COWBOY FOR SALE--A Second-Chances Spicy Romance (2 page)

Not that that was exactly what she was doing tonight. Not really. But she just might have to at least pretend to be doing that, she admitted. She grimaced and shook her head, not at all ready for the flirting, being charming, acting interested. Way too soon…

Still, she was good at creating a persona. She’d done it most of her life, actually. Tonight she’d simply have to do that too…if she had to. Could she?

Laughter drew her attention to a couple standing near the front door, the man’s arm wrapped around his date’s waist pulling her tight against him. Not a good prospect…if not taken, definitely involved.

Her gaze shifted to the building that housed the Rockin’ Ranch. It mimicked a barn, but had a wide porch that wrapped around the front and extended around the side and bordered the back parking lot. Over-sized rustic chairs and benches lined the porch, ready and waiting for couples looking for a break from the heat of the dance floor. A few bent-willow loveseats were already filled with early arrivals, many of the women sitting on the laps of their dates.

As Lacey crossed the parking lot, she saw that most of the men waiting outside or sitting on chairs sported a standard western look: cowboy hat, boots, and jeans. Tight jeans that accentuated long legs and trim waists. It had been quite a while since she'd even wanted to look—to even notice—and tonight she found herself actually examining the men.

Definite prospects
.

Bringing her fingertips to her face, she hoped the dark concealed the blush she felt creeping up her neck and landing at her cheeks.

Kandy, where are you?

She scanned the parking lot for a pink Jeep. No sign of it. One of her best stylists, who had also become a good friend, Kandy had volunteered to meet her there tonight. It had made the whole task seem immediately more doable.

Where are you?

Kandy was habitually late to work and even though Lacey was accustomed to it—and even adjusted the appointment book to accommodate it—at this very minute she didn't relish the idea of going into the Rockin’ Ranch to cowboy hunt alone. Sure, she could go back and wait in her car, but just sitting there would probably make her more nervous, and what if she lost her nerve completely?

Forward
. She silently commanded her feet to move and as she approached the bar’s wraparound porch with her head held high and her lips in a well-practiced smile, she silently recited her new mantra:
I can do this, I can do this
.

She took another deep breath. Along with oxygen came a lovely fragrance of night blooming jasmine. A tall hedge of the potent flowers bordered the back of the parking lot. Maybe Kandy had parked back there. It was certainly worth a look and gave her a valid excuse not to head toward the bar’s entrance, her feigned confidence beginning to waver already.

Climbing up a set of steps and onto the wraparound porch, Lacey casually glanced at some of the men, calculating if they might be approachable later. A few seemed like definite “no’s” but there were definitely a few men who had possibilities. Maybe this wouldn’t take as long as she imagined.

Lacey kept walking, following the porch around to the rear of the building where it widened into a large wooden deck adjacent to the club's back door. A van was being unloaded nearby and she scooted to a far corner of the deck to get out of the way. Two men hurriedly carried a large amplifier up the steps and into the doorway, obviously on their way to the stage inside.

On the side of the van Lacey could make out the words “Southern Comfort.” The band was local, she knew, and popular. Kandy claimed they were the best country band around and she was a bit of a groupie, with a fresh crush on the lead singer. She’d suggested coming to the Rockin’ Ranch, and now she understood why.

The place was lousy with cowboys, for sure.

Instantly feeling more comfortable in the dim light and now totally alone on the deck, she listened to the recorded music that drifted outside. Brad Paisley, maybe? Swaying to the music she attempted a simple two-step she remembered from when she had taken a country dance class a few years ago—her last attempt at boosting her social skills. It had been fun because a few other stylists had taken the class as well, and it had been good exercise. But she hadn’t really enjoyed the bar scene enough to continue.

She lost the beat and stopped. Listening more closely, she caught it again, counting quietly out loud. “One-two, one...two. One-two, one...two.”

Closing her eyes she lifted her arms, visualizing an imaginary partner there. Her biggest fear was that she would end up stumbling awkwardly through her first dance. She assumed she’d need to…interact…with any prospective cowboys, and that most likely meant dancing. It had been a long time since she'd been out on a dance floor, let alone dancing something as specific as a two-step, rudimentary as it was. Eyes still closed, she continued to move rhythmically, dancing blindly into the middle of the deck, counting softly to keep herself in step.

***

Jared Dillon ran long, calloused fingers through his hair in a feeble attempt to tame its wildness. Long days outside in the weather rendered an almost permanent windblown look. Subtle blond highlights blended with the gray that had become more prominent in his brown hair since he'd reached forty.

He sighed and shook his head. He was already impatient for the evening to be over, even though he was grateful for the extra money the summer gig would provide. Even for short periods of time, he had trouble leaving his mountain and ranch behind. And Jamie.

Truth was, he didn't particularly like being on stage, though playing bass in a country band was about as easy a job as he could imagine. No, he was much happier without four walls surrounding him, and besides, deep in his bones he knew he'd go absolutely insane if he didn't spend at least part of every day outside. Even though times were tough sometimes, he knew he'd made the right choice in buying the ranch east of San Diego.

Being his own boss, setting his own hours, taking time to do the job right—each was important to him. Even though he had the pressure of being totally responsible for every little detail, he wouldn't have it any other way. He'd grown to prefer the solitude, the freedom. No one to interfere, no one trying to change things. And he was successful enough, he kept assuring his family and friends. He had grown his alpaca herd to fifty and between breeding and selling the raw fiber, he made a decent living and was content.

And there was something about the creatures themselves that he had grown to love. And, thankfully, Jamie did too.

Only for the summer, he reminded himself, already feeling a little claustrophobic just anticipating being stuck in the corner of the crowded stage playing a borrowed bass guitar with one of San Diego’s most popular country bands.

