Never Dare A Cowboy

Never Dare a Cowboy

Never Dare a Cowboy by Sylvie Kaye

A DF Books NERDs Release Copyright © 2000 Syvlie Kaye Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1 All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Kaye, Sylvie, 1947Never dare a cowboy I. Title PS3561.A9293N48 2000 813'.6 C00-932009-1

Table of Contents Author Info Publisher Info

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Never Dare a Cowboy

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Chapter 1 The sign on the door of the ranch house read 'Be Right Back.' For the last hour Amanda Martin had been leaning against the porch railing while she got hotter and dustier and crankier. She glared at the sign. At home in Pennsylvania, 'Right Back' meant minutes; here in Colorado it must have meant a lot longer. She stamped her feet to restore her circulation before she plodded down the wooden steps and plopped herself on the lowest one. When her bottom hit the rough planks she lifted one hip, smoothing her file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EBooks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (2 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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fingers over the back of her jeans, checking for splinters. Now wouldn't that be a fitting end to a perfectly rotten four days? Driving 2000 miles cross-country alone had been frightening, to say the least, but she'd made it safely. That was all that mattered for now. Driving home would be yet another ordeal - one she didn't want to think about. Neither did she want to think about her ex-fianc‚, Stuart...the louse. Or the inconsiderate hired hand who was supposed to have met her promptly at 10:00 A.M. Amanda bowed her head and wiggled her toes. She should have known better than to rely on a man, even for something as simple as punctuality. Like a fool she'd driven all night to be here on time - only to study her shoes. Her canvas, laceless, once white sneakers were streaked with motor oil and travel dirt, had one, two, three, four eyelets - and were suddenly toe-to-toe with a pair of dusty cowboy boots. It was about time. Her gaze swept upward to a pair of muscular thighs clad in tight-fitting jeans with a well-worn fly, up to a silver belt buckle initialed with the letters J.T. Five buttons higher, a denim work shirt opened at the collar to reveal dark, coarse curls. From there things got trickier. She had to crane her neck backward to glimpse a face shadowed by a cowboy hat. She couldn't make out his features, and the effort was knotting the back of her neck, so she let her head fall forward - level again with his 505 non-button fly. She shifted her eyes to his belt buckle, and fretted. Why didn't he back up a step? She'd have to belly-butt the man to stand up. Surely he could see how embarrassing her position was...the clod. From above her head, a deep, low voice boomed, "Been waiting long?" Amused. Did his voice sound amused? She whipped her head up, but still couldn't make out the line of his mouth beneath the shade of his hat. But she just knew he was grinning...the snake - if snakes grinned. "Not too," she answered, noncommittally, dropping her head to relax the stiffness in her neck. She'd grow roots before she'd admit that he rankled her. "Your motor's running." "I know." She glanced at the pink GEO Tracker. The strains of Whitney Houston singing a ballad rose up through the partially opened soft-top. "I was bored, so I turned on the radio."

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And why was she explaining to him? "Saving the battery?" "Yes." He should've been thinking about a requiem for his watch not her battery. "You sound a mite peevish," he said offhandedly. Mite didn't begin to describe it. His tall frame was blotting out one of the 300-odd days of sunshine that Colorado boasted, not to mention Amanda's view of the purple mountains' majesty. Her hoped for glimpse of a real life cowboy - not the wannabe, line-dancing kind - had turned into a close up that was too real for comfort. Looked like it was about time to back the cowpoke up and wipe the smile off his face. Her tone sweetened. "I was a bit cranky earlier, but talking to your zipper has cheered me immensely." It worked. With two dust swirls, the boots tripped backward as if they had been lit with matchsticks. A verbal hot foot. Amanda slowly unfolded herself from her lowly position on the step and stood to face him. The clod turned out to be quite handsome. Ruggedly so. Too bad. Good-looking men were harder to take down; they were so self-assured. And exactly the types she planned to avoid. His square jaw, high cheekbones, and straight hard mouth, which stretched taut over even white teeth, touted his masculine allure. The hard mouth tempted a woman to want to kiss it, soften it, make it moan. Enough. She blinked and looked up into his eyes, expecting a calculated cold stare. His eyes were liquid brown, like a doe's eyes. They surprised her. They didn't belong with his hard-edged demeanor. His eyes looked as if they could sap the soul of its secrets, and he looked like the kind of man who would use those secrets to his advantage. "That's one sassy mouth you've got there, Ma'am." Despite the annoying twang he put on the ma'am, his soulful gaze held hers captive - right through the lenses of her mirrored sunglasses. When his eyes released hers, for all of a second, she was thankful - until those dark brown eyes blazed a heated trail over her person. Starting first at the visor of her black baseball cap, they moved lazily over her mirrored sunglasses and down to her lips, which she knew were chapped from nervously chewing on them in traffic. She followed his gaze as it scanned to the vee at the first button of her baggy baseball shirt, then to her shirttails, the worn through holes at the knees of her jeans, and to her beat-up tennis sneakers. Then a torturous, slow journey back upward ended on her mouth. His lip curled in obvious

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disapproval. Who hired this man? He must be awfully good at wrangling, or whatever they did on ranches. Why else would anyone employ such a disagreeable person? He'd left her waiting in the hot sun, made no apology, then propped himself in her face, to his amusement. Now he snarled his distaste at her appearance. She planned to report his conduct to the owner of the ranch the first chance she got. She was keeping a running mental list of his transgressions. In the meantime, she refused to be intimidated. Deliberately, she eyed him from head-to-toe and back. She skimmed over the soft brown eyes and the kissable mouth, then did an unhurried study of his thick neck, muscular shoulders, and broad chest. She wondered just how many of those dark, coarse curls matted that broad chest? Slowly, she observed his flat stomach and narrow hips, avoiding his fly - she'd seen enough of his fly. She'd already examined his muscular thighs and calves and his booted feet in depth earlier, too. She inched her perusal upward, hoping for a flaw. A chipped tooth on the bottom row of those beautiful white teeth would have to do. Hastily, she moved on, avoiding the tantalizing mouth, and the soulsearching eyes. Her stare rested on his nose. His nostrils were flared. Good. She'd gotten to him. "I guess you'll be wanting to see the cabin, too," he said. "I'd like to see it before I commit. A month is a long stay." "Big commitment," he drawled. "Longer than some marriages." She ignored his comment. "Should we walk or take the truck?" She tapped her foot, stirring up little puffs of dirt. "You call that pink thing a truck?" "I call it Mountain Laurel Pink," she said, her pride pricked. "After the Pennsylvania state flower. And since the truck is running, be my guest. Unless you're afraid that driving it will threaten your masculinity." "Come on. Let's get it done," he said. As he climbed into the driver's seat, she heard him mumble something about 'Pepto-Bismol pink.' While she skirted around to the other side of the vehicle, he unexpectedly reached across the passenger seat and opened the door for her. She didn't want him to do anything nice. She wanted to dislike him, along with every other man who breathed and walked and had danger written all over him. "Thanks," she muttered.

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"Gears? I'm impressed." His tone said he wasn't. Sarcasm...she was glad. She'd rather deal with that than most men's phony sweet talk. "I told you it was a truck, four-wheel drive and all." He shifted into first, engaged the clutch, and veered the vehicle down past the weathered barn. At the bottom of the hill, within view of the log ranchhouse, she spied five cabins dotting the pastoral horizon. "I hope I'm going to like it," she murmured. "We sent brochures." "I didn't have time to wait. I booked without them." Impatiently, she wiped her damp palms on the thighs of her ragged jeans. "I don't have a B." "A bee?" His brows creased. "B, as in backup. I don't have a backup plan." "You won't need one." He braked to a dusty stop in front of the nearest wooden clapboard cabin. She followed him in through a squeaky screen-door that latched with an eye hook, then through a wooden main door that luckily sported a deadbolt lock. He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and shoved his hands in his pockets while she toured the premises. There wasn't much to tour: a living room, a kitchenette, a bedroom and a bath. Quaint, cozy, livable. It would do. "Questions?" "What's indigenous hereabouts? You know...animal, mineral, vegetable?" "We deloused," he said. "I wasn't being insulting. I'm worried about things that crawl, bite, sting...go bump in the night." "Then stop worrying." "Could you do a spot check anyway?" She chewed her bottom lip, waiting. Amanda was no animal lover, but a working ranch was probably as good a place as any to learn to be less neurotic about them. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EBooks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (6 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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So far he hadn't answered any of her questions. She still didn't know if southwestern Colorado was inhabited with snakes, spiders, bats, wolves...her list was endless. Bears, bobcats, Yeti, The Abominable Snowman. He humored her. He flung open all the drawers and doors, peering into cabinets and closets. "Nothing," he announced blandly. "Can you guarantee my safety?" "Yes." "Okay." She nodded, believing him. He didn't look like the type to boast idly. "The power's been turned on, and the fridge and stove are hooked up. The phone doesn't ring out." He awaited her reaction. She shrugged. "Line one is the house, line two, the barn. Either Shorty or I will answer. One of us will always be at either place for the duration of the month." She nodded. Shorty must be another of the ranchhands. "If you want to call out," he explained, "you'll have to use the office phone up at the house." "I won't be needing a telephone. I'm not expecting any incoming calls, and I won't be calling out." "A woman who doesn't talk on the phone. Now there's an odd one." He chuckled disparagingly. "How cliched," she said in a droll voice. "How about hot water?" "We've got it." "How much? Enough for a fifteen minute shower?" she asked. The man dodged questions like a politician running for office. "Gallons." "I was promised an air conditioner." His eyebrow shot up. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EBooks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (7 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"By Mr. Cutter." Her chin jutted out. She had him now. "If I said so...then you'll have one." "You're Mr. Cutter?" Her shoulders slumped. "J. T. Cutter. J.T. will do," he threw at her. Great. The mental list of indignities she'd planned to report had just been torn to shreds. She shook his extended hand. He didn't feel like a viper at all. His hand wasn't cold and slimy. Instead, it was warm, roughened with calluses, and charged with a current of attraction she quickly denied. As if jolted, she snatched her hand from his, tucking it behind her back. "Guess I'm your new neighbor for the next thirty days." "Guess so." His mouth looked even more somber. "You're already down to twenty-nine and a half," she consoled him. "There are papers to sign up at the office." "Let's unload the truck first." "I'm no bellhop." "Good," she said, "then I won't have to tip you." His lip twitched. She watched it waver somewhere between a snarl and a smile. It continued to waver with each neon pink plastic crate he stacked inside the front door. After she'd handed off her suitcase and was latching the tailgate, an auburn-haired woman with huge golden eyes came barreling down the lane. "J.T., J.T.!" the woman shouted in a shrill voice. "The bank called. We don't need her. Tell her to go." The woman with the pretty face, pouting lips, and full hips and full bosom yanked J.T. off of the porch by his arm. With their backs turned away from Amanda, the woman alerted him. "We don't need her lease. Or the others. I'll call and cancel them. The want ads, too. The bank lent Hardy file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EBooks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (8 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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the cash he owed us on last year's cattle. Send her away." Amanda overheard every word. She stubbed the toe of her sneaker into the dirt. Perhaps he'd allow her to stay the night. She wasn't up to driving another mile, let alone battling the upcoming holiday traffic. Maybe he knew of other cabins nearby. No way could she start the exodus back to Pennsylvania this soon. She wasn't ready to go home yet. She needed to keep distance between herself and the gossip - although 2000 miles might have been a bit drastic. The advertisement in the back of the magazine had been the clincher. The Cutter-a-Break Ranch sounded like a perfect haven: Let the beauty of the Four Corners area inspire you. Colorado retreat. Private cabins on a working ranch. Horse and range optional. June through September. Today was July first. Colorado's beauty indeed butted a corner with Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. The mountains, the skies, the vastness of land was overwhelming. She'd opted for the no work, no horse plan - unless they came up with a very tame horse. She was extending that plan to include no cowboys, unless, of course, they had a very tame one. Now if Mr. and Mrs. J.T. would just leave her to the privacy of her cabin... The auburn-haired woman dragged her booted feet in the dirt like a bratty child as she tread her way back up the hill. Amanda watched the woman a moment, then put her hands in her back pockets and braced herself. She looked at J.T. She looked pitiful, J.T. thought. He wondered how anyone that sorry looking had been able to drive cross-country alone. He admired the feat. She had guts, even if he didn't much like them. The woman was darned unlikable. For that reason, he'd let her stay. Another reason was the way she stood her ground. He'd given her 'that look,' the one that made grown men back off. He'd given her 'that tone,' the one that made men cringe. Yet, she'd gone toe-to-toe with him. He figured she deserved to have her way. But he'd have to handle Jolene. Her amber eyes had been speckled with sour shades of green this afternoon. Jolene was more than a mite on the jealous side, a minor flaw - one he chose to ignore, even though it overstepped their friendship. Joley was a good pal who sometimes tended to overprotect both him and the ranch. She was also a tad bossy, another minor flaw. What was important was her heart. She loved the ranch life, and with the Cutter spread being bigger than most she loved it most. He found that understandable.

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Her jealous streak, which was as long as the Colorado River, would have to be appeased. Although - he eyed the pathetic, bedraggled stick figure in front of him--there wasn't much for Jolene to be jealous of. Still, he'd have to handle Jolene. "About the lease - " Amanda raised her hand to stop him. "Your wife doesn't want me here. I don't want to cause trouble. If I could stay until the morning, though." Doubt deepened with the furrowing of his brows. She and the rancher had gotten off on the wrong foot - make that boot. Hope was not an option here. "Jolene's not my wife." His words were scratchy, as if the idea of him having a wife was abrasive. She agreed; it was. "Well, if your girlfriend doesn't want me to stay, perhaps there are other cabins in the area." "She's not my girlfriend." "Your sister?" Amanda wondered why she'd asked. At this point she really didn't care who the woman was. Again he was evading direct answers. Things weren't looking too promising. "Jolene updates the computer and ties up the loose ends in the office one afternoon a week. This afternoon." "She said we...you must date." Amanda felt compelled to defend her reasoning. Why? She didn't know. It had nothing to do with her situation. He shrugged his shoulder to show his indifference to her opinion. "Bad business practice J.T.," she said. "Dating the hired help." She decided he wasn't going to let her stay so she might as well nettle him. "Jolene doesn't exactly work for me. I pay her, but she comes out to the house as a favor. And why am I explaining to you? Worry about your own boyfriend." "He eloped without me." "Probably had something to do with that nasty mouth of yours, Ma'am." "Do I have to vacate tonight?" Amanda put her fists on her hips and stared up at him, hoping to force an answer.

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"No," he snapped. "Tomorrow morning then." "No." "No?" "The end of the month was our agreement." "But I didn't sign." "My handshake's binding...same as my word." His tone was stern, final. "Thank you, J.T." "Don't thank me. Anybody'll tell you I'm honest--and mean." And proud of both, the grim set of his mouth told her. An honest man? She doubted one existed. "You're not so mean, J.T." Then just to unnerve him, she tipped her sunglasses onto her nose and flashed him a wink over the top of the frames. He frowned. "Better come up to the house at noon tomorrow to sign. No sense riling Joley anymore today."

