Masked Cowboy (Men of the White Sandy) (2 page)

The masked cowboy rode right up to the café and stopped mere feet from Mary Beth’s table before he slid out of the saddle, his leg muscles twitching through his tight jeans the whole way down. He paused for split second, clearly enjoying every female eye trained on his bare torso before he walked right up to Mary Beth’s table.

“Robin,” he said, gently tipping his black felt hat, its brim creased from countless such tips. His one eye, nestled between a strong eyebrow and a stronger cheekbone, swept over the scene before it settled on Mary Beth.

“Jacob,” Robin practically sang. She held out the tray with the towel and the water.

Jacob, the masked, shirtless cowboy, gracefully lifted the glass of water from the tray before he set his hat in its place. He took a huge drink, then grabbed the towel, leaned forward and poured the rest of the water over his head.

The water rushed through his slightly overgrown jet-black hair as he stood up, his mask covered with the towel. Rivulets raced down his browned, chiseled chest before he slowly mopped them up, his gaze grabbing Mary Beth’s face and refusing to let it go again.

She was sure her mouth was on the table, but she couldn’t help it. Every fiber in her body was vibrating as she watched the towel trace past his pecs, down his lean abs—the muscles moving just beneath the smooth surface of his skin—and follow a faint trail of hair that ended in his jeans. The mask notwithstanding, this man was quite possibly the most ideal specimen of masculinity she’d ever laid eyes on. Nothing like pasty Greg Meyers.

A hint of a smile on his face, Jacob handed the towel back to Robin, took the to-go bag, pivoted and walked to the saddlebag of his paint. Mary Beth admiringly noted the huge tear in the seat of his pants, just under his left butt cheek. It was hard to tell what was more promising—his rock-solid chest or that flash of ass. Pausing again for just a second, he tucked the meal in the bag after he whipped out an Anthrax T-shirt that might have been black back in the 80s.

As he began to unbuckle his jeans, Mary Beth heard the entire café suck in a hot breath.

He won’t
. Mary Beth’s brain stuttered in shock.
He wouldn’t!

The top button gave under his nimble fingers, and then the second. Mary Beth couldn’t help but stare at the treasure trail of dark fur that crested at an even darker line peaking just over the undone buttons.

Jesus Christ, is he even wearing underwear?
She gasped, unable to look away as she squirmed in her chair.

Jacob slipped the tee over his head, tucked it in and buttoned back up. As he took his hat off Robin’s tray, the whole café—the sum total of women in Faith Ridge—sighed and leaned back in their chairs. Mary Beth wondered if there were enough cigarettes in town for the collective orgasm that had just happened in broad daylight.

“So, you must be the new vet,” his voice rumbled out of his superb chest, his accent identical to Robin’s.

“What?” Mary Beth gaped, the wheels of her brain spinning. “Oh, yes. Yes, I’m the new vet.”

Jacob crossed his arms and stared at Robin, who was euphorically beaming at Jacob. “Jacob, this is Dr. Mary Beth Hofstetter. Dr. Hofstetter—”

“Mary Beth,” she corrected, finding her brain now that his fabulous body was mostly covered. She couldn’t help but think of that hole over his butt—if he wasn’t wearing underwear—

“Yeah. Mary Beth, this is Jacob Plenty Holes.”

Jacob’s black eye traveled up and down her body with an emotion that was stuck somewhere between angry and interested. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Hofstetter.” His voice was so cool as to be cold. “We’ll be working together.”

“W-we will?” she stuttered, trying to keep her mouth from going,
Plenty Holes?
The man in a mask—who may or may not have a freaking nose—is named Plenty Holes? She barely managed to keep the brakes slammed on and almost bit her tongue.

“Jacob manages the McGillis ranch,” Robin explained, the name McGillis coming out pained.

After a quick glance at the plain white building across the street, Jacob turned his eye back to the waitress. “He been by today?”

She started to shake her head no, but then her eyes went wide in fear.

Jacob didn’t even move his head as he addressed Mary Beth. “Go,” he ordered.

Without another word, Robin spun on her heels and was gone.

