Trouble in Cowboy Boots (2 page)

The man’s smile widened. “Well, if we introduce ourselves we won’t be strangers.”

He held out a hand. “Wyatt Cavanaugh.”

Emily just stared at him. Finally she reached out her hand and put it in his.

Immediately arrows of heat shot through her, waking up hormones she didn’t even know existed. Probably she’d kept them hidden under her tailored suits.

Wyatt closed his fingers around her small hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Now you’re supposed to tell me your name,” he prompted.

She swallowed. “Emily Proctor.”

“Pleased to meet you, Emily Proctor,” he drawled. He nodded at the man sitting with an arm draped over the back of Roxie’s chair. “Cliff Beckett, owner of Chaps, the best honky-tonk in Howell County.”

10

Trouble in Cowboy Boots

Cliff laughed, a gravelly sound. “It better be. It’s the
only
honky-tonk in the county.”

“And don’t forget those other—”

“Other bad habits of mine?” Cliff interrupted. “Let’s let the ladies find out for themselves.”

Wyatt looked at him strangely and turned to introduce the third man at the table.

Before he could, the man crowding close to Lola tipped his hat and pointed to the star on his shirt. “Sam Campbell, county sheriff.”

“Sam was worried about three beauties traveling alone in that disaster you parked outside,” Cliff said, “and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Just doing my duty,” Sam put in laconically.

“If you get drunk at Chaps,” Wyatt grinned, “Sam will be the one to arrest you.”

“I don’t get drunk,” Emily told him, then bit her lip.

My god, I sound like my fourth grade teacher.

“Well, that’s nice to know. Mesa Blanco’s not exactly a tourist spot, so mind if I ask what you ladies are doing here?”

The three women exchanged looks.

“Traveling,” Roxie said and sipped at her Coke. “Seeing the West.”

“The last time I saw a boat like that was in a junkyard,” Cliff commented.

Wyatt chuckled and glanced out the big front window. “I’d have to say that limousine out there isn’t in tiptop shape for touring. In fact, if I were asked, I’d have to say it rolled over and died right here outside the Blue Belle. Now you have to figure out how to give it a funeral.”

“It’s not dead,” Lola protested.

“That’s right,” Emily added. “Just…resting.” She wished Wyatt would move his chair back a little. The heat sizzling between them was scorching her more than the sun 11

Desiree Holt

outside. She wondered if he felt it, too. When she looked at him there was a glint of humor in his eyes but otherwise his face gave nothing away.

Sam Campbell shook his head. “I have a feeling come this time tomorrow I’ll have to arrest that vehicle for loitering. Now. We’re honest men here and we just want to help. So why don’t you tell us why you
really
ended up here.”

The women heaved a collective sigh of resignation.

It’s not as if we can really get up, walk out of here and drive down the road.

“All right,” Roxie said. “I’ll start.”

With each of them contributing bits and pieces they got the whole miserable story out, all the while greedily drinking their soda, and Lola carefully avoiding any mention of the way that asshole, Nick Mantucci, had dumped her. Wyatt signaled for the waitress to bring refills for the women and more coffee for the men and they kept on drinking and talking.

At last Emily leaned back in her chair and glared at each of the men in turn, trying to ignore the sexual energy still crackling between her and Wyatt Cavanaugh.

“So. Does it make you macho men feel so much better to know we’re stuck here with practically no money, a car that won’t run and no place to go for help?”

“Well, now.” Wyatt drained the last dregs from his coffee cup. “It could have happened in a worse place.”

“Yeah?” Lola cocked an eyebrow at him. “How do you figure that?”

“We may not be as big as Las Vegas but we might be able to scare up a job or two.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like a cook at my ranch. My hands are getting real hungry since the last one quit.”

The silence was like an elephant in the room.

A cook? Yeah, right.

12

Trouble in Cowboy Boots

“Wyatt’s got a nice spread just outside of town,” Cliff told them. “Ten thousand acres, right, Wyatt? Runs a nice herd of beeves. Does pretty well for himself.”

“I don’t need a P.R. person, Cliff.” Wyatt leaned back in his chair. “But I do need a cook. For about twenty people.” His glance ranged around the table. “Anyone interested?”