Too travel weary to think about food, Amanda collapsed onto the oak bedstead, which was covered in a patchwork of colors. Fuzzy TV reception and fitful dreams carried her into the next morning. She unpacked her clothing, but not the crates. The dry, hot air inside the cabin was stuffy. After showering, she used a double dose of her deodorant. Her natural blond curls had almost dried by the time she finished dressing. She finger-combed her hair and glossed her chapped lips. Her long, lean legs carried her up the hill toward the house. Every stone and rut indented her thin leather soles. The thong sandals had been a mistake, but the short culotte dress wasn't. Amanda's flash point was low; any time the temperature inched toward 90, she wilted. A quarter way up the lane, she turned herself around. Driving was quicker, easier, and cooler. Besides, file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (11 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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as soon as she paid J.T. off, she had to head into town - if those several streets of buildings she'd driven through yesterday could be called a town. She pulled up and parked alongside the all too familiar, rough-hewn pillars of the porch. After clanging the metal hitching ring that served as a doorknocker, she called out, "It's me and my checkbook." No answer. She rapped harder, then eased the door open. "Come in," J.T. answered, appearing from a doorway to the left. He clasped both hands on the doorjamb above his head and looked down at her with curiosity, and a sleepy-lidded, approving leer. He was hatless, and the locks that tousled across his forehead were dark with reddish highlights, like mahogany. He had a rumpled, sleepy look. Quite some approach. Obvious, but effective. She resisted, with a tentative smile. Twice he scanned her tanned legs, and a grin cracked his lips. His languid brown gaze stroked each golden curl framing her face before flirting with her green eyes, tempting them with unspoken lusty promises. Arrogantly masculine, he exuded sexuality. He dared her, excited her. And she hated him for it with a passion. When his slitted stare lowered to her slick chapped lips, recognition struck, wiping the lazy grin from his mouth, turning it into a hard grim line. "It's you." "It's noon," she said. "Yesterday you looked like a delinquent boy - " "And today?" "You don't," he accused. He led her into the office and quickly signed the papers before shoving them across the desk toward her. Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the computer, the maple desk with its matching bookcases, and the forest green leather chairs. She sighed her relief after she'd searched the wood paneled walls. There were no mounted dead heads. Animals made Amanda nervous - dead or alive, large or small. Well, mostly the large and alive kind; file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (12 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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they were too unpredictable. But the stuffed and mounted kind with glassy fake eyes positively gave her the creeps. When he barked, "Sign here, and here," she snapped to attention. Her fingers snatched the pen from his and a charge grazed them. The floors were hardwood. No rugs. No static. This troubled her as she inked on the dotted lines. "About the air conditioner?" she asked, dropping her check onto the desk in front of him, curling her fingers away from his, careful not to make further contact. "Nagging already?" He leaned across the desk on braced arms, his face coming dangerously close. "Check hasn't even cleared." "As long as we're being honest, and mean," she said in a huff, "I don't nag, and I won't beg. I was merely asking when you planned to uphold your end of the bargain." She backed away toward the door. She wasn't foolish enough to turn her back on the varmint. "End of today. If not, definitely end of tomorrow," he taunted. "Is that honest and mean enough for you?" "I'll be waiting," she sniped at him from the open doorway. She swirled around to leave, then twirled back. "When is the end of the day?" "About six o'clock." He grinned. His smirking grin ticked her off. His dark sultry gaze, which was touring her legs again, really ticked her off. But not as much as the words he spoke. "Honey...don't prance around my ranch in that outfit, otherwise my hired hands won't do much roping." "J.T.," she spit out, "I'm not your honey." And then, just to prove that he couldn't run her off with crude remarks, she lingered. Her mind frantically sought a comment, something bland, safe. "Can I get groceries on that dusty stretch of road that passes itself off as a town?" "Yes." His brown eyes shone with amusement. "My truck washed?" "Yes." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (13 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Lunch?" she asked. "Yes." With one swift movement, he came around from behind the desk. Grabbing his Stetson hat with one hand and her elbow with the other, he escorted her out the door. "Thanks for the invite."

Chapter 2 Her skin sizzled where his fingers rested. Amanda wished he wouldn't touch her. J.T. opened the car door and helped her into the passenger seat. She hated it when he was polite. "Don't you have work to do?" "Sure, but a man's got to eat. And yours was the only offer I had." He settled his tall, lean frame behind the steering wheel. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" If the man smiled once in a while maybe he wouldn't have to wrangle lunch dates. "And you certainly know that I didn't invite you. You tricked me." He turned the key, slipped the truck into gear, and backed out onto the road leading from the ranch. "I have an errand in town. Remembered it earlier when I smelled the stink of chili down near the cookhouse. I can't stomach that chili." "So, I'm a step above nausea." He smiled. A genuine smile. What did he have to go and do that for? She hadn't seen him do much more than scowl or sneer. His grim mouth was tempting. When it relaxed, it was downright seductive. Too seductive. He even managed to look provocative sitting on pink and black upholstery. She'd have to work at wiping that smile away. "I thought you cowboys were tough guys. Can't handle a little chili?" He eyed her long and hard. "You watch too much TV." "You watch the road," she instructed, tapping at the bug-splattered windshield. With deft fingers, she

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flicked on the air and tuned in the radio. "Hope you're not choosy about where you eat," he said while readjusting the seat to accommodate his long legs. "You mean I have choices?" "There's Madge's Diner or Madge's Bar-and-Grill. The tough guys," he said, "hang out at the grill. Madge caters to the local cowhands." "The diner sounds fine." One cowboy at a time was all she could handle. And why had he weaseled the invite, anyway? Her charming company? Uh-uh. A luncheon partner? He was definitely a loner. A verbal sparring partner? Of course, he couldn't do that alone. She didn't plan on giving this smoldering hunk of cowboy flesh anything he wanted. It looked like she'd have to drown him with the milk of human kindness. How distasteful. "My treat." She nearly choked on the words. His brows knitted with suspicion as he drove the next few miles in silence. Minutes later, he pulled over alongside the curb. Leaning into her, he brushed his arm lightly - and she was pretty sure deliberately across her collarbone as he pointed through her side window. "The only car wash and gas station in Kendalville. Diner's next door." He nudged his arm closer as he pointed to the diner. His breath was moist and warm. And much too near. Her eyes traveled along his forearm to the tip of his finger and beyond. She scanned the sites. Kendal Station, Kendal Diner. The welcome sign bragged of a population of 309. She wondered how many of those were Kendals. "Let's eat first." Their breath mingled when her wispy reply met him face-to-face. Her voice was little more than a whisper; it didn't need to be in such close quarters. The silky hairs on his forearm were shooting tingles from her breastbone down to her hipbones and centering on a point lower. She didn't like it one bit. Or his tactics. When her hand grabbed for the door handle, he retreated. "Hungry, Ma'am?" His narrowed eyes assured her he wasn't talking about food. So much for milk and honey. Back to basics.

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"Yes, and I'm strictly vegetarian," she shot back. "I gave up eating meat and dating at about the same time." She eyed him with a cool stare before continuing, "Both are hard to stomach." She wrenched open the door. The little lady certainly liked throwing her weight around. All hundred and twenty pounds of it, as near as J.T. could figure. Although he enjoyed her verbal combat, to be honest, he'd enjoyed it a lot more before - before he recognized just how pretty a sparring partner she was. Pretty? Ha...she was a beauty. Luckily, the beauty specialized in bobbing and weaving; she wasn't much in the clinches. As soon as he got within breathing distance, her back got as spiny as a porcupine's. He had to admit to liking that, too. He had a rule against short-term, long-distance relationships, and she had a prickly knack of reminding him of it. He leaped out of the pink tin can and followed her inside. Her hips swished with indignity. He couldn't find fault with that either. Dropping his hat onto the red vinyl lining of the booth, he slid onto the seat next to her, bumping her hip to nudge her over. Her sharp intake of breath and the stiff set of her shoulders told him exactly what she thought of the seating arrangement. Another round in his favor. Winning did wonders for his appetite. He ordered the meat loaf special, with double fries and extra gravy. Marilu, the elderly waitress with orthopedic shoes and a mother hen cluck, nodded her approval. "I'll have the same, but without gravy," Amanda told Marilu, then placed her finger beneath his chin and closed his gaping jaw. While he'd been gloating over his minor victory, she'd sucker punched him. "Mind explaining that one, Ms. I Hate Meat?" "Meat loaf's not really meat; it's an unknown entity." "Sort of like you." His soft brown eyes probed Amanda's soul. His close proximity probed at her other parts. His arm and leg, which barely touched hers, radiated enough heat to flush a hot surge through her. She sipped at her ice water, hoping to lower her body temperature. She wished he'd sip some as well. Her finger poked at the bobbing ice cubes in the glass. "So, J.T., where are you off to after lunch?" She file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (16 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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looked up at him. "The bank, hoping my check bounces?" He chuckled. "No, Ma'am. I'm mean, not lucky." "I wish you'd stop ma'aming me." "Too polite? Not mean enough?" "You don't say it to be polite. The gleam in your eyes gives you away." "And the quiver of your chin when your teeth lock gives you away," he quipped. "Then you admit you do it to irritate me?" "Yeah," he drawled, in a what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it tone. "Well, I'm not going to cry about it. But I do have a perfectly good name. You could use it once in a while." "Amanda." He said it soft and low, like a caress. His voice sent shivers to parts of her body she wanted to forget. Now she was sorry. Sorry she'd opened her mouth. She'd rather he went back to using the grating ma'am word. Just then, Marilu brought their dinners. They ate in silence for a while. Uneasy silence wasn't Amanda's style. For the sake of her digestion she tried polite chatter. "French fries are my weakness," she informed him, nibbling while she spoke. "These are delicious. Most places serve frozen ones." She dipped another crisp fry into catsup before biting into it. "Got any other weaknesses?" he said in that soft, syrupy tone. "Right at the moment, no." But that was a lie. She was rapidly developing a weakness for that low, soft murmur in his voice - the one that poured over her like warm honey, thick and sweet. "That's a lie." Her green eyes rounded beneath her arched brows. How could he read her mind? "Everybody's got a weakness," he said matter-of-factly. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (17 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Even you, J.T.?" she dared. "Especially me." "Is that how you guard against your weakness, by acting mean?" "Is that how you do it," he asked, pushing his empty plate aside, "by acting sassy?" "No comment." She blotted her mouth with a paper napkin. "I'm ready to go, if you are." J.T. had no comment either. His lithe six-foot frame jack-knifed to its full height, allowing her to slide across the vinyl seat. When she brushed by him, he bristled as her back and buns grazed against his chest and thighs. Even her body felt sassy - firm and round and pert. Snatching up the check, she breezed by him and hurried toward the register. He tossed some folded bills onto the table as a tip, and then reached for his black Stetson before trailing after her. This had got to stop. She had him tailing her like a motherless calf. No way was he trotting after her again - regardless how much he enjoyed the rear end view. It was making him punchy. He'd dump her at the grocery store while he used her truck to run his errand. Otherwise, she'd have him nipping at her heels and toting her groceries. J.T. didn't come back for her until he was darn sure she'd be outside on the sidewalk, waiting. Sure enough, she was there. Grocery bags surrounded her like cowboys camped around a fire. He tipped his hat, grabbed up several bags and led the way to the parked truck. With her arms full of bags, she followed. This was more like it. Grinning, J.T. held the door while she stuffed the packages onto the back seat. When she belted herself into the passenger seat, he flicked the door shut. He whistled as he cruised the short distance down the road to the car wash. Taking the buck out of her bronco had improved his mood considerably. When he pulled into the stall of the car wash, he asked, "Do you have change?" She rummaged through her wallet coming up with three quarters, a nickel, and a bunch of pennies. She chewed her lip.

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Her nervousness added to his cheerfulness. Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he braced one long leg and fished into the pocket of his faded jeans, retrieving a handful of quarters. "Okay, so you're a Boy Scout. Always prepared." "Want to see what else I've got in my pocket that might come in handy?" he teased, grinning. "J.T., I would think a grown man, of - what...thirty - " She waited for his nod of acknowledgement before continuing. "With a ranch to run, you should have better things to do with your afternoon than to amuse yourself at your tenant's expense." "Goes to show how little fun there is in my life." "And what did you do for fun before I came along?" she asked. "Petted rattlesnakes." His grin widened. Grabbing his hand, she turned it over and shook the quarters loose into her own hand. "Thanks." She huffed and vaulted out of the car. Nice footwork, he thought, as he followed her...this one last time. Ambling over to the wall, J.T. put a booted foot against the cinder blocks and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. Coming into town with her had been a mistake - one he planned to never make again. He hadn't been able to resist that saucy mouth or that saucy little outfit. Saucy was going to get him into a heap of trouble. All afternoon he'd alternated between wanting to turn her on and wanting to turn her off. One minute he was flirting with her, and the next he was fighting with her. While it vexed him, he hadn't really minded either too much. What he did mind was breaking his own rules. Regardless of how amusing he found that smart mouth and those flashing green eyes, or how sexy he thought those long shapely legs and that peek of cleavage, by the end of the month she'd be gone. And that was against the rules. Now what was she doing? The dang truck was covered with suds, and she was stretching over the hood with that blasted wand, squirting more soap. That round little rump of hers was squirming within reaching distance. He flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles before crossing his arms again and tucking his hands safely under his armpits. His breathing was getting shallow. His lungs burned. His mouth went dry. Thank goodness, she finally moved on. He could breathe easy again.

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Or could he? Now, her bottom was bent over the hub of the front wheel. The backs of those long legs were exposed all the way up to her sweet spot. The hem of that culotte dress she was wearing stopped a mere inch below the jointure of her thighs. His hard flesh was throbbing against his zipper, begging for release. She sashayed over to the rear fender, to do a deep knee bend next to the tire. He was in pain here, in physical pain. Both his lungs and his fly were bursting for release. At last she sidled to the back of the truck, out of the line of his sight. He gulped in a great gasp of air and shifted the foot braced against the wall, lowering it a bit. Then, she swung back into sight. She was reaching across the hood again, facing him this time. Her chest was flattened against the pink metal, and an enticing amount of cleavage was pushing up over the neck of her top. A fine sweat was breaking out on his upper lip and along his forehead. The hair follicles under his hat were singed. If he was capable of walking, he'd trot over there and snatch that wand from her hand and start rinsing the soap from the offensive pink truck so they could get the heck out of here. If he could walk. Kill me, please. He blinked in disbelief. Creamy white soapsuds dripped between the crease of her twin crests, conjuring up erotic images that didn't belong out in sunny daylight. Now the suds were running down her belly, ending who knows where. He didn't even want to speculate. But he did anyway. When she swiped the soap away, the front of her dress was wet, molded against her, outlining her nipples, which were peaked and daring him to... He had to get out of here. He dropped his booted foot to the ground. Painful as it would be, he had to walk. He pulled his T-shirt out of his waistband to cover the bulge in his Levi's. "It's hot. Want a soda?" he threw over his shoulder as he sauntered away, limping. He thought he disliked the woman. Now he knew he outright hated her. While he'd been winning rounds, she'd won the bout - with a jab well below the belt. He intended to give her a wide berth from now on. No more trips to town, no more nice talk. She was deadly. And he wanted to live.

Amanda tripped over the plastic crates as she lugged the groceries into the cabin. "How can you not see neon, glow-in-the-dark pink?" she muttered.

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As she stocked her kitchen shelves she contemplated J.T. He hadn't even said good-bye before he bolted out of her truck, and he'd been glum during the drive home. She tried small talk because she hated tense silence, but he'd been uncooperative. What else? She supposed she should be grateful for his silence. It sure beat his sweet talk. Hostility, grimness, surliness: she could deal with those. They were the same tools she used for self-preservation. Sweet talk she could not deal with. In her limited 25 year's experience, she found that men were their most lethal when they were talking nice, sweet, kind. At least when they talked mean you knew where you stood, knew what to expect. When the temperature cooled down toward evening, Amanda cried herself to sleep. She missed her mother. But the next day the heat was back, preventing her from staying inside the stuffy cabin. The crates remained unpacked. Her cabin was the only one with a porch swing, and apparently the only one that was rented. Amanda checked the rusty tin thermometer tacked next to the door. Eight-four and climbing. With a twist of a rubber band, she secured a mess of her curls onto the top of her head to form a semblance of a ponytail. Now it only felt like 83 and climbing. Wearing a white tank top imprinted with a blue Penn State logo and white running shorts, she had to snicker. Running was the last thing on her mind. While lolling on the porch swing with a pillow cushioning her head and the radio playing soft rock in the background, she flicked through the pages of a bestseller. After each chapter she stopped to pray that J.T. would install the air conditioner that day. Every now and again she dropped her foot to the wooden floorboards and pushed off with her bare toes, propelling the swing to create a slight breeze. By noon a full-fledged headache threatened. Heat flushed her cheeks while her throbbing head demanded a few aspirins and an air-conditioned room. The best she could manage was the medication and the warm breeze from the porch swing. A handful of crackers helped settle her empty stomach. After washing everything down with ice water from her sports-quart, she held the bottle to her temple. At around two o'clock J.T. rode up, on horseback. He looked magnificent astride. Both he and the horse looked dark, and muscular, and dangerous. The danger part she attributed to her mistrust of animals, especially animals larger than she was. Amanda was pretty sure she meant the horse. "Hello, J.T." She acknowledged him with a slight wave.