“Wait, what?” Mary Beth said, but the question died on her lips as Jacob cocked an ear. Mary Beth saw a tall white man heading straight for the restaurant. Jacob’s hand stealthily dropped down to the knife that hung at his side. She had no idea what was happening. This Jacob Plenty Holes had gone from erotically enticing to confusing to ice cold in less than three minutes.

“Hey, Plenty Holes!” the man said with just enough oil in his voice to make her think of a snake wearing boots. Mary Beth could feel the whole café recoil in disgust. “You here to get that albino again?”

“Evening, McGillis,” Jacob said, not moving.

Mary Beth looked at McGillis. This had to be the ranch owner. He towered over Jacob, making Mary Beth feel little bigger than a bug as she sat at the table, her forgotten roast beef getting cold. His sandy-brown hair was cut close to his head, and he had an odd smell that tinged the air around him with something close to patchouli. Standing next to Jacob in his torn jeans and faded concert tee, McGillis’s clothing screamed dominance. His tan boots were ostrich, his black pants were perfectly creased and around the neck of his crisp blue shirt sat a bolo tie that had an honest-to-goodness diamond in the center of a black-onyx medallion.

He was a good-looking man, although probably in his fifties. But there was something in his eyes that reminded Mary Beth of Brian Greevy and the way he would smile at her when she threw herself in between him and her mom. Everyone thought Brian was such a great guy. Even her mom had been convinced Brian was a winner, if only Mom could have done what he wanted, when he wanted it. Only Mary Beth had seen him for what he was—a coward hiding behind a bully’s fists. Skeevy Greevy, she’d called him.

Buck McGillis and Skeevy Greevy didn’t look anything alike, but their eyes told her everything she needed to know. She’d refused to be afraid of Greevy. She wasn’t about to be afraid of Buck McGillis.

So she swallowed down her dread and met his gaze straight on. He owned the major ranch near town. Mary Beth knew that she’d have to work with—work for—this tyrant of a man. Man, she wished she’d brought her knife to dinner.

“Well, now, what’s this?” McGillis drawled, jerking his waistband up and down like he was screwing his zipper. She’d seen lots of farmers and cattlemen hitch up their pants, but his agonizingly slow pace was just plain wrong.

Then he bent over to get a good look at what passed as her cleavage in her V-neck T-shirt. “Haven’t seen a pretty little thing like you here before.” He jerked his head towards Jacob. “Enjoy the show? I got a better one. You’ll have to see it some time,” he said as he gave the pants one final tug.

Jacob’s mouth opened, but Mary Beth beat him to the punch. “That’s Dr. Pretty Little Thing to you, Mr. McGillis,” she bristled, casually resting her hand on the steak knife on the table. It was no Bowie knife, but it’d do. “And I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t sleep with clients. I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on everyone’s show.”

As McGillis’s smile hardened, Mary Beth caught Jacob cocking his eyebrow, looking almost amused. But the look quickly vanished into impassable stone as McGillis sat down at the table.

“Doctor? You’re the new vet?” He looked her up and down before his face began to warm into something that might have been seductive if it hadn’t been so mercenary. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night. Take you out for a ride around the ranch. You’ll like it, better than that,” he said with jerk back towards a stone-faced Jacob.

The I-don’t-sleep-with-clients thing went whistling right past him. Okay, she thought as she leaned forward on her hands, batting her eyes, draw the line early. “Oh, Mr. McGillis,” she cooed.

“My friends call me Buck,” he replied, his eyes trained on her cleavage.

“Buck? Why that’s an interesting name,” she giggled as she broke out the dazzling smile. A quick glance to the left revealed the shocked look covering Jacob’s face. He was properly befuddled. She giggled again.

McGillis’s eyes fluttered as he tried to hitch his zipper up again. Yes, proper befuddlement had occurred all the way around. “You like it?” he preened. “I picked it out myself.”

“Well, I’m not sure it really fits you,” she drawled, tracing a finger on the tablecloth. She caught Jacob’s mouth flop open before a look of rage wiped out the shock.

“No?” McGillis replied, his honeyed voice making him sound pleased with himself.

“No,” she cooed again before going for the jugular. “I think you overvalued yourself by at least fifty cents.”

