The Cowboy and the Angel (2 page)

“You’d look good on camera, you know.” She circled her finger over the back of his hand and wrist. “What’s your name?”

Derek wondered how Scott would’ve handled this situation. He frowned, torn between following his natural instinct to have fun with this incredibly attractive woman and becoming the dependable rock for his family the way his brother had always been. Responsibility won out. “No interviews,” he repeated. His voice was gruffer than he’d intended and he cleared his throat, feeling like a jerk.

“Okay,” she agreed, holding up her hands, acknowledging her defeat, “I just thought that maybe I could get a behind-the-scenes look at the rodeo. It might be good publicity for you,” she suggested, glancing at him coyly and batting her lashes dramatically.

Derek had a hard time keeping his laughter at bay as he forced himself to be stern. She was a terrible flirt. She couldn’t possibly think this act was working. “Our publicity is just fine. If you want to see the rodeo, you’ll have to buy a ticket like everyone else.” He glanced back to the stock trailer and saw Mike watching him. He couldn’t waste any more time when the early events were due to begin soon.

“There’s no need to get fired up, cowboy. I just wanted to talk to you.”

She leaned toward the fence, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her ample cleavage since she was at least eight inches shorter than he was, and pouted. A sizzle of heat shot through him and centered in his groin. Derek arched a single brow and gave her a lopsided grin. He knew Mike needed him, but he couldn’t help but enjoy the redheaded vixen’s awkward attempt at seduction.

“About what?” Derek said.

“If you open this gate, I have some coffee in the van. We could chat over a cup.” She ran her fingers over his forearm before playing with the frayed edge of his t-shirt where it stretched over his bicep.

Derek couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “That’s the best you’ve got? I’d have thought that someone who looks . . .” He eyed her well-endowed frame. “Well, like you, would at least know how to flirt better. You’re gonna have to work harder than that to get me to do an interview.”

She narrowed her eyes as they flashed with emerald fire, her full lips pinched together with fury at being thwarted. All pretense of seduction disappeared. “Look, I have a press pass your boss issued our station last week.” She jabbed her finger against the hard wall of his chest. “Are you going to honor it or not?”

“That press pass entitles you to attend the rodeo, not to distract me from my job. Feel free to come back when the gates open and watch the show. Interview the cowboys then. Hell, I’ll even give you a
private
interview if you want,” he said, wiggling his brows and laughing at her.

She wrinkled her pert little nose at him and rolled her eyes. “No thanks. Dust-covered manure jockeys aren’t my thing.”

Normally, he’d have been offended by her insult, but right now he couldn’t help wanting to kiss that smart mouth of hers. He glanced at Skip, who awaited her orders at the van. This uptight city girl was probably used to men lining up to do her bidding, but out here she was on his turf and, desirable or not, he wasn’t letting her have the upper hand.

Derek chuckled, jerking his chin at her clothing. “By the way, your urban cowboy look is going to make you stick out like a sore thumb. You might want to do some research on what to wear to a rodeo before you come out later.” He walked away, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Although, I must admit, those pants do make your butt look great.”

“Y
OU MIGHT WANT
to pucker up, cowboy, because the next time you see me, you can kiss it,” she yelled after him.

Angela eyed his retreating back. No man outsmarted her, and she wasn’t about to let a smelly cowboy have the last word. She wasn’t normally a violent person, but if she’d seen a rock nearby, she’d have thrown it at the cocky redneck. She wasn’t buying his “good ole boy” act any more than he’d believed her coy ruse to get through the gate. She certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge the electric jolt of pleasure she felt when her hand touched his or again when his bicep had flexed beneath her fingers.

She needed this story and she was going to get it, no matter what. She wasn’t about to let some Podunk, backwoods hick stop her from scooping this story for her reel and getting the hell out of this town, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous he was. This exposé about the abusive treatment of rodeo stock was her ticket out of this small time, local gig. Petty events and feel-good pieces were getting her nowhere, and she couldn’t stand reporting another grocery store opening or ribbon-cutting ceremony.