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He touched a finger to the brim of his hat in a greeting. Unable to discern his face beneath the shadowy brim, Amanda watched his Adam's apple bob. He didn't speak. The bridle jangled. The horse snorted and flicked its monstrous head in her direction, then eyeballed her with one furious dark eye. If she had an Adam's apple, she was pretty sure she'd just swallowed it. Abruptly, J.T. clicked his tongue and rode off in a gallop of dust. Now what was that all about? As the horse hightailed up the hill, she let out a low whistle of relief, then went back to swinging the afternoon away. Much later, a dark, slim shadow stretched across the length of the porch. She looked up from the page she'd been reading, expecting to see J.T. again. Instead, a cowboy, well over six-feet tall, tipped his hat. "Howdy." "Hello, I'm Amanda Martin." She stood and walked toward him. He looked to be about six foot five, judging by the 10 inches that he towered over her. His gray hair was peppered with black, but his mustache looked soft and dark as sable. She figured him to be close to 50, although his sky-blue eyes danced with the mischief of a young boy's. "I'm Shorty." "J.T.'s mentioned you, Shorty. Glad to meet you." She extended her hand. "Mutual," Shorty replied, shaking her hand briefly. "You wouldn't happen to know if J.T.'s planning on installing an air-conditioner today, would you?" "Yep." "Do you know when?" "Yep." "Soon?" she asked, searching his sun-baked, weathered face, noting the laugh lines creasing at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Finally, a friendly face. "Soon as I deliver it." Shorty smiled. Then in a few long strides he was halfway back up the hill. Amanda supposed he was nicknamed for the length of his sentences and obviously not his height. He hadn't said much, but what he said was pleasant enough. Quite a turnabout from J.T.

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Shorty returned in a battered pickup, with a boxed air conditioner loaded on its bed. In no time, he had it propped in the window and plugged in. In a few minutes the small cabin cooled off considerably. Amanda offered him a cold drink, and they sat at the Formica table in the kitchen, chatting. Well, she did most of the chatting. With a bit of prodding, she found out that Jolene had invited J.T. to dinner, and the other hands were out for a Saturday night on the town. Shorty had been left behind to baby-sit her - orders from J.T. With another bit of prodding, she convinced her baby-sitter to take her out on the town. A half hour later they were on their way. Shorty had assured her with one word that the calf-length gauze dress she wore unbuttoned to above the knee and her thong sandals were more than appropriate for Madge's Bar-and-Grill. A pool table and a jukebox graced opposite ends of Madge's back room. At a table on the jukebox side Amanda sipped a beer, courtesy of Shorty's friends, her new acquaintances, Tom and Hank. Tom was a ditch rider. He checked the irrigation ditches for leaks and controlled the amount of water flow. Hank worked for J.T. Tom was 20, blond, handsome, and outgoing. Hank was red-headed with freckles and a raucous sense of humor. Amanda was enjoying herself. "It takes more than a two-step, the Hokey Pokey and the Chicken dance to get by," Tom was explaining. "Cheryl danced that Macarena with Barry at the Cattlemen's Dance, then stayed on the dance floor with him for the whole set. I drank beer after beer and watched him waltz my woman around. By the next set, I was too bombed to walk, let alone dance. I got to learn that Macarena by next weekend, before Earl's wedding." "If it's on the jukebox, I'll teach it to you," Amanda asserted. "Isn't it on every jukebox?" Tom said glumly. Tom fed the jukebox, pushing the B-10 button repeatedly. Amanda gave him hands-on instructions, moving his arms through the movements like a robot's at first. By the second run-through, he'd caught on. By the third, more than a few patrons were shouting where they'd like to shove their pool sticks if they heard that 'blasted song' one more time. By the fourth and final play, Tom had it. He and Amanda were swinging their hips, shimmying down, and performing the enticing arm movements in perfect sync. Then, on a left turn toward their table, she saw J.T., propped up against the wall.

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When she seductively held her arms out his hooded eyes spoke volumes. When she shimmied her hips, flashing a bare knee or a bare thigh with each swish of her skirt, his head tilted to the side as if sizing up the probabilities. Between his smoky gaze and the exotic dance movements, she was having a few probable thoughts of her own. She shook them off, literally, when it was time to turn left again, away from his probing stare. Two more left turns and the music stopped, saving her from having to face him again. Tom flung his arm over her shoulder, hugging her to his forehead in a thank you gesture. She laughed up into his grinning, happy face as they walked the few steps to the table. The next face she saw was not happy or grinning. It was J.T.'s usual grim sourpuss. She hoped he wouldn't put a damper on the fun. "Thought you'd be home with your air conditioner." "Thought you'd still be out with Jolene. Give her a headache so early?" She sat down next to Shorty, but he was turned away, talking to Hank. Since she couldn't make out their mutterings and her chair faced J.T., she stared him down. "Ten bucks says J.T. smiles," Shorty said under his breath to Hank. "J.T. never smiles," Hank replied. "You're on." When Shorty and Hank looked up and focused on J.T., Amanda glanced at their sober expressions. She knew it. J.T. was spoiling the party. "You're the expert on headaches," J.T. said, his dark eyes flashing at Amanda. "Giving them, that is." Shorty and Hank scraped back their chairs to drape themselves over the jukebox, shaking hands, while Tom wandered off to shoot pool. Amanda was the only one left sitting, pinned by J.T.'s glare. The man sure had a knack for clearing a table. "Time to go home," he growled. She was right. He had every intention of ruining the fun. "No." She wasn't going to oblige him. "Time to dance," she challenged, as if the party wasn't already over.

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"No," he said while shaking his head. "Don't you know how?" She arched her brow. "All you have to do is move your hips. You know how to move your hips, don't you, J.T.?" The minute the words were out, she knew she must be loco. She was hassling a sex machine. Under his customarily snug jeans, which outlined masculine muscles she hadn't seen in quite a while, J.T. had on some type of black leather boots that laced. Over a white western shirt, unsnapped at the throat, he wore a black sport coat. Sex appeal oozed from him. And she'd dared to bait it. With a broad smile that said he was taking the bait, he pushed off the wall and strode toward her. She glanced over her shoulder in Shorty's direction, seeking help. But he was otherwise occupied. Evidently Hank was lending Shorty 10 dollars. She took a sip of her warm beer, then swiveled in her seat, resting one arm on the table and the other on the back of her chair. Faking a calmness that was, in reality, resignation, she prepared to defend her bold challenge. His large, sun-tanned hand lifted her smaller, paler one from the back of the chair. He tugged her to her feet. With a second tug, she was flush against his hard body. In a few steps, he two-stepped her onto the dance floor. Once there, his dance steps slowed to a minimum. He held her in one spot and moved his hips into hers. Occasionally, he moved his feet. She followed his rhythm, unaware of the music. Her awareness seemed tuned-in solely to J.T. When he curled their clasped hands to his chest, she noticed the rise and fall of his breathing, and the muscled tightness of his chest, and the way the hairs at the open throat of his shirt moved under the sigh of her breath. "You move your hips real nice, J.T.," she mocked, still trying to brazen things out. He dropped her hand and placed his palm on the back of her head. Entangling his fingers in her blond curls, he pressed her face into his chest. "Shut up, for once," he groaned. His hand was quicker than her mouth. Her muffled protest was lost against his muscled chest. With one hand cupping her head and the other cupping her bottom, he settled her against him. She heard his heart beat, his lungs stretch for air, and the blood pulse through his veins. She still didn't hear the music. His hand massaged the base of her spine. Static-like sparks raced up and down her body in a collision course that both thrilled and annoyed her. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (25 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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He smelled of spice and of...roses? Jolene must wear a rose perfume. That sent a chill shooting through Amanda's veins, stiffening her spine, reaffirming her resolve. She stomped on his foot. Then her head was flung back, bringing her angry face up close to his. Their lips were close, dangerously close. Close enough that he could kiss her, if he wanted to.

J.T. could kiss her, if he wanted to. When he felt her warm, pliant body go rigid, he instinctively had tugged on the fistful of her soft curls. Now, her lips were within a breath of kissing distance. Her green eyes were flashing with outrage, and that sassy mouth was opened in a gasp - a very tempting gasp that was a mere inch from his lips. She smelled sassy, too. Like wildflowers and passion. It had been a long while since he experienced real passion, but he remembered all too well how it smelled. It smelled musky, womanly - like Amanda. Their lips were less than a scant inch apart now. He could feel her breath, moist and warm, on his lips. He wanted to taste that mouth. But he hated breaking his rules. No short-term, long-distance affairs. One taste didn't exactly constitute an affair. With her it could. The ache in his loins told him so. The hand on her sweet, soft tush told him so, too, as it begged him to go for it. His lips hovered over hers, close enough to taste the yeasty flavor of the beer she'd sipped. This was not the ideal place. They were not alone - friends, neighbors, work hands were watching. They weren't staring openly, but he'd caught their covert peeks. Heck, he didn't care what they thought; he made his own rules. He'd stopped caring a long time back. That wasn't what was stopping him. His own rules were stopping him. Then they weren't. His rules began breaking down, as he wavered between yes, and no, then yes, then The music ended, and the decision was no longer his. Or was it? She was still in his arms, swaying. So he kept her there, tightening his hold. Before she chanced to notice that the music had stopped playing, he lowered his mouth, touching her lips, softly, gently with his - lightly, testing the waters.

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She swayed into him, pressing closer. With a swish of her soft skirt her bare thigh melded to his, near buckling him at the knees. The curve of her belly moved against his hard, hot core while the curve of her lush, ripe breasts nestled tightly against his ribs. The woman was loaded with curves, and everyone of them was pressed temptingly against him. Her arm on his shoulder tightened its hold, and her fingers grabbed at his hair, pulling him nearer. Her lips opened beneath his, and he flicked his tongue inside of her mouth, sliding along her lower lip for a taste. One taste couldn't hurt. But it did hurt - his whole body ached for wanting her. His rules were shattering like glass - and the shards hurt, too. Finally, he remembered where he was. He tore his mouth away from hers. He groaned. He'd broken his rules, and half of the town and ranch were witnesses. Well, like it or not, Amanda and her hot lips were going home. Now. Amanda gasped in shock. Her behavior, her response, they were...were wanton. Whatever had possessed her? J.T. had possessed her, body and soul. "I'm taking you home." His words stuttered her step as they approached the table. Amanda wanted to get as far away from him as possible, and as quick as possible. "I'm Shorty's designated driver. I promised him a good time." He smiled. "Shorty won't be ready to leave for hours. Hank will take him home." "No problem," Hank agreed, looking up from the pool table when J.T. called to him from across the room. J.T. tugged her along by her hand. "Now, you can promise me a good time." His smile widened as her feet skittered along the floor in resistance. Shorty waved good-by, then turned to Hank. "I know, I know," Hank grumbled, digging into his pocket. "J.T. smiled, again."

Chapter 3 A big July Colorado moon glared down at Amanda through the windshield. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (27 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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She glowered back while she silently questioned her good sense. What was she doing in the cab of J.T.'s truck, alone with him at midnight on a dark country road - besides squirming on the seat and hugging the door handle? Furthermore, she thought, worrying her lip, was it true that the full moon brought out werewolves and other beasts? It must. It had brought out the beast in her. Her reaction to his kiss had been savage. She'd just about jumped the man. One kiss had taken her from man-hater to man-eater in an instant. But what a kiss. Sizzling. Devouring. Provoking. Provoking desire she hadn't ever felt. To tell the truth, she didn't recall ever feeling anything quite so seductive, let alone acting on it. How long had it been between kisses? A millennium. Well, no wonder she'd been so love-starved. No wonder she'd gone on a feeding frenzy. What must J.T. think? She glanced at him. He seemed to be concentrating on his driving. Moonlight spilled in on his face, creating shadowy hollows around his eyes and defining his lips, giving his profile a dark, hungry, captivating look. An aura of sexuality enshrouded him. She peeped up at the starry sky. The black night contrasted starkly with the brilliance of the stars and the whiteness of the moon. Any other time, she'd have considered the spectacle climactic. Tonight it only highlighted her earlier drama - one of several in her recent, rapidly changing life. Tongues still wagged in Avon, Pennsylvania. Hissing speculation and clucking pity had driven Amanda to seek refuge in Colorado - where she had every intention of staying until the end of the month, until the festivities in Pennsylvania were over. Now, just like that - she bridled an urge to snap her fingers - she'd become equally notorious in Colorado. What did she expect, swapping tongue with J.T. in the middle of the dance floor, center stage at the most frequented establishment in the small ranching community? Way to go, Amanda. Here barely two days and she'd made an exhibition of herself. She could just hear J.T. and the good ol' boys 'chawing' that one over tomorrow. She wondered where cowboys talked their locker-room talk...in the bunk house, on the range, behind the barn? She stifled a groan. After driving all those grueling miles to escape the hometown biddies and their tidbits, she'd wheeled into cowboy haven and stirred up a whirlwind of new gossip. She didn't know which was worse - being pitiful in Pennsylvania or being shocking in Colorado. Well, she and J.T. were adults. If she could ignore the steamy gossip and the steamy kiss, then he could, file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (28 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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too. Still, she had to handle the immediate situation. She wasn't going to sit here like some shocked virgin who'd been freshly kissed. No way. She was going to brazen it out. Somehow. By pretending that she'd come on strong on purpose, to dare no, to double dare him into backing down first? Oh, that sounded good. And his backing down first had made her look like the winner. And that felt good. Because she'd been doing a lot of losing lately. The taut silence irked her. No radio, no talk. If only he'd drive faster. She was eager to get back to the shelter of her cabin. "Awfully quiet," she said at last, turning to him, putting her plan into action. "I didn't swallow your tongue did I, J.T.?" He whipped his head around. Then a broad grin broke across his face. "No. Not that I would've minded, Ma'am." She gifted him with one of her cocky grins. That fast, they were back on familiar ground. That fast, the tension was gone. If she liked anything about the man, besides his kissing, it was his fast talk. His comebacks weren't always flattering or entertaining or challenging, but they were always fast.

J.T. liked her fast talk, liked those nice, dirty little comments of hers. Almost as much as he liked her nice, dirty little kiss. He should have known better. What had he been thinking, waltzing in there and taking the fight to the dance floor? Did he actually think he'd had a chance of winning? Especially after this afternoon, when he'd ridden down to tell her about her darned air-conditioning. He had to gallop away to keep from choking on his Adam's apple and then sent Shorty. She took him by complete surprise. The woman was full of surprises. Nothing was left to his imagination. She was draped over the porch swing, wearing nothing but barely there white shorts and a barely there white top. It was all he could do not to hop off of Buckaroo, sail over the porch railing, and land in the middle of all that whiteness - between those long, long legs. She had the longest legs he could remember seeing, and he wouldn't mind having them wrapped around his waist.

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The woman was giving him nightmares, all day long. And he had days left to go. Twenty-eight to be exact. No, 27. It was after midnight. Going over to Joley's house hadn't helped. All night he couldn't stop comparing the salt of the earth Joley to the earthy Amanda. Joley was predictable, while Amanda was...surprises. When Joley bowed her lips into that coy smile of hers, he pictured Amanda's come and get it grin. When Joley flapped her eyelashes, all he saw was that blatant, open stare of Amanda's. He hated the comparison, yet he couldn't stop himself. Well, it would stop soon enough when the shoulders back, chin up Amanda left in twenty-seven days. And don't forget that, he coached himself. And don't forget the rules. Forget kissing the short-term - and getting shorter everyday - cross-country Amanda. He sighed his relief when the ranchhouse came into view. A few more minutes, and he'd be able to put this gawdawful day behind him. Maybe he'd allow himself to remember a few minutes of it - the minutes when those lush curves and that tasty mouth had been his for the asking. "Good night," she said, as the truck idled at the front door. In a hurry to get rid of her, J.T. reached across her and unlatched her door. "Yeah," he said as she slid off the seat from behind his arm and disappeared into the darkness. He should have shone the headlights onto the porch for her. But it was too late for second thoughts, all the way around.