McGillis stood up so fast that his chair flew into the street. “You little—”

“Dr. Hofstetter!” Robin screeched, carrying a huge chocolate confection that had an honest-to-God sparkler flaming out of the top. “Here’s that chocolate bomb you ordered.”

She’d done no such thing. But Robin’s actions made it blisteringly clear that the whole restaurant had been listening in. McGillis looked from Mary Beth to Jacob before he leaned in close to Mary Beth. She caught the movement of Jacob grabbing his knife as she did the same.

“No one says no to Buck McGillis,” he snarled.

“Bill Coleman hired me. I don’t sleep with clients. I castrate calves. If you’ve got a problem with that,” she snarled back, slamming the butt of the knife back onto the table, “you just feel free to find another vet. It’s your call.”

McGillis smiled, a joyless thing that didn’t fit on his face. He stood up straight, brushed invisible lint off his shirt and slowly looked her up and down again. “Another time then.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Mr. McGillis,” she replied, looking as mean as she could despite the cold chills he sent racing down her spine. She wasn’t afraid of him, she reminded herself. She wasn’t afraid of anyone, but especially not the jerks of the world.

The big man gave her a joyless grin before he turned and casually strolled back towards a spotless black Jeep as if they’d just been shooting the breeze instead of threatening each other. The vehicle’s windows were tinted, but as the Jeep rolled past the restaurant, Mary Beth could feel Buck’s eyes on her—even if she couldn’t see them.

As he drove past, Jacob’s two horses shifted nervously from where they’d been drop-tethered, and Jacob patted their necks as he stared at her. “You don’t want to make an enemy of Buck McGillis, Dr. Hofstetter.”

“I don’t want to be treated like a play toy, Mr. Plenty Holes.” The horses calmed at his touch, and God help her, all she could think about was the show. “You’re not suggesting I give in just to make nice?”

“No. Just steer clear.” He caught her gaze and held it. His eye was so black it was almost blue, and Mary Beth felt like if she wasn’t careful, he’d pull her in with just one eye. “Just be careful.”

“Jacob?” a woman’s voice—older, clear and authoritative—called out from across the street. “We’re ready.”

Mary Beth watched as he crossed the street. Robin had misspoken. One woman in Faith Ridge hadn’t been watching the show.

“Who’s that?” she asked the shaken waitress.

“Mrs. Browne, the school teacher.” Robin collapsed in the chair she’d just set back at the table.

Mrs. Browne looked every inch the old West schoolmarm, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun, reading glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She was holding the hand of a small child nearly lost behind the folds of her voluminous skirt.

Mary Beth leaned to the right, trying to get a better look at the child who seemed to be—

White.

Milk-white skin, shock-white hair.

McGillis’s barb came back to her.
You here to get that albino again?

Mary Beth rubbed her temples. In the course of less than fifteen minutes, she’d nearly orgasmed watching a one-eyed, masked cowboy put on a strip-show shower in the middle of a street, managed to piss off her biggest client who just happened to be the town bully, and now she watched as the masked cowboy took the hand of an albino child, long white hair practically glowing in the early dusk. Mary Beth could see the purple-tinged eyes never move from the ground as Jacob led him? Her? Mary Beth couldn’t tell, but then Jacob was boosting the child onto the bare back of the second horse.

In one fluid movement, Jacob sprang up onto his horse’s back as if the five feet were nothing.

“Robin, Dr. Hofstetter.” He touched his fingers to his hat. “Ladies,” he replied to the remaining gawkers at the café.

And the masked cowboy rode off into the sunset, leading a horse carrying an albino child behind him.

The moment he was out of sight, the café began to buzz again, and Mary Beth’s mouth kicked into overdrive. “What the hell?” she asked Robin. “Does he have a nose or not? And was that albino kid a boy or a girl? And do I need to start packing a weapon?”

Robin sighed as she got up to clear a table. “Where are you staying?”

“Dr. Coleman set me up in a little house up on Beech—”

“Oh, yeah, Junior Malley’s old place,” she said as if that would mean anything to Mary Beth. “Ronny and I live two houses down.”