She couldn’t even think about what would happen to her and her father if she wasn’t able to get him away soon. If he stayed much longer, his guilt was going to eat him alive, leaving her alone. She had to protect him, even from himself. He was all she had left. She needed this story to change their circumstances, and no redneck cowboy was going to get in her way.

She spun on her heel, nearly tripping over the clunky cowboy boots, and yanked open the passenger door. A blush heated her skin, rising from her chest to her cheeks, and she prayed he’d missed her less-than-graceful exit. She tossed the microphone to the floor and slammed the door as the sound of his laughter carried to her ears.
So much for prayers
.

She wasn’t even sure why she was letting this guy get her so worked up. She’d never been one to lose her cool—not with businessmen, politicians, or actors—so, why in the world would a
cowboy
, no matter how sexy he was, get her flustered? And why was a phony dalliance causing her mind to conjure up images of their bodies pressed together, sending heat coursing through her veins? It’s not like she was really flirting with him. She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind.

“What was that all about?” Skip asked, turning the key in the ignition.

“Just shut up and drive,” she muttered. “Go to the diner on the corner so I can figure out our next move.” She pulled a laptop out of her bag and powered it up. “First, I need to find out more about this particular stock contractor and the idiots he has working for him.” She pulled her hat off and tossed it behind her, recalling his parting words. “On second thought, let’s go find something else for me to wear.”

“Didn’t research that?”

“Who researches rodeo clothes?” She shot him a sideways glance in time to see him trying to hide a grin and glared at him. She knew the names others at the station called her behind her back: Ice Princess, Snob, and Queen Bitch. She deliberately kept herself closed off from most of her coworkers. It was easier to undercut them, stab them in the back, or bail on them completely if she didn’t feel a connection. It was a cutthroat industry and she might hate herself later, but right now, being a cold-hearted witch was the only way to survive. If that meant being the Channel 12 Ice Princess, then so be it. But most of them would love to see her fall on her face like this. She probably should have put more thought into what to wear, but she’d been in such a hurry to get her animal rights information in order that she hadn’t studied trends in rodeo wear.

“If you mention this again, I’ll make sure the only videos you take will be home movies, got it?” she threatened. She felt guilty as she glanced at the wedding ring on his hand, but she wasn’t going to let him spread word that some cowboy had beaten her at her own game.

“D
ONE ALREADY?
W
HY
don’t the reporters that interview me look like that?” Mike winked at him and pulled the cinch on the saddle tight.

“I didn’t do an interview.” Derek frowned, deciding in an instant he didn’t like being the guy in charge. It made him feel like an egotistical ass.

“Something wrong?”

Derek wasn’t sure how to explain his frustration to Mike. The man raised him after his parents died and could read his every emotion like Derek was his blood. He shook his head, hoping to clear the vision of the redheaded spitfire from his mind. “Just getting my head in the game for today.”

Derek didn’t want to admit that a woman he’d met only minutes ago had him second-guessing his ability to do this job. He could barely focus on the rodeo that was about to start because he was doubting his decision to not kiss her sassy mouth.
Great,
now I’m as bad as one of those randy bulls.

“So, what’d she want?” Mike bent over to clean a horse’s hoof. “Did you even find out?”

“Not really. She was a snob.”

Derek regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. It was a fair assumption given her insult, but he’d been a jerk, taunting her. It wasn’t fair to be so judgmental of her because he was thrust into a role he didn’t feel prepared for. He should’ve ignored the van from the start, or asked Jen talk to them. Instead he’d flirted with her and tormented himself with glimpses of creamy skin where the buttons of her shirt pulled. He wrenched his thoughts from the tantalizing path they were taking.

“She had a press pass, so she may be back later. You can talk to her next time.”

There was no way he was getting caught within ten feet of that succubus again. She was too much of a distraction, and he needed to prove to his family he was capable of handling this responsibility. Unlike the last time they’d trusted him.