Amanda had cried herself to sleep again. She still missed her mother. Her melancholy weighed on her as she unpacked the pink crates in the morning. She knew she'd go on missing her mother for a long time. Forever. She began paging through the material in the crates to divert her mind from its sad thoughts. There were two crates of typed, handwritten, and audio-recorded manuscript pages. She'd worked with Professor Carter before, and understood his haphazard notes and instructions. It would take days to organize the material before she could start editing, and she would eventually type it up on her laptop. She didn't mind. He paid well, and the tedious work was all-consuming. She needed that. If she thought about anything more personal than work, she'd break down. She had no intention of file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (30 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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giving in to grief or loneliness, or the craving she was developing for J.T. Cutter's whiskey soft voice and the enticing heat of his lips. Chin up, Amanda girl. Think work. As the Fourth of July came and went, she heard the star-spangled event blasting all over the radio while she isolated herself in air-conditioned safety, and worked. But this wouldn't do. She needed exercise, and fresh air. Even if she preferred the filtered, artificial, cold air. Tomorrow she'd ask Shorty where it was safe to walk. If she walked early in the morning, it should be cool enough. Clad in running shorts and running sneakers - although she only power-walked - Amanda was waiting when Shorty knocked at her door, as he did every morning to check on her. Although he didn't say much he smiled a lot, and she'd begun to look forward to his sunny grin. She answered his loud rap, eager for the warmth of his kindness. Try again. J.T. was standing there, scowling. So much for kindness. But on the warm side, he looked far sexier than a man had a right to look. She wouldn't mind touching some of the places those jeans were touching. "Good morning." She eyed his grim face. "Not here with an eviction notice are you, J.T.?" That brought a smile to his face. "No, but I wish I'd thought of it." "Care to come in for a cup of coffee?" Not that she trusted his sexy frame in the confines of her tiny cabin, but she'd never allow him to know that. Besides, she was pretty sure being neighborly was one of those Western things. And he had smiled...eventually. "No, thanks." His voice sounded panicky as if he'd been offered a blindfold at sunrise. "Shorty has a touch of a holiday hangover. Said I'd have to check on you myself today." "You don't have to check on me daily," she said. "I'm beginning to feel like a nuisance." "You are a nuisance. But I guaranteed your safety, and I'm a man of my word." "About my safety," she continued. "Where is it safe to walk? I'd like to walk twenty minutes out, and then back...without tripping over anything that could be hazardous to my health. You know...like poison oak, poison snakes, poison rocks." If there was any such thing. "Geez." He rolled his eyes. Taking her by the arm, he escorted her out of the door and off of the porch. He pointed her in a westerly direction, toward a meadow sprinkled with sparse wildflowers. "Walk straight as an arrow, and you'll be okay for a good twenty minutes."

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"J.T." Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she looked up into his face. His face was somber again, but fear made her ask, "Suppose I don't walk so straight?" With the skill of a Frisbee champ, he flicked his wrist and sailed his hat through the open window of his scuffed truck. Darned if he didn't look good even with 'hat head.' When he raked his fingers through those mahogany locks, the indented ring of flattened hair disappeared. Now he looked better than good. "Come on. Let's get it done." He started walking briskly, not turning to see if she followed. With a bunch of quick skips, she caught up to him. "Those rattlesnakes you used to pet before I settled in on the ranch - do any of them happen to live out here?" His lips quirked with amusement. Good humor seemed to break out all over the man whenever Amanda was distressed. If she got bitten by a snake, or rattled, or whatever snakes did to a person, she'd probably make his whole day. Her hospitalization would have him grinning ear to ear. "Forget about that," he told her. What kind of answer was that? Couldn't he, just once, answer straight out? The man could turn a simple 'yes' or 'no' into a quandary. He might as well have lockjaw for all the information he gave her. "Well, there must be animals living out here, I mean aside from your cows and horses." "Just talk to them," he said flatly. "With that smart-alecky mouth of yours, you'll scare 'em off." "So comedic. I've never seen you before noon. I didn't realize you were so light hearted in the A.M." He kept walking, silently. Aside from some insect noises and bird chirps, the awkward quiet stretched interminably. She tolerated it as long as possible. "Did you always live here - on the ranch, I mean?" He stopped and studied her as if debating whether to bother with an answer. In the dewy morning sunlight his dark eyes glistened like freshly washed black cherries. Very appetizing. "Five generations," he said at last. "The Cutter's have staying power, and I'm the end of the line." She eyed him up and down. "Sterile, are you, J.T.?" With a thunk he booted his heel on a flat rock that had been half-hidden in the field grass. The frayed hem of his jeans meshed with the fringed petals of a golden flower. Leaning forward, he rested his file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (32 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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forearms on his knee. In the distance pointy pine trees jabbed at the skyline. Looked like J.T. was all out of zingy comebacks. Just as she tamped her sneaker down on a clump of grass to start forward, his voice halted her. "No. My wife didn't want children. Not even one, to remember her by." Goodness, his wife had died. Amanda felt awful about bringing up that subject. And with one of her flip comments, no less. She refused to let it pass. Death she understood. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "I know how heart-sick you must feel. My mother passed away a few months ago. I miss her so. Talking about it only stabs at the heart. I'm sorry I brought it up...I mean, about your wife." Tears welled in her eyes when she looked into his stony face. "Amanda." He let out a long, loud breath, then touched her shoulder in a gesture of comfort, condolence. "I didn't mean to mislead you. My wife isn't dead. She...we're divorced. She wasn't much on commitment. Not to the ranch, and not to me for wanting to stay put." "Oh," the small sound expelled from her lungs involuntarily. She felt more the fool now. The woman was probably right to leave. What with J.T.'s vague answers...the poor thing must have wakened one morning shocked to find herself living in rural Colorado on a ranch. Although - Amanda kind of liked the isolation. The gossips weren't in your face every time you turned around, reciting 'Poor Amanda' litanies, then turning your every look or breath into new rumors. And what was so great about living in town anyway? There were only more places to be alone in a crowd. Loneliness was another subject Amanda understood too well. "I'm sorry," he was saying. She raised her eyes to his face again, looking at him blankly. He was sorry? "I'm sorry about your loss, your mother," he said in that low murmuring tone of his that forced intimacy. "Thank you," she said, uneasily. "I...I think we've been out about twenty minutes, let's turn back." Before her last word hit the still air, she pivoted and pep-stepped back the way they'd come. In the short time it took his tall strides to catch up with her, she had her emotions under control. Another one of those strained quiet spells descended between them, making her antsy. "Do you rent out cabins often? I seem to be your only tenant." "Economics," he said blandly. "Out here in Marlboro Country there aren't many rhinestone cowboys. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (33 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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Cattle raising is an up and down business. Most ranchers subsidize with a bit of dude ranching or pack trips for tourists or hunters. This was my first venture. The worst I expected was an eccentric writer, a wacky scientist, a fugitive from justice. What I got was you." "Then I'm your first 'dude.'" She grinned up at him. The sun glinted on the red highlights in his dark hair, entrancing her. "And I hope my last. But I'll do whatever it takes to keep the ranch running, even put up with you." His words were serious, but the twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes wasn't. "Whatever it takes?" she questioned, arching her brow, mischief lighting up her face. J.T. had the sinking suspicion he'd just loaded her gun with ammunition. Now he'd have to practice his own draw and keep his back to the wall. For what...26 more days? "How did I get saddled with you?" he asked. His quickened steps edged another hidden rock. "I'm mobile. I work out of the house, so in essence I can work from anywhere. Currently, I'm wordprocessing a textbook for a professor. Dull, but lucrative." "Why Colorado? Why Me?" "Because you're irresistible, J.T." Pure terror had him champing at the bit before she finally turned him loose. "I couldn't resist your ad. I think 'retreat' was the operative word." And retreat was what J.T. planned on doing - out onto the open range, as far and as fast as he could get away from her. Just being around her made him forget half of what he knew. Thought didn't translate to words, and actions weren't always the smart move. "Look, we're back." He bolted toward the truck and jerked the door wide open, almost sitting on his hat in his haste to dust a trail out of there. "J.T.," she said, standing on his running board, leaning in his open window. Her sparkling green eyes filled his vision. He hoped she didn't ask for anything, because he didn't think he had it in him to refuse her when she looked at him with all that openness and file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (34 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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honesty. That look could get him into a peck of trouble. "Amanda?" he found himself asking, as her first bullet beaded in on him. "I'd like to see a rodeo while I'm here. Are there any scheduled in the vicinity?" "I'll check on it," he promised, starting the engine. Just what he needed, a rodeo. He couldn't send her alone. Too many lonesome cowpokes. He couldn't take her. Going out of town involved staying overnight. Him - Amanda - a motel? He could see her finger squeezing the trigger. He would get out of Dodge. Today. There must be some out-of-town business concerning the ranch that needed tending to. Shorty could take her to the rodeo. Now, if she'd get off his truck he could ride out before he wrenched any muscles. His hands were clenched on the steering wheel, cramping his fingers. His jaw was locked so tightly his back teeth hurt. The muscles across his shoulders were knotting at a rapid pace. Soon he'd need a chiropractor. Or a mortician. If she waited much longer rigor mortis would surely set in. "Thanks," she said at last and stepped down. Hands on hips, she stood there, watching him drive off. He saw her get smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror.

"Shorty, you're in charge. I'm going into Capital Junction to look at some equipment." "Some equipment," Shorty repeated, stressing the generic quality of the errand. J.T. scowled at Shorty's perception. "Our 'dude' wants to see a rodeo. I'd appreciate if you'd take her while I'm gone. Let Hank take over here." J.T. tossed his suitcase through the open window of his truck. "I'll call tomorrow night." He jostled onto the seat, shoving the case onto the floor. "See ya'," he called out as he steered away from the house.

Amanda smiled gratefully when Shorty sauntered down to the cabin and announced that they'd be

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driving out Saturday morning, to Capital Junction, to see a rodeo. Amanda was excited by the prospect, until Thursday. Until Jolene. "Shorty says you two are going on an overnighter," Jolene said as she barged into Amanda's cabin. "He's a little old for you. Of course, some women prefer the fatherly type. That you?" Her amber eyes glittered as she spoke the snide remark. A romantic tryst between Shorty and her? Amanda guessed the possibility wasn't absurd. "Shorty's a nice man," she defended, wondering if Jolene had heard about her and J.T.'s kiss on the dance floor. Of course she'd heard. Why else would she be here promoting Shorty as a would-be lover? "Lots of nice men around." Jolene's voice prompted friendly chatter, but her eyes glinted cold and gold as nuggets. Amanda would bet her spurs - if she had any - that the only man Jolene wanted to know about was J.T. Should she give the persistent woman what she wanted? Jolene looked to have the staying power of an ox. Amanda doubted she'd be able to budge her otherwise. "One cowboy's all I can handle," Amanda assured her. She had no intention of intruding on Jolene's relationship with J.T. - whatever that relationship might be - or preying on the woman's insecurities. Amanda imagined that a relationship with J.T. could leave a woman without a clear-cut perspective. Yet, she didn't want to lead anyone on. Not Jolene, not Shorty, and not the gossips who would pounce on this spicy bit of news about the overnighter. But if it got Jolene off her back... Amanda was awfully tired of dealing with prying people. Shorty would understand; she'd explain to him later. As for the gossips, her experience told her that truth didn't much matter to them, anyway. "So, you and Shorty are going away for the weekend," Jolene pressed. "Yes." That much was actually true. "I'm packing as we speak." Then, to cinch things, Amanda held up a lacy red teddy. So what if it was a birthday gift she'd picked up during her travels and planned to mail to her pen pal? "Too much for the old boy?" She curled her eyebrow in a questioning look. "No," Jolene said, studying it and Amanda for flaws. "Shorty can still bust the broncos. Lots of stamina file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (36 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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left there." Her tone lowered, hushing like that of a confidant. Amanda wasn't buying it. This conversation might as well have been broadcast over the radio for all the privacy it would garner.

Why in the heck had Shorty given Joley the motel's phone number? J.T. listened to her prattle on, giving an obligatory grunt every so often until she demanded actual words. "Yes, I know Shorty and the tenant are going to the rodeo. "Yes, I know Shorty and Amanda are friendly," he repeated like an automaton. "Yes, I know - " Suddenly he exploded. "What do you mean, they're coming to Capital Junction. Why here? There are other rodeos. No, I didn't know they were that friendly. No, I didn't know Shorty's favorite color was red. A red lace what? What's a teddy? Well, how would I know what one is?" J.T. clutched the phone in a death grip. Now he understood why Shorty hadn't answered any of his calls. He'd been too busy. Real busy, from what Joley was saying. J.T. had left repeated messages, along with his phone number, on the answering machine. Shorty couldn't be bothered calling his boss back, although he'd found the time to chat up Joley. And who knows what all else with Amanda. J.T.'s knuckles whitened. This explained plenty. It explained why Shorty never complained about keeping his eye on the cabin or its tenant. And why he'd taken Amanda into town on his own. He hadn't groused about the rodeo either, and Shorty hated rodeos. Hated talking about them, hated watching them. Hated anything to do with them. But he hadn't said a word about not wanting to escort Amanda. Looked happy to do it. Shorty seemed to have developed a tender spot for the shapely little firebrand. And why not? She was racy, and spunky, and beautiful, and yeah, desirable. Shorty was a lucky man. Then why was J.T. feeling so put out about it? And why was he now planning to attend the rodeo?

Chapter 4

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The rodeo made Amanda sick. Well, not at first. The Grand Entry had been impressive, all pomp and circumstance. Parading cowboys in full western regalia - chaps, spurs, fringe - circled the arena followed by rodeo clowns and saddle clubs. Then the national flag was displayed and the national anthem played. But immediately after, it was 'show time.' Almost at once, a horse and rider exploded onto the scene. "Bareback bronco riding," Shorty said of the first event, "is a hairy ride." To say the least. The bucking horse tossed the rider around like a rag doll. Amanda winced in sympathy as a stronger back than hers was whipped about. "Sure is one torso twister," Shorty interjected above the shouts of the people in the stands as they cheered the cowboy on. "Seems like a long eight seconds," she said, gritting her teeth when the rider went sailing over the head of the bronco. "They're spoilt horses," he elaborated. "Broncos that couldn't be saddle broke." Amanda expelled an audible sigh of relief as the horse jumped over the downed man and headed for the open corral gate. "Horses don't usually trample a grounded man." Shorty shrugged. "Now bulls, they're a different sort." Amanda nodded her understanding. After each rider, she scolded herself for having given in to her tourist gene and opting to see the rodeo. She was wary around animals to begin with. Any notions she'd been harboring about riding the trail had bitten the dust when the last man did. She was glad to see the bronco riding feature come to an end. The next event, barrel racing, appeared to be a lot less painful, although equally fast and furious. "A girlie competition," Shorty related, with a wink. She smacked his arm and reprimanded, "Sexist." Amanda admired the talented women. One after another, they maneuvered their horses through tricky turns around a cloverleaf of three barrels, before dashing for the finish line - with no injuries, she noted.