Jared locked up his truck and as he walked across the parking lot his gaze stopped on a woman two-stepping on the deck to the music that drifted out the back door. It was evident he was about to interrupt a practice session and although he knew he should make some noise in warning, he couldn't bring himself to disrupt the vision of her innocent solo dance.

Instead, he noiselessly positioned himself at the top of the stairs of the deck, crossed his arms, and watched. Her eyes tightly closed, he took advantage and openly stared. She wore short red cowboy boots that looked brand new, making him wonder if it was her first time at the club. He watched her full black skirt do a dance of its own above her knees, swirling around shapely legs. His gaze moved upward to her sleeveless, ruffled white cotton blouse that hinted at the curve of full breasts but without the deep plunging neckline most of the women wore to the Rockin’ Ranch.

Then she abruptly turned, took a few steps toward him and stepped right into Jared's arms.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes opening wide, surprised.

Jared instinctively tightened his hold on her as both his arms wrapped around her, then felt a sudden overload to his senses. In the briefest of moments, he was shocked to find his body responding to her, instantly aroused. In another timeless moment he breathed in her perfume, some part of him wanting to remember the scent of her. Silky hair draped over one of his arms and he felt a hint of soft, warm flesh against the other. He realized his lips were automatically parting, ready to kiss her.
What the hell?

Just as quickly, Jared snapped back to reality and pulled his body a several inches apart from hers, lessening the intimacy, though he immediately missed her warmth.

“I'd say you look like you just might be ready for a real dance partner,” he said. Adjusting his grasp, he placed the woman’s right hand in his left, and lifted her other hand to rest on his shoulder, smoothly guiding her into a proper dance embrace.

“Most guys start out with the quick one-two part first.” He looked down toward the deck, seeing how tiny her feet looked in front of his own, now wishing he’d at least polished his dusty, black boots. “Ready? Watch our feet. One-two, one...two. One-two, one...two. That's it.”

He looked up and watched as she forced a weak smile. He knew she was embarrassed, but even so, she didn't miss a beat.

“By George, I think she's got it,” he said in an exaggerated British accent, hoping to make her laugh. No such luck.

She returned her gaze to their feet, matching the movements, seemingly too mortified to look up for more than a few nanoseconds at a time.

***

Lacey stared at the blue-jeaned legs and the plain black boots. The boots looked comfortable and worn. But in a good way, she decided. Then she allowed her gaze to drift upward to the red western-style shirt of her unexpected dance partner.

At her eye level, a fine gold chain lay nestled in the dark chest hair at the open collar of his shirt. She could just make out a charm hanging from the chain. It was one word: Jamie.

Lucky girl.

Lacey inhaled nervously, forcing her gaze to stay level with her dancing cowboy's neck. Part of her desperately wanted to run screaming to her car, to forget her entire plan. Surprisingly, another part of her felt grateful for the forced first dance. It lessened at least some of the pressure she felt, relieved that her first dance wasn’t on the crowded dance floor and instead was out on the deck with this stranger.

Breathing deeply, in addition to the jasmine she identified the man’s scent as a mixture of apricot soap and a light cologne she recognized but couldn't quite place. A couple more breaths and she actually found herself relaxing enough to fall into a comfortable rhythm. When the music ended she glanced up into intense blue-gray eyes.

A voice called from the doorway. “Jared, we have to start in ten minutes and Luke's mike isn't working. You wanna get your butt in here and bail us out?”

He released his hold on her and stepped back. “Duty calls.”

She quickly turned to leave, thankful for the interruption that called him into the club. Though, she had to admit, there certainly was a part of her that would have liked to have danced a tiny bit little longer.

“You dance just fine,” he said, his voice fading a little at the last word as though he maybe had more to say.

“Thanks.” She turned to face him and managed a smile, then grasped the railing and hastily made her way down the steps and into the parking lot.
Okay, Kandy, this is where you're supposed to show up and save me from embarrassing moments like this.

In comparison, the anonymity of the crowded club now seemed much more appealing as she made her way around the corner to the front entrance, leaving her dance partner behind to save the band from looming technical disaster.

Logic said maybe Kandy was already inside so she headed to the entrance where a small line had formed now that the band had arrived. Lacey waited behind a group of women wearing skin-tight jeans and skimpy tank tops showing a lot of skin, their breasts barely covered. The entire group was being carded as they went inside and she wondered if this generation had perfected fake I.D.’s. They sure looked young enough to need them.

“There's a ten-dollar cover charge tonight, ma'am, for the band,” a voice said as she reached the head of the line.

Lacey involuntarily winced at the “ma’am” but then decided it probably wasn’t intended to make her feel old. Looking up, she stared at the man who’d spoken, then took in a quick breath. She had an extensive male clientele at Shear Delight, but none compared to the head-turner who was holding out his hand, waiting for her money. His eyes were an almost too bright turquoise blue—contacts, maybe? Long, layered blond hair was expertly blown dry. His black hat was tipped back, revealing a clean-shaven face except for a soft, droopy mustache. A handsome cowboy with a baby face, dimples and all.

She smiled. This guy certainly looked like the quintessential cowboy. Glancing for a wedding ring, she saw none, then reached into her bag for a ten, feeling a rush of warmth in her cheeks along with a few unexpected butterflies in her stomach.

“First time here?” he asked

Lacey nodded.

“Thought so. I think I would have remembered a pretty little thing like you. What's your name, pretty lady?”

Was his smile friendly or just a tiny bit more than that? She quickly dismissed her thoughts, deciding she was just overreacting. Truth was, the only men she was used to being around these days were in her work environment. And there, well, she was always in control. The way she liked it.