Chapter Two

T
HAT VIXEN MIGHT
have changed her clothes, but Derek wouldn’t mistake those curves for anyone else. He wasn’t sure who’d dressed her this time around but, had she been astride a horse, she could’ve passed for any of the barrel racers circling the warm-up arena. She no longer looked like she’d just stepped out of a bad 70s Western. His eyes drifted to the press badge hanging on a lanyard between her breasts.

Down boy, you don’t need this kind of distraction.

His feet ignored the warnings his brain offered. He stepped up behind her while she watched the chute crew slipping horn wraps over the steers for the team roping event. Derek placed a hand on either side of her shoulders, along the top of the metal panel railing.

“Still looking for that interview?”

“Not from you, cowboy.” She didn’t even bother to turn and face him.

“Ugh! You wound me.” He clapped a hand to his chest, just above his heart.

Derek wasn’t sure if she’d known it was him or didn’t care who it was. He caught a whiff of vanilla and peaches and inhaled deeply, feeling a jolt of desire strike him in the gut. Her deep-red hair shone like fire from under the new black Stetson, and his fingers itched to see if those tresses were as soft as they appeared. She glanced over her shoulder, pinning him with an irritated glance as he grinned down at her.

“I highly doubt that. I’m sure there are plenty of other women around here for you to harass.” She turned back to the animals milling in the large pen behind the chutes.

“Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” He looked down at the back of her head and wondered again if flirting with her wasn’t a huge mistake. “I get the feeling you think I’m a jerk.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re a jerk,” she interrupted, glancing back at him. He arched his brows in surprise. “I
know
you’re a jerk.” He laughed as she shoved his arm from the fence so she could pass, causing him to stumble forward.

“Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do and an interview with Mike Findley.” She shot him a coy smile. “I guess your boss sees an interview with me as good publicity after all. Maybe that’s why he’s the owner and you’re, well, you.”

With a twirl she headed back toward her news van. The waves of her red hair swayed at her waist, making her back seem ablaze and he felt his stomach tighten, wondering how it was possible that he still smelled vanilla and peaches over the pungent scent of cattle and dust.

Yep, she’s trouble with a capital T.

“M
R
. F
INDLEY, HOW
long have you been a stock contractor?”

Angela flipped her hair back over her shoulder and smiled at the older gentleman. He had kind eyes that crinkled with laughter as they joked before turning on the cameras. He seemed like a genuinely nice man. A twinge of guilt stabbed at her conscience, but only for a moment, as she recalled the atrocities she’d found in her research of the cruelties stock contractors had been accused of.

“I started this company with my partner about twenty-five years ago. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

She smiled brightly at him, attempting to lure him into a false sense of security. “Did you always love rodeo?” She glanced at her cameraman, Skip, and gave him a signal to zoom in on the old man. His reaction when she swooped in for the kill would be ratings gold.

“Rodeo’s in my blood. My father was a bronc rider, his father, too. I learned to rope a steer right after I learned to walk.” He chuckled and shifted his hat, readjusting it on his head nervously. “I guess you could say I was practically born in a saddle.”

“So, it would be accurate to say you’ve been abusing these poor animals for most of your life?”

The man frowned as if he hadn’t understood the question. “What? I . . . no,” he stammered.

“Mr. Findley,” she began, deliberately tilting her head toward him in a way that would appear hard-hitting but feminine on camera, her tone as condescending as if she were scolding a wayward child. “Do you expect us to believe that these animals aren’t abused?”

Mike Findley straightened, still looking confused. Remorse gnawed at the edges of her conscience. Just because he was a nice man, or the fact that his family had never been forced to take responsibility for their actions, didn’t mean he shouldn’t be made to answer for the wrongdoing, she reasoned. And if exposing the mistreatment of his livestock earned her a ticket to a bigger television station and a better life for her and her father, then she’d ignore her conscience and do what was best for her family.

“We have never allowed, nor would we ever allow, any abuse of our animals,” said another voice from behind her. She recognized
that
voice immediately. “These animals are treated with the utmost care and dignity. Without them, we couldn’t make a living.”