they seem to understand me.”
Zach rolled his head back in a sarcastic guffaw. Dusty tried not to think about his sexy golden neck and how good his pulse point would feel against her lips.
“Now that takes the cake, darlin’.”
“I’m not your darling.”
“Course not. Women’s lib and all. I’d hate to be politically incorrect.”
“Women’s lib? This is the twenty-first century, not the seventies.” Dusty tapped her foot with indignation.
“Sorry, darlin’. Oops, I mean Dusty, or Miss O’Donovan.”
“It’s Ms.”
“Oh, Christ.” Zach rolled his eyes.
“So can we talk about Diablo or not?”
“Not,” Zach said.
“Told you, twerp.” Chad smiled. “Ain’t no way you get to ride Diablo.”
“But I need to, for the—” Dusty stopped herself. The McCrays didn’t need to know the small Montana ranch she and Sam had inherited from their grandparents was in financial trouble.
“Look, Dusty, I don’t want to hear any more about this,” Sam interjected. “The subject is closed.”
“You’re not my father, Sam,” she said, keeping her temper in check. “I’ll do as I please.”
“Not with my bull, you won’t,” Zach said.
Dusty regarded the three men, all stiff as statues in their indignant stances. Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way. After all, she’d catch more flies with sugar…