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By half time she'd forgotten the fearsome bucking broncos. With amazing agility a young boy performed rope tricks, skipping through the loops of a spinning lasso. Hoots of laughter rang out soon afterward when a herd of small children chased down a herd of calves. The calves won, but prizes were awarded to the children, anyway. As Amanda relaxed the fingernail imprints in her palms faded. Then, bull riding was announced, and the crowd went wild, stamping and clapping and whistling. Once again Amanda's nails dug into the grooves in her palms. "This one's dangerous." Apprehension whitened the lines around Shorty's eyes. "But the rodeo clowns will protect them," he assured her, patting her hand. She jumped when a bell clanged and a bull came busting out of its chute with a rider holding onto a rope with one hand. "Don't fret none over the riding," Shorty told her. "The dismount is the hitch." Sure enough, the athletic clowns had their work cut out for them. By distracting the bulls they shielded the cowboys, giving them the needed time to get off and run - or sometimes dive - to safety. Amanda watched wide-eyed when a rider leaped headfirst over a fence just inches ahead of a powerful charging bull. "Riding bulls takes strong legs and good balance," Shorty enumerated. "And plenty of guts." "Did you ever ride in the rodeo, Shorty?" "Once. Something about seeing your own guts spilt in the dirt makes you lose a taste for it." "I can understand that," she agreed, grabbing his shirt sleeve as yet another cowboy hit the dust. Although the riders were strong and brave, the animals were also strong and brave, and a lot bigger. And fiercer. "They weigh about a ton," Shorty replied when she inquired as to the size of the bulls. Two thousand pounds of thrust. Quite a power struggle. Man against beast, skill against brute force. Doubtless numbers of injuries were being inflicted by the beast to the man. Suddenly, the bigger than life cowboys appeared almost fragile to her. Then her hand flew to her mouth. The cowboy on the ground lay motionless, bleeding. The clown stumbled while attempting the rescue. When the bull stomped on the clown, Amanda snapped her head file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (39 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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around, looking to Shorty for assurance. She gasped for breath. The air smelled of pungent odors of hay and dust and...roasted peanuts from the concession. Her stomach did a flip. Shorty pressed her ashy face to his shoulder. The crowd hushed. "Are they okay?" she whispered, peering out from behind the plaid cloth of his shirt that she had clutched in her fist. He patted her shoulder. "Yep." Warily, she raised her head and found herself eye to eye with a familiar scowling face. Where had J.T. come from? "Couldn't get a hold of you at the ranch," J.T. said, turning his glowering attention on Shorty. "Capital Junction the only rodeo in the area?" His voice was laced with sarcasm. "Yep." "Everything's okay at the ranch, I presume." "Yep." "Good." J.T. nodded before turning his glare on her. And why was he glaring at her? "Enjoying the rodeo, I see." Realizing she still held Shorty's shirt in a death grip, she released it and straightened up. Instinctively, she began pressing the wrinkles out of his shirtfront with her palm. Shorty didn't stop her hand from repeatedly smoothing over his chest. J.T. snorted. Actually snorted. "See you later," J.T. said, touching his fingers to his hat before leveling another scowl at her. Now what was wrong with him? Shorty stopped J.T. from leaving by directing his attention toward the stock pens. "I see Marty Shellman."

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"Is he still scouting roughstock?" J.T. asked, shifting his hat to the back of his head with his thumb. "Yep. Heard of a horse gone sour over near the basin." "Reckon you want to tell him," J.T. mumbled. "Yep. I owe him a favor. You'll have to mind the little missy for a bit." "I don't need someone to watch over me," Amanda griped to Shorty as she exchanged frowns with J.T. "I'll be back in a few minutes when you calm her down," J.T. snapped. He sauntered away, blending into a crowd of cowboy hats. "He's in his usual good humor," Amanda groused. Then the all too familiar red flash of ambulance lights distracted her, forcing remembrances of hurried trips as her mother's health had deteriorated. Amanda gnawed her lip when stretchers and medical technicians crowded into the arena site. "J.T.'s green." "Green?" She turned to Shorty, bewildered. "Jealous. And confused. He don't right know his own mind." She was confused by this entire conversation. Whatever Shorty was trying to say, she wished he'd spit it out. "I told Joley red was my favorite color. Sure as shootin' she passed that along to J.T." An impish grin touched his mouth. Amanda wished he'd stop talking in colors. Then her eyes widened. Jolene must have blabbed to J.T. about the red lace teddy. "Why should J.T. care?" "Exactly." "Shorty, J.T. isn't jealous, and he doesn't care if we lied to Jolene about spending the weekend together. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (41 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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If you're playing matchmaker you're wasting everybody's time," she chided. "J.T. and I...we don't even like each other." "Exactly." "Shorty, don't do this." She groaned. "I know you were the one who started it all by telling Jolene we were going away together." He nodded, grinning proudly. "Why?" "So she wouldn't want to come along." "But she's his girlfriend." "The friend part's all she is, and she knows it." "I don't think she knows it." Amanda gave him a rueful smile. "She doesn't act like she knows it." "J.T.'s not always pleasant, but he's always honest. Trust me, she knows." "That doesn't matter. J.T. dislikes me as much as I dislike him." "He smiles." Her next objection was lost in a cheer from the crowd over the announcement that both the rider and the clown were going to be fine. Shorty grinned in relief, then hopped down from the bleacher as J.T. approached. "See you tonight," he called over his shoulder. "Tonight?" J.T. yelled after him, protesting, but Shorty's lengthy strides carried him swiftly away. J.T. studied Amanda curiously. A rather odd affair she was having. That nasty mouth of hers must have gotten to Shorty. But she couldn't get to him. He was made of sturdier stuff. She couldn't drive him off if she pistol-whipped him. "Jolene sends her love," she informed him.

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"Yeah," he grumbled in a noncommittal tone as her pistol butt whizzed by his ear in a near-hit. Just then a bull decided to tromp on its rider. Amanda squeaked, then chewed her pale lips. "Shoot," J.T. mumbled, shoving her face onto his chest just as the bull lowered its horns to gore the man. His other hand came up to stroke her back. He smelled spicy and freshly laundered. He felt strong and lean and gentle. The man was a whole mess of things. None of them offensive, darn him. Amanda liked having all that warmth muscled around her. And she didn't trust the liking, not one bit. Soon as her stomach quit flopping, she'd fix this situation. "I'd say you're about rodeoed out," he murmured. His soft voice washed over Amanda like spring rain, leaving her tingling and alive, yet somehow needy... needy for the security and the comfort of his touch. She wanted to cling to him, but she knew better. Shrugging off his embrace, Amanda sat up. "We can probably catch up to Shorty at the Stockyard Bar. He mentioned it earlier. It's his favorite watering hole." J.T. jumped down from the bleacher. Then he reached up, and his firm hands circled her waist to lift her down. His body was hard and warm and exciting as she slid slowly down the length of him. It had been a mere split-second; it just seemed much longer when one was being tortured. How could such an infuriating man have such a devastating effect on her? Her shaky legs began to buckle, but his powerful arm supported her weight as he guided her away from the arena. His angry face did nothing to dispel the effect of his more genial body. Where was Shorty? She needed him - now - to act as a buffer. Drat him. He'd deserted her again. Shorty might as well have disappeared into rodeo dust. This was the last time she'd allow him to abandon her to J.T. - first at Madge's, and now at the rodeo. She'd singe his ears with words hotter than a branding iron as soon as she caught up with him. From across the table at the Stockyard Bar, Amanda eyed J.T. through slitted lids. She'd opted for a mug, but he sipped his beer from a long-necked bottle. Her eyes glassed over when his lips kissed the mouth of the bottle. He had a very kissable mouth, as she recalled all too well. His throat and his jaw flexed as he swallowed. She wouldn't mind having his mouth work over hers like that. Her eyes flicked wide open. She should mind. She wasn't going to lose her head over some lean, mean cowboy in a black Stetson hat. No way. Everybody knew the good guys wore white hats. His face didn't look quite so angry now, maybe the alcohol had relaxed him. Maybe not. His eyes still looked black as pitch. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (43 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Where are you and Shorty staying?" J.T. demanded. "I don't know," she replied, sipping at her second mug of beer. The effect of the alcohol hadn't loosened him up a bit, but it was working wonders for her. After the tense day of rodeo events she was finally mellowing. Her jaw relaxed; she slumped in her seat; and even J.T.'s scowl didn't look so intimidating. "How can you not know?" His voice had a biting edge. She laughed, shaking her head. "We arrived late this afternoon. I was too excited over the rodeo to notice the motel's name. Besides, Shorty knows, and he's driving. Why bother?" Why bother? J.T. gritted his teeth. She was so smitten she hadn't bothered to find out where she was. Dadblast it, Shorty was a lucky man. "Don't you have a key?" She downed her beer, then pushed the empty mug aside and dumped the contents of her purse onto the tabletop. With slow movements, she rummaged through her belongings until she spied the key shaped like a credit card. It was rainbow-colored with the number 218 imprinted on it. "No name," she announced, holding up the card for him to see. "That's just great." He was stuck with her until Shorty showed up, if he showed up at all. If not - J.T. didn't want to think about if not. She wasn't sleeping in his room, even if he wanted it more than a new pickup truck. She tossed the card back onto the jumble that littered the table and flashed him a sweet dimpled smile. He'd never laid eyes on that sweet smile before, or that even sweeter looking dimple. Dang, if he didn't want to taste both. He thought about dipping his tongue into the dent at the corner of her mouth, and licking his way over to her lips and...Forget it, he told himself, sternly. He wasn't letting a brain spiked with testosterone do his thinking for him. Once was enough. Once had gotten him married and unmarried in a space of six months. "You and Shorty have an argument?" He wanted to say 'lover's spat' but restrained himself. She laughed again, right in his face this time. "No. But there is no Shorty and me. We just made that up." She was lisping. He suspected that she was file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (44 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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feeling good. She continued. "Shorty seemed to think you'd be jealous. Now isn't that ridiculous?" Her green eyes glinted up at him, showing her amusement. J.T. didn't think it was so amusing. He had been jealous, if he wanted to be honest with himself. "Sure is ridiculous," he snarled at her. "You're as cranky as a...as a..." She paused, leaning her elbows on the table amid her junk. "Give me a minute to think of some cowboy term." Her brows knotted. "Sidewinder," she blurted. "Whatever that is." Abruptly, she stood up. "It's a desert snake," he said as his hand darted out to grab her wrist and stop her. "Where do you think you're going?" "To the ladies' room." She tugged herself free of his grasp and wove her way through the crowd. As the rodeo let out the place was filling to more than capacity. He quickly scooped her scattered belongings back into her handbag and went after her. Now she had him tailing after her carrying a purse. He was red in the face, and it wasn't entirely from anger. A few yahoos made snarly remarks about his unique saddlebag. When he caught up with her in the hall she was stuck in a long line leading to the restroom. Tossing her bag at her, he instructed, "I'll wait with you." "In the ladies' line." She giggled. His face sober, he waited with her right up until the door, then he fell back. He leaned against the chipped wall next to the pay phone. He didn't plan on letting her out of his sight even if he had to hog-tie her. He had a prickly feeling she was more than a little tipsy. The lady evidently couldn't handle her beer. The phone rang, and he flinched. With an expectant gaze he surveyed the hall, but no one came running to answer it. After several rings, J.T. picked up the receiver. Someone looking for Chicky. He went and shouted into the bar area, but no Chicky raised a head. When he returned to inform the caller, he thought he saw a couple making out in the hallway. Not exactly. It was Amanda and she was trying to stiff arm some aggressive cowpoke. A vein in J.T.'s forehead twitched. She wasn't cuddling; she was struggling. J.T. shoved the varmint up against the opposite wall with bone-jarring force. "I think you got the wrong girl," he said gruffly while he turned his jet-black stare on the cowboy.

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"I know I do," the man said apologetically as he picked his hat off the floor and slapped it against his knee before fitting it low over his brow. "You were magnificent," Amanda said, slurring her words and flopping gratefully against J.T. while she stretched up on tiptoe to fling her arms up around his neck. Her soft breasts snuggled into his chest; her hard pubic bone fit against the thick denim of his fly. As much as he liked that, he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of her inebriated state. Taking her arms from his neck, he entwined his fingers with hers and led her back to the table. "Did you eat today?" he asked. "No. I didn't have time this morning. Later, all that sour talk turned my stomach. You know, all that 'sour and spoiled' horse talk. Then the bulls finished me off." She looked into his eyes. Hers rounded with concern. "Did you eat?" He smiled. He was right. She was soused. Two beers on an empty stomach will do that if you're not used to drinking. "I'll find a waitress, order us something." "J.T.," she called after him. "I left my purse in the ladies' room, I'll go get it." He nodded. J.T. hunted up a waitress and ordered the food. When he got back, Amanda's chair was empty. He looked around, puzzled. Then he spotted her wrestling with a man on the dance floor. Now what? J.T. sauntered over and tapped the guy on the shoulder. "Cutting in," he informed him. When the man opened his mouth to voice a beef, J.T. said in a low growl, "Get your hands off my woman." The man's hands went up in the air in a gesture of surrender before he cautiously backed away. J.T. frowned at her. She didn't seem to notice as she looked up at him, accusingly. "J.T., you lost me." "No I didn't, Darlin'," he answered to her distress. "I just found you." "You lost me on purpose," she whined tearfully. "Admit it. You've been trying to get rid of me all along." A tear slipped from her eye. Lordy, the woman was going to have a crying fit. Now what was he supposed to do? "Nah," he said trying to humor her until he could pour a gallon of coffee into her and sober her up. "Really?" she asked, hopefully. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (46 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"You got lost all on your own," he assured her, wiping the tear from her cheek. Her skin felt smooth and soft against his callused fingertip. He encircled her waist with his arms and pressed his cheek against her hair. She smelled like wildflowers on a dewy Colorado morning. Slowly, he danced her around instead of walking her around, hoping to sober her up. It wasn't working. "J.T.," she said, looking up at him as innocent as a newborn calf, "when you lost me were you glad?" "Nah, I knew you'd turn up. You wouldn't leave me off the hook with twenty days left in the month." When the music stopped he led her by the elbow over to their table where their food was waiting. She took one sniff. "I think I'm going to be sick." "You need air," he said, tossing a handful of bills onto the table. He grabbed her and her purse and headed toward the exit. He propped Amanda against the fender of the truck and pitched the offensive handbag onto the seat. "Feeling better?" She looked better - not quite so pukey green. "Yes." She looked at him dreamily. He didn't like that look much better. He tucked her into the truck. "I'll check a few motels, see if you're registered." He raced the engine, then tore out of the parking lot. "And if you don't find me?" she said, kneeling on the bench seat, way too close to him. The dim glow of the dashboard lights illuminated her face, spotlighting rosy, inviting lips. She was back to that lost and found talk again. He hoped she didn't start bawling, too. "Then you'll have to share my room," he said begrudgingly. He didn't like the turn of this conversation. "That's real nice of you J.T. You're not so mean." She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, nearly driving them off the road. When he had her and the vehicle under control, he buckled her into her seatbelt, for his safety. After the first unsuccessful motel stop, she didn't buckle back up. She was kneeling on the cushioned seat, her knees nuzzling his thigh as she insisted on looking him in the face and blocking his view of the road while she talked. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (47 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"J.T.," she said, her breath sweet and warm against his jaw. "What does the J.T. stand for?" He eyed her irritably. "Jacob...Jacob Thomas." "I love that. It's so biblical. What did they call you in school?" "J.T.," he snapped. "How about Jake? Did anyone call you Jake?" "My mama before she died," he said softly. "Can I call you Jake?" "No," he barked, then glanced at her teary eyes. He was in no mood for another crying fit, so he relented. "Okay, but not too often."

"Sorry you couldn't find me," she mumbled as he opened the door to his room. He leaned her against a low bureau, and she giggled while he fumbled for the lights. She was going to get him into trouble. He had a gut feeling. "J.T.," she said, bracing her hands on the bureau and trying with several unsuccessful hoists to sit on the dresser top. He couldn't stand to watch her wobbly struggle. They'd be taking a trip to the hospital for head stitches if she toppled. He hefted her up and sat her down. She stretched her sandaled feet onto his chest, wriggling her bare toes. "I need help unbuckling my shoes." Then she chanted, "One, two, unbuckle my shoe..." He worked as fast as his brawny fingers would allow. When he unstrapped the first sandal, tossing it to the carpet, she rested her long, slender leg alongside his hip. Bending her other leg up at the knee, she perched it on the edge of the dresser, drawing him closer into her. By the time he tossed the second shoe to the carpet her legs were wrapped around his waist. The heels of her bare feet nudged his back pockets. All he had to do was inch her forward and nothing would stand between him and cowboy heaven.