Before she could stop herself the words were out of Emily’s mouth. “I am.”

Lola and Roxie looked at her as if she’d lost what was left of her mind. A cook?

They knew the closest she got to cooking was turning on the coffee maker in her condo.

Before she’d lost it. She was the takeout queen of Vegas.

They’re right. I’ve gone crazy. I can’t cook and all I want to do with this man I just met is
get naked and…

“So.” Wyatt broke into her thoughts. He was studying her, tiny lights dancing in his ever-changing hazel eyes. “You want to cook. Ever done it before?”

“Yes,” she lied. “Of course.” She gripped her hands together under the table and prayed her friends would keep their mouths shut.

“So running grub for twenty or so folks three times a day isn’t a problem.”

She shook her head back and forth as if it was on a swivel post. “Not at all.”

“Well, it comes with your own quarters just off the kitchen and a decent salary.” He named a figure that was less than Emily made in Vegas, but of course she wasn’t making anything at the moment so whatever the salary she was grateful. She’d just have to figure out how to cook and save up until she could get out of here.

Emily swallowed. “That sounds fine. When would you want me to start?”

“No time like the present. Your gear in that hunk of junk out there?”

She nodded.

“Let’s get to it, then.” He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Emily got a crick in her neck looking up at him. “What about my friends?”

13

Desiree Holt

“They’ll be safe.” It was the first time Sam, the taciturn one of the three, had spoken in some time. “I’ll see to it. I can at least get them rooms at Mrs. Chester’s for a couple of nighto. At a rate they can afford,” he added quickly as Emily started to protest.

“See?” Wyatt took her elbow, his fingers singing her where they touched her skin.

“All set. Let’s get going.”

Lola cleared her throat. “Emily, are you sure about this?”

No, but I can’t say it out loud.

“Yes, if you’re positive you’ll be okay.”

“We’ll be fine,” Roxie told her. “I’ll make sure.
You
just stay safe. If you change your mind, we’re right here. We’ll figure out what to do.”

“She won’t be changing her mind.” Wyatt guided her to the door. “This will work out just fine.”

Emily cast one glance back at her friends before letting Wyatt lead her outside to a shiny black pickup and the unknown.

What have I done?

14

Trouble in Cowboy Boots

Emily blew a stray hair from her forehead and turned off the hot water faucet.

Standing at the sink she could watch twilight descending and see a sliver of moon emerging. Day Three at the Lazy Aces Ranch. A far cry from the Hotel Royale in Las Vegas. The sun was blistering hot, dirt from the yard and the corral flew everywhere, especially when there was a breeze, and instead of the scents common to a luxury hotel all she smelled here was cattle, horseflesh, and more animal shit than she thought possible to accumulate in one place.

Not to mention the fact that her clothes were hardly appropriate. Silk and linen slacks just didn’t cut it at a working ranch. She wore her jeans shorts the first day but after listening to many wolf whistles from the men—albeit good-natured— she’d changed to the oldest pair of slacks she had with her and a loose t-shirt.

And the nickname! That was almost more irritating than anything else. Some jerk who’d seen too many reruns of
The Wizard of Oz
had started calling her Auntie Em and the others had picked it up. She’d waited for Wyatt to say something but he seemed as amused by it as everyone else.

The men had worked hard all day, moving cattle to the summer pasture, and as usual, they were hungry. She’d done her best to feed them but she was waiting for Wyatt to lose patience with her and dump her back in Mesa Blanco.

The little apartment off the kitchen Wyatt had said was hers was nowhere near the class of her condo—make that
former
condo—but it was far more presentable than she’d expected. Bedroom, bath, sitting room. Even a television with satellite hookup. Too bad she didn’t know enough about her job to earn her keep.

Oh, she’d been all bluster when she first arrived, prowling the kitchen and nodding as Wyatt told her what the men liked to eat. Luckily she’d found a couple of cookbooks 15

Desiree Holt

someone had stuck away in the pantry closet and spent the first night studying them as if her life depended on it. Which, in a way, it did.