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Then she scooted forward, crossing her ankles around his back, lacing her arms around his neck, and murmured onto his lips words that could very well be his undoing. "Want to kiss me goodnight...or good morning?" There it was. The implication made his heart lurch. He held her in his arms, considering. He wanted to kiss her until morning. He wanted her...right here on the dresser, and then on the bed, and then on the floor. He wanted her everywhere. But he wanted her sober. Heck, he shouldn't be wanting her at all. She was transient, and he wanted permanence. While he deliberated, he heard a pop, and another. Glancing down, he watched her nimble fingers open his shirtfront, snap by snap. Her fingertips circled the curls on his chest. He rather liked that, but not as much as her hot, wet mouth as it planted tantalizing little pecks at the base of his throat. He growled low in his throat, picking her up. She clung to him, her legs locked around his waist, her arms around his neck. He wanted her, wanted to take her right here up against the wall. The thought appealed to him immensely. For one weak moment he seriously considered it. Then he walked over to the bed and laid her down. She didn't let go, toppling him with her. Heck, he wasn't made of sod; he kissed her. Her mouth was soft and moist like fresh ripe fruit. Berries, definitely berries. Wild berries. He made love to her mouth for a long while, savoring the taste of her. His tongue slipped in and out of her mouth in an intimate rhythm, one he wanted to imitate with their other body parts. Her tongue answered his love call. It mated with his. He sucked her tongue, and ran his over her teeth and the roof of her mouth. He couldn't get enough of her. Her mouth was sweet. Her lips were tender. He'd likely explode if he had to stop. They'd both explode if he didn't. He had to stop. If he took advantage of her she'd hate him tomorrow. Did he care if she despised him? Usually he felt she did despise him; usually he felt he didn't care. But no, he cared. Even when he tried hating her, he cared. For some unknown reason he cared what she thought of him. Unknown. It wasn't so unknown. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. Even if he never followed through on that attraction he hated like heck to lose it. Then his good intentions began to slip. She was wiggling beneath him, pulling her T-shirt over her head, unzipping her pants, working them down over her hips. His hands roved uncharted territory, through lace and silk. Slipping his palms over lacy breasts, he dipped his tongue between the curves. He ran his hands over her ribs, slowly, one rib at a time, then over her waist and the flare of her hips. He stopped, resting the heels of his hands on her silk clad mound. It file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (49 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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radiated an alluring amount of heat. Heat he wanted gloved around him. For a lifetime. But she wasn't offering a lifetime. She was only offering 20 days. He sprang upright as if jolted by a cattle prod. Flicking the cover over her, he tucked her into bed. Urgently, he fled across the room, plopped into a chair, and exhaled a deep breath. She'd knocked the wind out of him, like a bad rodeo ride. She coaxed, "J.T. you can't propagate from way over there." She teased, "Never going to have an heir apparent that way." But she stayed put and eventually fell asleep. Torture. The woman had him wrapped up in barbed wire. Yet, he didn't want to see the month end.

Chapter 5 Amanda awoke in a strange bed. She'd had some pretty strange nightmares, too. She burrowed deeper into the sheets to postpone getting up as long as possible. But a nagging question hammered away at her brain. Whose room was this? Her hand groped blindly for the pillow next to her. Empty. That was good. She rolled onto her back, yawned, and stretched her arms and legs before propping herself up on her elbows. With a slow swivel of her head, she checked out her surroundings. Her head pounded. Warily, her eyes scanned the motel room. TV, rustic pine furniture, a painting of a horse. She glanced down. Okay, this was the West, but the coverlet with horseshoes on it was definitely overkill. She sighed and eased her achy head back against the pillow. At least she was alone in the room. Then memory struck like lightning. This was J.T.'s room and J.T.'s bed. How disgusting. Groaning, she sat up. Gingerly, she lowered one foot to the floor and then the other. Holding her head on with one hand and the sheet around her with the other, she hobbled into the bathroom. Empty, too. Good. She let the shower spray punish her for her folly. As the needles of water pelted her flesh and drummed file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (50 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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her skull, she remembered her antics from the night before. How disgusting. Amanda dressed quickly and fled the room. Outside in the parking lot, Shorty's pickup idled. She flung the door open wide and glared at him. He sipped coffee, merrily tapping the steering wheel to the beat of a country western song as if he didn't have a care. How disgusting. "Have you no shame?" she berated as she climbed in, and he shoved a Styrofoam cup of black coffee into her hand. "Sure, where was this when I needed it last night?" Then she rubbed her temple. "Do you have a couple of aspirin to go along with this?" "J.T. sent me to fetch you. He tracked me down like a lone wolf this morning. What did you do to him?" "Oh, Shorty," she moaned. "I don't ever want to talk about it." "That bad?" he asked, stroking his mustache. "Worse than at Madge's." She peeked at him over the rim of her foam cup. "That's good," he assured her. She started to shake her head, but pain wouldn't allow for it. "Hogwash," was all she could manage to whisper. "J.T.'s as skittish as a new colt. I'm telling you, that's good." "That's awful." Then she turned a skeptical gaze on him. "And where were you when I needed you? You stranded me. That wasn't part of the plan." "Yep." "Yep. That's all you've got to say? That 'yep' better not mean what I suspect it means or you're in for a long blistering ride home," she threatened as Shorty pulled the vehicle out into the line of traffic. They stopped to pick up her things and check out of their motel - The Lucky Chance Motel. Thank goodness she hadn't known the motel's name. One less humiliation to add to the shameless list of things she'd said and done to J.T. J.T. - she hoped to forget he existed. Amanda brushed her teeth, stowed her gear, and donned her sunglasses. She was still annoyed at Shorty, but he was her only friend, so she got over it - quickly. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (51 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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Back at the ranch, she slept most of the day and night away. When awake, she brooded over her inability to stay sane and neutered around J.T. If she were lucky, he'd avoid her like a bad conscience. Monday morning she walked, pumping her arms and legs. The rush of blood helped clear away her cobwebs and wipe away her lingering muddleheadedness. She cringed every time she thought of J.T. He'd been the perfect gentleman, while she'd been far from ladylike. He hadn't taken advantage of her...her offers. He'd given up his room for her. He'd taken care of her when she turned white at the rodeo, and again afterwards when she turned green at the bar. If she wasn't so down on men, especially the dark dangerous ones, she'd snatch him up like a chunk of chocolate. She preferred semi-sweet, anyway. And he had been sweet. Quite caring, in a J.T. sort of way. She groaned, shaking her head. She needed to stop her heated blood from melting her heart. But how? Work. Back at the cabin, she forced herself to concentrate on Professor Carter's paper work. Pages of text quickly crowded out her niggling, private thoughts. Toward evening Shorty stopped by. Unlike his brief morning calls, this visit was prolonged. He seemed to want to talk, which was so rare for Shorty. They sat on the porch swing and drank lemonade while Amanda pointed the evils of matchmaking out to him. After a series of 'yeps,' Shorty said, "J.T.'s forbidden anyone to mention your name in his presence." He grinned at her as if that was a pleasant thought. "Number one," she retorted, "that's childish. Forbidden...who does he think he is? A king? Well, everybody knows Elvis is the king, and he's dead. And number two, I don't care what J.T. does." "Sure are a mite testy for a woman who doesn't care." "Don't you have a girlfriend somewhere to hassle instead of me?" "Yep." Her eyebrows shot up. "Yep...oh Shorty, that's wonderful. Does she live nearby?" "Yep." "In town...in Kendalville?" "Yep." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (52 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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The smile drooped on Amanda's lips. "You should have told me sooner. She'll probably hate me, like Jolene does. Jolene thinks I'm after J.T., and after the other night she has every reason to think it's so." Her green eyes widened. "Jolene doesn't know about the motel, and me, and J.T. Does she?" "Nope." Shorty pushed against the porch floor with his boot heel and rocked the swing into motion, as if stirring the breeze were his only concern. "After our going away for the weekend, your girlfriend will never want to lay eyes on me either, unless it's to aim a shotgun." Amanda looked gloomily into his smiling face. "Sure, you can grin, nobody hates you." "J.T. isn't too happy with me." Shorty didn't seem the least bit disturbed by the proclamation. "Madge can't wait to meet you." "Madge...Kendalville Madge?" "Yep," Shorty said, swinging contentedly. "This is exciting, Shorty. I can't wait to meet her." The woman owned Kendalville. She owned a town. She was as close to a legend as Amanda was ever going to get. Tuesday night's chat with Shorty was boring by comparison. Lemonade, the porch swing, and another unsuccessful lecture by Amanda on matchmaking. She couldn't even squeeze a one word promise from Shorty that he'd give up his evil, scheming ways. Their Wednesday night visit was a lot more interesting. "Have you been dating Madge long?" she questioned, intrigued by the legendary woman. "Long enough." "Long enough to ask her to marry you?" "Yep, but I'm waiting until J.T.'s settled." "J.T.?" Shock registered on Amanda's face. "I've been working the Cutter spread since I was nineteen. First year I came, J.T. was born. Known that boy all his life."

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Amanda imagined J.T. as a beautiful baby - tufts of dark hair, button-bright dark eyes, and a "coochiecoo" chin, with dribble. He'd probably make beautiful babies, too. The idea of making babies with J.T. gave Amanda a hot rush. "And..." Amanda waved her hand, coaxing Shorty to go on with the story. "I watched J.T. grow up. Taught him to ride and rope. J.T.'s daddy was too busy expanding the ranch. Didn't take the time to enjoy what he had. J.T.'s momma died when the boy was five, and I near raised him. I feel like he's my own. "When his daddy died ten years back, the boy didn't have time to mourn. He had to take charge as best he could, even though no one had ever taught him how to run the ranch." "You helped him out, though." "We muddled through. There's a big difference between a ranchhand and a rancher. We knew about working with cows and fences. We had the usual vet and mechanic skills. But neither of us knew about profit and loss, buying and selling, or hiring and firing." Shorty took a breath. Amanda had never heard him talk so much. J.T. and the ranch were obviously subjects warm to his heart. "To sum it up, you went from cowboys on horseback to cowboys on computers." "Not easily. Cattlemen today know things. They have college degrees. Computers and cellular phones are just a start. They know about genetics and engineering, as well as agriculture. "But J.T. learned," she said, compassion tearing her eyes. "What he didn't learn through college courses over the computer, he learned through trial and error." "And you held down the cattle part of the ranch while he learned." She patted his hand to assure him that it was a job well done. "So what's the problem? Won't Madge move out here, leave her town to marry you?" Amanda asked. "Today some women keep their maiden names." She wanted to prepare him in case. "Maybe Madge will want to keep the Kendal name." "Nope, Madge said she'd be proud to bear the Hudson name. Hearing about Kendals, from Kendals, and nothing but Kendals has plumb worn her out." Shorty grinned. "She can't wait to move out here. J.T.'s offered us the original ranchhouse, down the lane from the bunkhouse." Concern wrinkled his brow. "I just don't want to see the boy alone. I want to see him settled, married, before I get hitched." She squeezed his hand. "Shorty, you're a good man. Both J.T. and Madge are lucky to have you."

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"How did you like the rodeo?" Jolene quizzed on Thursday, charging into the cabin unannounced and plopping down next to Amanda on the plaid sofa. "I didn't." "How did you and Shorty make out?" "We didn't." "Too bad." Jolene thumbed a stack of the professor's manuscript pages before tossing them aside. "Let me think on it. There must be someone else I can fix you up with." "I don't want fixing." "What's happened to your vocabulary?" She wagged her turquoise and silver bedecked finger in Amanda's face. "You've been hanging out with Shorty too much. You're even starting to talk alike. Let me think, who's articulate?" "Jolene, I'm going home in two weeks, I think I can survive that long without a man. Please, don't bother yourself. Besides, you highly recommended Shorty, and he was taken. He's all but married." "I didn't know you had such high ideals." She picked up Amanda's glass of lemonade and sniffed the contents. "But, it's no bother," Jolene persisted between sips of the drink. "We could double-date. J.T. and me, and you and...and Fred. Fred's a nice man. You'll like him. He isn't taken. He hasn't had a date in years." "Oh, that sounds hard to pass up." The double-date from hell. Amanda wanted to forget J.T. existed. She certainly didn't want to spend any time in his company. Not with the way his subliminal vibes stirred her into a sexual frenzy. And forget about spending any quality time with the underhanded Jolene, or Fred, the loser whose last date was during puberty - just your typical fright night. "Not to worry." Jolene plunked the empty glass down and patted Amanda's shoulder with all the concern of a best friend. "I'll talk it over with J.T." Great. Amanda watched Jolene prance away from the cabin, arms swinging, obviously satisfied with her plan. Was plotting and scheming a rural pastime or did Amanda bring out this inclination in the people?

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On Friday night Amanda was aroused from her sleep by a loud thud. And then another, and another. Panic almost stopped her heart. An animal was breaking in. No, someone was pounding on her door. The racket ceased when she slid the bolt. She peeked out. There stood her nightmare in blue jeans. Only, he wasn't wearing blue jeans. Or boots. Or a cowboy hat. Amanda braced her forearm against the screen door, then leaned her forehead onto it. "J.T.," she said flabbergasted, "you look like a tenderfoot." He was clad in khaki pants and a button-down, short-sleeve shirt. The buttons were all unbuttoned, exposing a tantalizing mat of chest hair which tapered sexily into his khaki waistband. On his bare feet he wore moccasins. He looked good. When didn't the man look good? She wished he'd go away. She drew in a sharp breath. There was no sense in evading the issue, prolonging the inevitable. He was here to confront her over her behavior the night of the rodeo. She unhooked the screen door as she spoke. "I guess you're here about the other night..." "Yeah." He pushed through the door with one hand, and with his other he grabbed her around the waist, squeezing the breath right out of her. Without breaking stride, he lifted her up until her feet dangled off the floor while he moved on, heading into her bedroom. "I've changed my mind," he replied in a low, slightly husky drawl.

Chapter 6 Going to bed with J.T. was like going to battle. Without a warning shot, he tossed Amanda onto the middle of her bed. Before she could bounce back up, or unclamp her teeth to voice her indignity, he dived on top of her, sealing his mouth to hers. Lying prone beneath J.T. didn't give a girl much moving around space. Her bare toe touched the top of his foot - his rather long foot. When had he found the time to kick off his moccasins?

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Her toe glided over smooth skin from the top of his ankle to the tip of his big toe. A rather lengthy journey, over skin as soft as a baby's bottom. She slid her toe along the long length several more times. And why was she speculating on the size of his foot? She should be worrying about his mouth. It was devouring hers. His mouth came on, deliberate and unrelenting. He ate the breath right out of her. As soon as she gasped for more, his tongue forced its way in, plundering her mouth, dipping and delving until her tongue responded. Her tongue wasn't the only body part responding. She wanted to move her hips into the heat of him, wrap her arms and legs around him, grasp his thick dark hair in her fingers, stroke his shoulders and rake his chest, but she couldn't. On first volley, his hands had grappled with hers and won. Her wrists were pinned above her head, banded by his strong fingers, which held her immobile. She was able to respond only with her mouth. And a toe. The effect was torturous. Her body was burning up for want of touching, wanting to touch and be touched. She moaned deep in her throat. He entwined his fingers with hers and brought her arms down, stretching them out across the bed, knocking pillows to the floor, and flattening her further into the mattress with his weight. And still he kissed her, giving her no quarter. When she thought she'd expire from sheer desire, he bolted to his feet dragging her up with him. They stood inches apart, her heaving chest not quite touching his. Her breaths were uneven. His were too. His smoky dark eyes challenged hers, probing the windows of her soul. But for what? Desire glowed in his eyes. She could live with that. She was nearing the point of no return. She couldn't live with that. They stood facing each other with the determination of two gunslingers on Main Street at high noon. She chewed her lip. The silence was getting to her. The heat was getting to her, too. She heard the whir of the air conditioner. Why did it feel so warm, so close, so intimate? If this was Jolene's planned double-date, two parties were missing. Right about now the articulate, dateless Fred was looking pretty safe. Then J.T. made his move. Their eyes were still locked, but she detected a flicker of motion as he reached file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (57 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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into his pocket. Whatever he'd pulled out was not a six gun; it was a lot smaller. Then it was there, clasped in the palm of her hand. His callused fingertips curled her fingers over the square foil packet that burned its message into her flesh. Amanda was a little lonely, and a little unhappy. And more than a little horny. Darn him. She guessed she didn't really dislike J.T. as much as she wanted to. Heck, she didn't dislike him at all. He was going to break her heart; she just knew it. And what would her sainted mother think? At least with Stuart she'd been engaged. It was a sad statement that the only entity who cared what Amanda did or didn't do was her mother's spirit peering down from the heavens. Then again, J.T. could make her happy. He could ease her loneliness for a while. And he was more than willing to cure her other problem. The longer his dark eyes locked her into the realm of his sensuality, the bigger that particular problem was becoming. The decision was hers. He'd made the decision hers...the clod. Why couldn't he have just continued sweeping her off her feet? He'd been doing a dynamite job of it without her help. Why didn't he convince her with that more than capable mouth of his, or that slow husky murmur that tenderized her insides? She lowered her lids over her sultry green eyes, and his hand drifted up to her shoulder. He must have taken the droop of her eyelids as an imperceptible nod of assent. She didn't disagree when his fingers peeled one strap of the soft cotton nightgown down off her shoulder, and then the other. Or when the sheath of white material floated to the floor, crumpling at their feet. J.T.'s liquid brown eyes caressed her body, lingering over her erogenous zones - zones she wished he'd stroke with his roughened hands and gentle touch. She raised her arms to return his favor. Her fingertips tingled as they slid under his open shirt, grazing the crisp hair on his chest before tracing along his collarbone to his muscular shoulders. Then she tore the shirt off his back, and war commenced. A flurry of clothing hit the floor and a chair. A pair of blue briefs landed on the lampshade and dangled. A tangle of body limbs clashed on the bed. Sheets slipped, blankets flew, and a mad scramble to the floor ensued in a hasty search for the lost packet. J.T. ripped the square open with his teeth and spit out the foil before claiming her mouth in a drugging, file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (58 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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ecstatic kiss. Then he took her to cowboy heaven. By dawn a tentative treaty existed, and their lovemaking took on a gentler, kinder, less frenzied pace. By the time she drifted into a well-earned slumber, Amanda had bigger problems. Forget about a little lonely, or a little unhappy, she was a little in love with the rambunctious cowboy. She awoke, startled. She was alone. Snatching her rumpled nightgown from the floor, she slipped it over her head as she scooted into the bathroom for a splash of water and a quick brush over her teeth. Even before she rushed into the kitchen, she knew it would be empty. She flung open the front door, letting in the light of day and a frightening sight - J.T.'s big-headed horse, the monster with the devilish eyes, pawed the ground. On his back J.T. sat tall in the saddle. He'd been about to dismount when Amanda swung the door open. She tiptoed across the porch. Her ankle-length white nightgown, slit to the knees on either side, flapped open as she made her way toward him. J.T. bent down and handed her an armful of fresh sheets. How thoughtful. Clasping the sheets to her bosom, she reached up further on her toes. She whispered, "Jake..." When his eyes connected with hers she touched her hand to his thigh and continued. "Kiss me." J.T. bent low, the saddle creaking. He scooped a handful of her hair in his fist and kissed her quickly, lustily. He grazed her teeth with his and touched his tongue ever so slightly to hers, teasingly. Then he straightened up and heeled his satanic horse into a trot. Now what? He hadn't said anything, although his kisses spoke volumes. He sure as heck liked her, of that she was certain. She guessed she'd acted shameless. She'd only known the man for two weeks. But there had been a romantic tug-of-war between them from day one - an attraction she'd wanted to deny, had tried to fight. She imagined the good-looking, prosperous bachelor was quite a catch out here in Ranchland, America, despite his scowl. Amanda supposed she saw him differently than other women did, too. Where they saw mean, she saw honest; where they saw grim, she saw steadfast; and where they saw desirable, she saw dangerous. After showering, Amanda threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and went about righting the war zone. She put clean sheets on the bed, saved J.T.'s blue briefs as a memento, freshened up the spilled potpourri, then languished on the bed, clutching to her the pillow that J.T.'s head had almost rested on. Despite everything that was wrong - which was just about everything - she couldn't hold back her grin of contentment. Amanda and J.T. What a bodacious, outrageous pair. Who'd have thought it?

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Shorty would have. He dropped by at mid-morning. "Didn't want to disturb you earlier." His blue eyes twinkled impishly. A red flush crept up Amanda's neck. Shorty looked pleased. "I'll be going. Everything's okay here." Everything wasn't okay. But she savored the okay parts all afternoon, unable to work. Around four o'clock she heard the stomp of hoofbeats on the packed earth. She padded barefoot out onto the porch. On first sight he took her breath away. Every snap on his faded chambray shirt was open and the sleeves were rolled above his elbows. His wrists were crossed over the saddlehorn. He looked hot and dusty and sweaty and sexy. Her eyes must have reflected every one of her thoughts. His crooked smile told her so. "Been busy?" she asked. "We finished putting up the hay." She flung her legs over the porch railing, perching her bottom somewhat precariously on the banister, and smiled up at him, pleased that he'd returned. Amanda knew she should restrain herself, but heck, she was in love as she'd never been in her whole life, as she'd never thought possible. And he was really testing that love, by nudging that ferocious animal closer to her knees. Just as she jerked away and started to climb back to safety, J.T. swooped her up across his thighs. She squeezed her eyes shut and linked her arms around his waist, clinging so tight that his chest hairs tickled her ear. "Glad to see me?" he teased in a gentle voice. She peeped one eye open, briefly. "I'd be a lot 'gladder' if we were riding in the pickup truck." "Never had a wreck with this horse, but I had a few with the truck." His hand stroked her neck. "Lift your head so I can kiss you." "With the horse watching," she mumbled as the animal tried to snuffle her ankle, but she lifted her face, without opening her eyes. He ran his fingers along her jaw before cupping her chin. She shivered with anticipation. Then his lips captured hers and a rush of excitement coursed through her. J.T. kissed her until she forgot where she was, which was melded to his groin, with her knee crooked over a saddle horn while a horse's mane file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (60 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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tickled it. Due to his breath-stealing kiss she almost didn't notice when the demon horse moseyed forward a few steps. Almost. Her eyes flicked wide open. Her vision flooded with darkness as J.T.'s beautiful brown eyes filled her sight. Her lips whispered against his. "We're moving." "You don't have to whisper. Buck knows we're moving." "Buck?" she asked, not caring. But she liked the taste and texture of J.T.'s mouth moving against hers as they formed words. "Buckaroo is his full name," he replied breaking contact. "Buck's just a nickname." "Can Buck take me back?" Amanda wanted to explore J.T.'s magnificent chest, but she feared unlacing her arms from around his waist. If she faltered and fell, she just knew Buckaroo would pound her into road kill with his horseshoes, then leave her as coyote bait. "Buck's like a pet, Darlin'. He'll take you back after our swim." His murmuring assurance pretty much did in what was left of her willpower. "Do you have a swimming pool?" she asked nervously, biting her bottom lip as Buck ambled forward a few more steps. "No." "A bathing suit?" "No." No suit, no pool. This was going to be some swim. "I don't have a suit, either. Buck will have to close his eyes." J.T. chuckled. She heard the rumble in his chest. Then he nuzzled his jaw to the top of her head. After a bit, the sway of the horse beneath her and the muscular comfort of J.T.'s body against her lolled her into a sense of security. Buck's death threats faded next to the sensuous feel of J.T.'s firm body. His strong arms encircled her. One hand gripped the reins and the other her waist. The touch of his forearm resting on her lap transmitted a thrilling message to the core of her womanhood. The firm thighs file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (61 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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that cradled her hips sent a lusty telepathic communiqu‚. Against her ear, his heartbeat thumped out an eager promise. Until a whinny interrupted. While J.T. fondly patted the horse's neck, Amanda opened her eyes to her surroundings. A deer darted into a wooded area. A whisper of a late afternoon breeze rustled in the leaves. Sunlit dappled shadows fell from overhead as Buck meandered forward. She heard the gurgle of water. A trickling brook spilled into a widening pond. This was J.T.'s swimming hole. Amanda had no intentions of stripping naked to swim with flora and fauna in some foreign body of water out in the wilderness. Not even for J.T. Not even when he left her alone with his pet horse. Not even when he stripped off his boots and socks, wriggling his toes, flexing his long feet. Or when he tossed the denim shirt, exposing abs like a washboard and pecs she'd only seen on TV... and felt in the dim glow of her bedroom last night. And regardless of how the sun glistened on his muscular back or how tight his naked buns "Can you help me down?" she gasped, giving in. Her next gasp was louder when he turned around and walked toward her, aiming all that physical masculinity at her. When he reached up to lift her down, his hands gripped her waist, holding her suspended above his head. He snuggled his face to her chest, then let her glide down an inch at a time as he kissed his way up to her neck and jaw and finally nibbled her lips. She laced her arms around his head and kissed him back. He tasted so good she forgot all about Buck behind her, until the stallion nudged his head into her spine. She whispered to J.T., "Buck's not swimming with us, is he?" He laughed, rubbing his nose to hers. "Buck's going to graze over there." He nodded toward a huge ancient cottonwood. "Behind that tree, in the shade. Out of sight, out of mind. Okay?" She nodded. Then he set her on the ground and led Buck away. He came back lugging the saddle and a colorful Navajo blanket. He tossed them on the grass at her bare feet. Scanning her from head to toe with a steamy slow gaze, he drawled, "Are you swimming in that?" "I thought I would," she teased, shrugging one shoulder. "I thought you wouldn't." Lightning quick, he lunged for her, grabbing the hem of her top and zipping it over her head. She ran; he tackled. She flailed her limbs, but not too forcefully, as he peeled away both pairs of her pants. She giggled; he laughed. Then in a tangle of arms and legs, chest hair and nipples, tongues and lips, things quieted. Heavy breathing dominated.

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"Swim," he said in a husky voice, as if to remind them why they were there. Tugging her wrist, he brought her up with him when he stood. Then he swung her up in his arms and walked into the rippled waters. "Are there fish in here?" she asked, attempting to keep herself above the water line by stiffening her torso. He dropped her a bit, but the hold she had on his neck stopped him from any further action. Leaning into her, he touched his lips to hers and flicked his tongue along the seam of her mouth until it opened of its own volition. When he encountered her tongue, a gentle tug of war resulted. His mouth was winning for a long while. Amanda didn't mind losing. Before long, his mouth was sliding and gliding easily over hers. Her body was being thrilled by liquid flames. She felt she was drowning in a sea of love. Slowly, he had submerged them into the water. When the wetness enveloped her, she struggled, kicking her legs free. He broke the water's surface, bringing her up with him, their lips still locked. Caging him around the waist with her long legs, she crossed her ankles. "I like that move," he moaned into her mouth. Water dripped from his hair, glistened on his eyelashes, sparkled on his mouth. She caught a drop with her tongue. "It doesn't taste like pond scum," she taunted, "considering who knows what is living in here." "How do you know what pond scum tastes like?" He licked her cheek and made a face. "Ugh. It tastes like tadpoles, and sunnies, and...water moccasins." "Tadpoles are frogs." Her face screwed up with the look of someone who'd eaten a worm. "Stick out your tongue, I'll check it for warts." "That's not funny." She scowled at him fretfully. "What's a sunny?" "A small flat fish." "That's gross. Why didn't you tell me all this before you dunked me?" She wanted to put her hands on her hips to show her indignation, but she was afraid to let go of J.T. He was keeping a good part of her above water. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (63 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Amanda, it's safe," he cooed in her ear. "All of our splashing has chased everything away. Except maybe for the moccasins." He touched his forehead to hers, looking at her sternly. "What's a moccasin?" "A snake." She climbed further up on his body. J.T. rather liked that. "Can you get a little closer, Darlin'?" he coached, as he rocked her back and forth, comforting. But it wasn't comfort he was after. Evidently, neither was she. She searched out his mouth, trailing kisses along his jaw and ear before reaching her mark. J.T. stepped back, and back again, until the trunk of a fallen tree bumped his shoulders. He swirled her around through the water, and when she was braced against the tree, he took her right then and there, plunging her into cowboy heaven. Afterwards, it took some convincing to assure her that he'd only been teasing about the snake, and to coax her into swimming with him. Good sport that she was, she agreed. For that reason, J.T. let her splash him and dunk him. Heck, if she wanted to, he'd let her drown him without much of a fight, just to please her. This craving he had for Amanda was going to kill him dead. Later, on the horse blanket, while shafts of sunlight dipped through the trees, shimmering on her wet body, he wrestled with his feelings for her, trying to voice his doubts. "I have a rule against women who leave." He was leaning over her, naked skin to naked skin, when he brushed the words across her lips like a kiss. She pulled him down to her...on her...in her. Everything was her. Whatever feelings he'd been wrestling with were lost in her. Words failed. Talk failed. Only Amanda prevailed, opening like the petals of a wildflower, swallowing him in her musky fragrance, her dewy warmth engulfing him. He began the slow, even rhythm. He moved with deliberate, measured strokes. He wanted it to last. He tried to make it last forever, but forever shattered in a frantic tangle of arms and legs and breath. Their clothes were scattered around the blanket. J.T. scooped up their wrinkled, damp duds from the grassy bank. While they donned them they rolled and teased and laughed. Even Buck lightened up. J.T. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (64 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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talked to the stallion at length, cowboy to horse, while he saddled him. Buck only nickered at Amanda once afterward. They rode back at an easy slow gait. J.T. was in no hurry to see the cabin appear on the horizon. He wanted to keep her with him as long as possible. "Hungry?" he asked, squeezing her waist. Dinner had possibilities for prolonging. Forget about Kendalville. He'd drive clear into the city to wine and dine Amanda. What was 70 miles to a man fuelinjected with testosterone? "Yes," she said. "I could cook spaghetti." Cook. She was willing to cook for him. Even his ex-wife hadn't been willing to do that. "Whatever's easier for you." He kissed her brow. "I'll stable Buck, and change. An hour all right?" "Fine." He dismounted and lifted her down from the horse's back to deposit her onto the porch. He wanted to hold her real close, but he didn't. He wanted to murmur her name, but he didn't. He wanted to kiss her until she turned to jelly in his arms, but he didn't. He didn't want her to know how much she'd gotten to him. That way things would be easier, later, when she left. J.T. returned in less than an hour - shaved, showered, and hungry. Hungry for her. He hated feeling as randy as a teenager on prom night all the time. It was down right annoying. She was wearing a short dress and nothing else that he could see. Mercy...there was mercy. He spotted a bikini line, but no bra line. A vein near his temple throbbed. Like a wolfhound he circled and sniffed. The scent of tomato sauce lured him into the tiny kitchen. The scent of her soft curls stopped him in his tracks. Her hair smelled like wildflowers. His head buzzed. If he didn't slow down, he'd never make it through dinner. A picture flashed before him of them rolling around on the Formica table over squished spaghetti and salad greens. Moving away from her, he leaned against the refrigerator door and cocked one booted foot atop the other. He watched her stir the simmering sauce, cook the pasta, and toss the salad. Thoughts of other things she could do with her hands prickled more than the hair on his neck. "There's wine in the fridge." "I'll get it." He turned and yanked the handle, glad to have something to do besides looking at Amanda. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (65 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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He shuffled the clutter of bottles. Soda, bottled water - the ranch had the best well water in the county lemonade, six beers, pink nail polish, red nail polish, rose nail polish. He pondered that for a minute, scratching his jaw. Must be one of those 'Dear Heloise' things, he decided before snatching up the wine bottle. "Corkscrew?" he asked. He cornered her next to the cupboard she pointed to. One hand prowled the contents of the drawer while the other prowled Amanda. Her body was lush and lean, tender and taut, a torment and a comfort. Every inch of her confounded him, and he wanted to taste it all. After he poured two glasses, she sipped her wine, flicking her pink tongue over her moistened bottom lip. For a change, she wasn't chewing on that lip. For a change, he thought he would. With a growl, he pulled her to him, nibbling and sucking and licking. When he stopped to breathe, glassy green eyes peered at him. "You'll spoil your appetite." "I'm a big boy, Darlin', I can handle two desserts." First, they had dessert by candlelight on the Formica table, then they had dessert by candlelight on Amanda's clean sheets. The woman was all fired up by candlelight. He'd be sure to dig up the ones he used for power failures up at the house. The house. Amanda in his ranchhouse. Amanda in his bed. Now that idea had appeal.