She’d managed to get by with scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast the next morning. Even
she
knew how to make those. After that it had been steadily downhill.

Burnt biscuits. Burnt chicken. Burnt hamburgers. Burnt. Burnt. Burnt.

Emily sighed. Being assistant director for conventions at a Las Vegas hotel in no way prepared one for being a ranch cook. Maybe she should have been spending more time in the hotel kitchen. Wyatt had been giving her a wide berth but any minute now she expected him to come marching in to the kitchen and tell her to pack her things.

And then what? Lola and Roxie had called to say they’d found jobs—Lola at the Blue Belle Café and Roxie tending bar at Chaps. There probably wasn’t another available job in town. But maybe she could bunk in with Roxie at Mrs. Chester’s while she checked out her options. Or better yet with Lola. Belle, owner of Blue Belle’s, had given her a tiny apartment behind the café. Yeah, that would probably be better.

Yeah, right. Options.

Besides, that would take her away from Wyatt, whose very presence, she’d discovered, made her panties wet with desire and her nipples so stiff she had to keep a dishtowel hanging over her shoulder to hide them. Another problem she hadn’t expected—to be in lust with her boss. But the first morning after he’d brought her to the ranch, when he came into the kitchen with that loose-hipped walk of his, worn jeans clinging to long legs and a work shirt stretched across broad shoulders she’d almost licked her lips.

There was heat between them. Even Wyatt couldn’t deny it. She saw it in the way he looked at her when no one else was watching. Felt it in the invisible electricity that crackled between them when they were within five feet of each other.

Not that she thought he’d be interested in taking things any further. For one thing, she worked for him. For another, she was probably as far away from the women he liked as she could get. Although in the three days she’d been here she hadn’t heard him 16

Trouble in Cowboy Boots

mention any, or the hands tease him about one. And no evidence that she could find of women hanging out at the ranch. Of course, she hadn’t gone into his bedroom to explore. Still, she could fantasize about what sex with him would be like.

Which for some ungodly reason she’d done in her dreams. Probably the closest she’d get to it.

Am I crazy? He’s no more my type than I am his.

Sighing, she went back to scrubbing the burnt pot, wondering if she’d have to pay for all the cooking utensils she was ruining. Lost in thought, she didn’t hear anyone enter the kitchen and jumped when a hand touched her shoulder, dropping the pot into the soapy water with a splash. She looked up to see Wyatt reflected in the window.

“Sorry.” His deep voice was a caress drifting over her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No problem.” She picked up the pot and began rubbing at it again.

Wyatt reached around, took then pot from her hands and put it in the sink. “Leave that for a minute. We need to talk.”

Emily’s heart sank. This was it. In a few minutes she’d be out on her ear and then what?

“Come on.” He handed her a dish towel. “Dry your hands and sit down. How about a cup of coffee?”

“Sure. Why not?” Maybe the caffeine would give her courage.

By the time she dried her hands Wyatt had filled two mugs and carried them to the table. He gestured for her to sit down. Wrapping her hands around the mug, she lifted it to sip the hot liquid, hoping her hands wouldn’t shake too badly.

Wyatt took a swallow of his own coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug with his come-fuck-me eyes. They had darkened and the flecks of green and gold sparkled like jewels. Emily shivered under his penetrating gaze. Finally she sat up straighter and squared her shoulders.

17

Desiree Holt

“I think we have a problem here.”

Emily’s stomach lurched. Oh, yeah, they had a problem. At least
she
had one. She’d known this was a mistake the minute she’d opened her mouth back at the Blue Belle but she’d had the insane idea she could figure out how to make it work.

“Listen.” She set her coffee mug down. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about…well, everything.”

Was that a smile teasing at his sensuous mouth?

“Sorry that my men are lusting after you or sorry that we haven’t had an edible meal since you got here?” His eyes danced with mischief. “Tell me something. Have you
ever
cooked a meal before? In your life.”

She shook her head, miserable.

“Never?”

She shook her head again.

Just fire me and get it over with.

He took a swallow of his coffee, studying her over the rim of the mug. “Then why the hell did you take this job? I thought you were going to knock your friends out of their chairs you were so anxious to raise your hand.”