Chapter 7 Amanda in her white cotton nightshirt on the cabin porch each morning appealed to J.T., too. She looked sleep-warmed and inviting, standing there waiting for him. This morning her short nightshirt showed off an enticing bit of thigh. He should be sated. But she was all his fevered brain thought about. Maybe he wanted her all the time because he knew she'd be gone in less than 10 days. J.T. stopped the dusty pickup in front of the cabin and revved the engine. Because that's how she made him feel...like revving his engine.

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One moment she was standing on the steps, and the next she was standing on his running board, green eyes glittery, pink lips murmuring, "Jake." When he touched her cheek, she said the words she said every morning. "Kiss me." And just like every morning, he complied, kissing her as if there was no tomorrow. Just days from now, the morning would come when there was no tomorrow. The thought troubled him, and he kissed her a second time, more tenderly. Because at this moment that's how she made him feel - tender. In his tenderness he wanted to share his most prized possession with her. "How'd you like to tour the ranch?" "I'd love to see your cows. And your cowboys. As long as I don't have to touch them. The cows that is," she teased. "You can touch anything of mine but my cowboys," he threatened. And he meant it. She had him all fired up jealous. The thought of her touching another man left a sour taste in his mouth. Made him want to spit. Made him spitting mad. Look what she was doing to him. Well, 2000 miles ought to cure that. "J.T., are we touring by truck or horseback?" She was chewing her lip. She was scared. How could such a brazen woman be afraid of animals? It was beyond him. He tugged a blond curl. "We'll go by truck." The smile she flashed him was worth the inconvenience of the kidney-jarring ride. "Be ready in an hour. I'll have Cook pack a picnic." Her arms cradled the clean sheets he handed her; her brows puckered into a frown. "Cook's okay," he said, smoothing away the crease from her forehead with his finger, "as long as he doesn't have to cook anything. Sandwiches are his specialty. They're edible." When he picked her up an hour later, she had on jeans, which hugged places he hadn't even hugged yet, and a basic white shirt, and boots. He'd never seen her so covered up, or so sexy. As he drove up, he near missed the brake pedal. He had to throw the truck in reverse to fetch her. "Course you've seen the ranchhouse," he stated as he eased the truck back up the hill. Amanda glanced at the two-storey log structure. She had seen the hall and the office, and more of the front steps than she cared to, but there were places she wouldn't mind seeing - his bedroom came to file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (67 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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mind. "That there's the barn...and the stable and the shop." A sleepy collie curled in the doorway of the stable let out a lazy yap when the truck jounced by. Amanda thought for a fleeting moment that she actually wouldn't mind petting a dog that looked that friendly. Dusty air filtered through her open window carrying with it the smell of livestock and oats. Further down they passed hay sheds and the bunkhouse. When the road forked J.T. veered to the right and followed the lane until it ended at the front steps of the original homestead. J.T. idled the truck in front of the cozy, one-storey adobe house where Shorty and Madge would be taking up residence once they were married. "Recorded over at the courthouse," he said, "are the names of the first settlers to these parts. My ancestors are in that book." "Five generations," she recalled. His roots to the land ran deep, as did his pride in his heritage. He had the right. As the pickup jostled over pockmarked dirt roads, kicking up a steady trail of dust, Amanda became curious about the ranch. "Have you ever lost any cows to rustlers?" "Nah. But a semi full of Cadillacs was rustled off I-70 a while back." She smiled. "Tell me about ranching." He told her about calving and branding and round ups. He told her how droughts and blizzards and stampedes could ruin years of hard work. He answered all of her questions, with none of his usual vague replies. If providing and protecting were the basis of ranch life, J.T. had a knack for both. She wouldn't mind having a bit of those knacks directed her way. She wouldn't mind directing them back at him, either. What a dangerous notion. He'd gone most of his life without a mother, without the love of his father, without any nurturing. He probably didn't need any, didn't want any. She was treading into dangerous territory. It was time to backpedal. She didn't belong here. She couldn't ride horses or feed calves.

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But she could tidy up the office, same as Jolene. Amanda knew her way around a computer. No, she was the last thing J.T. needed. She'd make him miserable; he'd make her miserable. Going back to her empty house and leaving J.T. alone in his made perfect sense. Didn't it? When the truck bounced through an especially deep pothole, he thrust his arm across her body to brace her against the jolt. "Buck takes these roads a lot gentler." His grin rocked her pulse. "Buck and gentle are not two words I'd string together in the same sentence." Her rocking pulse urged her to wipe that grin off his face. A tongue-gagging kiss should about do it. He turned back to his steering just in time. They drove on and on while the spread ran on and on, stretching before them, wide and open. The only sign tattling of a civilized world was the never-ending line of fence posts. Then black and brown spots appeared. White-faced spots. "Are those dots your cows?" "Mine and the bank's." "And what's that blob?" She pointed off to the side. "That's a rider." "Is he your cowboy?" "Well, as long as he lets me sign his paycheck he's mine. Unlike ranchers, who stay put, cowboys come and go." "And cowgirls, do they come and go?" He glanced her way, but his sunglasses shielded the expression in his eyes. He concentrated his attention on downshifting for a wide rut. In silence he drove the truck forward. The J.T. she loved to hate was back. She didn't know which frazzled her more...no answers or vague answers. Driving through a pasture he braked when they came upon an opening in the fence. Hank was stringing file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (69 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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barbed wire between two fence posts. A mangy dog watched from a crouched position atop the roof of a Suburban. Before J.T. got out of the truck cab, he squeezed her rigid shoulder. "He's a stock dog - he's harmless." While J.T. chatted with the cowhand, Amanda sat bolt upright like a sentinel, her bottom glued to the seat, her eyes glued to the dog. "Mind telling me why you're so afraid of animals?" he asked once they were on their way again. "My neighbor had a big dog that bit me once. I still have the scar. I've been afraid ever since." She gulped in a breath of air. "Yesterday, on the news, I heard about a mountain lion attacking a hiker in The Rockies. You never know what an animal is thinking or what it's going to do, because it can't tell you," she said quite logically. "Darlin', there are good animals and bad, same as people. And the bad people don't bother to tell you what they're going to do either." "Oh, that's a comfort," she said glumly. "Now I can worry about bad people and bad animals." "Worry about this," he said. J.T. tossed his sunglasses onto the dash, slammed the truck into park, and lunged across the seat. It worked. In a flash, the only animal she was worrying about was the one ravishing her mouth. He kissed her, urgently, hungrily. His fingers grasped her hand and pressed it low on his jeans. He throbbed hot and hard beneath her palm. She rubbed her hand slowly against the thick denim material. He moaned. The low growl in the back of his throat told her that the in-control rancher was losing control. That idea comforted her. At least she wasn't the only one. She sensed J.T. didn't like wanting her any more than she liked wanting him. Yet, the wanting was the best of it; loving him was the worst of it. In the meantime, his lips were doing the controlling, guiding her right where he wanted her - prone on the seat beneath his strong eager body. Her mouth responded to the pressure of his, opening at his insistence on playing love games. Sampling, plucking, nipping, teasing, his lips were demanding. Abruptly, he pulled away. With a lusty sigh he braced his weight on his elbows. He brushed her hair away from her face with both hands.

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"Not here. Not in this crusty old cab. I know a place." He planted a tender, too fleeting, kiss to her lips before sitting up. Grasping her around the waist with strong broad hands, he sat her up. Flustered, Amanda righted her clothing as J.T. tooled the vehicle across the grasslands. How did he do it? He turned on and off like a water spigot - while she gushed endlessly like the Niagara Falls. J.T. pulled up alongside a meadow flooded with a sea of blue flowers, shored on the far side with a mingling of white blooms. The field looked as if someone had dumped a bushel full of seeds overboard. "Rocky Mountain Columbine," he explained as he helped her down from the truck. "Boy flowers," she stated, gazing at the lavender blue heads bobbing to stay afloat in a feeble breeze, very unlike her home state's pink flower. "Wildflowers." J.T.'s voice crashed over her like a wave, salty and sticky. He entwined his broad fingers with her slender ones. Hand in hand, she stood with him, inhaling the pure beauty of it. She could hardly believe that any place on earth could be so fragrant, so peaceful, so private. So this was the frontier. He folded his strong arms around her in a gentle embrace. Where had her rugged cowboy gone? Hugging her to him, he held her for a long while. Slowly, his fingers stroked her silky hair, sifting through the curls to cage her head and cradle it beneath his chin. His lips touched her hair and then her temples. She lifted her face to meet the seductive, soft kisses he rained on her closed eyelids, on her feverish cheeks, and with a slight manipulation of her chin, at last on her lips. He kissed the hollow behind her ear and murmured her name in his familiar, slightly husky drawl. She almost purred. She'd never felt so cherished, so adored. Easing his fingers through her hair, he tilted her head to meet the light pressure of his mouth. His tongue swept over hers. He tasted like coffee and promises. He kissed her tenderly, so tenderly that she peeped open an eye to ensure herself that he really was J.T., that this wasn't a dream. He was; it wasn't. His kiss deepened, passionate and loving. Her knees weakened. She needed support. She swayed against his hard chest. His arms tightened their hold instinctively. His warmth seeped through her, binding her to him, branding her to him. His belt buckle seemed to be

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searing his initials into her stomach - right through her clothing. Every heated cell and vessel in her body flushed with wanting for the man who held her gently to him. She wanted him now, before he changed back into the old J.T. - the one with the swift ramrod approach and the rough kisses - although she rather liked that J.T., too. But she wanted to sample this one - a tender J.T. She feared the phenomenon would only streak across her life but once. When he held her from him, his fingers massaged her upper arms with a mind-scrambling light touch. His midnight dark eyes locked with hers, drawing her soul out of her body and laying claim to it. So far, he had her body, and her soul, and her heart, and her mind. She wouldn't be taking much back to Pennsylvania with her. At the moment, she didn't care. She'd be sorry later; she'd probably need at least one or two of those things sometime in the future. J.T. began waging a lazy struggle with the buttons on her blouse. Slowly, each one gave way after several fumbling tries. Normally he would have just ripped them open, letting the bits fall where they might. She watched his hands, intrigued by his patience. He shimmied her shirt off of her shoulders, draping it carefully onto a clump of posies. Then he drew her to him and kissed the spot on her neck where her pulse fluttered. She whimpered; that was her weak spot. While he pecked at the spot, weakening her further, he worked loose the catch at the back of her bra. As soon as it gave way, he kissed it off of her breasts. His hand, warm and easy, caressed the softness of her breast. Her heart beat against his palm. Then the beat quickened as he stroked and kissed her. His touch was feathery yet tantalizing. She arched her back as his tongue grazed her nipple. She clung to his neck and directed his mouth. Each small pull of his wet mouth on her nipple tugged at her womb. A moan escaped her lips. She buried her fingers in his dark locks. When she kissed the top of his head, his hair tickled her chin. Then he faced her, spanning his hands on her collarbone. His thumb massaged the pulse flickering near her throat. His dark eyes were slitted and glazed. Amanda brushed her lips to his chin as her fingers crawled up his shirtfront. Trying for the same patient touch he had used, she toyed with a pearlized snap, but with a flick of her wrists and a shocked gasp, the snaps popped open clear down to his silver belt buckle. Okay, she thought, so she fell short of gentle. But her heart was in the right place - in her throat, hammering like a piston. Gingerly, she shucked the shirt off his back and tossed it to the ground, smothering some posies. Okay, she fell short of gentle again, but she was trying. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (72 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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His belt buckle gave her a major problem. She yanked and tugged until J.T. sucked in his gut and she had some working around room. As soon as it gave way, so did the zipper. She let her fingers flit to the inside of his waistband. His skin felt hot and supple. She inched the jeans down his hips until she could wrap his throbbing flesh in her hand. He groaned, then unsnapped her jeans, much too slowly. His roughened fingertips skimmed her belly button, feathered across the flesh above her hairline, glided through her coarse curls, and teased her nub with an agonizingly soft touch. When her legs buckled, they both dropped to their knees in a bed of delicate wildflowers. His lips brushed kisses onto her mouth. Her breath rushed in and out against his. His hands trailed over her body, leaving her flesh warm and quivering. His kisses were soft; his touch was soft. All that softness was driving her toward what she wanted - and that was definitely not soft. She ground her hips into his. His hands stroked her bottom, but didn't pull her closer. "Jake," she whispered into his mouth. "I want you." "I want you too," he answered in a lusty whisper that tickled her liquid center. "Now," she demanded. "Now." They tugged off their boots and wriggled out of their remaining clothes. At long last, the naked man she craved lay in her arms. He leaned over her, his coarse chest hair teasing her nipples. His lips curved into a lazy smile that gelled her liquid center. Her hand groped the ground, crushing a handful of scented petals and stems and leaves. How she loved when that man smiled. "Jake," she murmured. "I need you now." "I need you too, Darlin'." He brushed a strand of hair away from her eye with his thumb, then teased her bottom lip with his tongue. She sighed deep in her bones. He was killing her with tenderness. The balm of flowers sifted through the grass. A magpie nagged in the distance. A butterfly flitted near her thumb. The Colorado sky loomed blue and endless. The man in her arms felt warm and strong and

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loving and tasted like forever. This was cowboy heaven. Not quite. A moment later, he shifted his weight and she arched her hips. Now it was truly cowboy heaven. When they drifted back to earth, he rolled them onto their sides and kissed her damp brow. He toyed with a curl near her ear while their breathing evened. "Tell me about the guy who eloped without you." "Stuart." Amanda's voice cracked. "Yeah, Stuart." "He didn't actually elope without me. He married somebody else. Well, not yet. But he will at the end of the month." She clamped her lips shut tight. "Get it done," he demanded. "My mother was ill for a long time before she died. For a year." Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She cleared her throat, fought for control. She didn't want to talk about this. His rough palm caressed her cheek in a gesture of understanding. His mouth touched her trembling lips briefly. She continued. "The last six months Mom needed someone at home with her all the time. I quit my job as a legal secretary and did clerical work out of our home." "Stuie was no help?" J.T.'s voice was gruff and low. "He was at first. He was helpful around the house with errands and such. The hospital did him in - the waiting, the smells, the quiet. While I visited, he went out for a few drinks. He must have over-tipped the cocktail waitress because she showed up pregnant at the funeral services." He stroked her cheek. "Were you alone? No father, no brothers, no sisters?" "Not even an aunt or an uncle or a cousin. See, J.T., file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (74 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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I'm the last of my line, too." "We could fix that," he said, scooping up the foil squares and tossing them into the high green grass. "You'd hate yourself in the morning," she said, but wished he'd deny it. He teased her ear with his tongue. His warm breath tickled, and she giggled. "Finish the story." "My sob story," she chided. "I'm avoiding the pre-nuptials. The bridal shower, the church announcements, the ogling old biddies clucking with pity, the bride's friends smirking with glee." "Sounds right neighborly," J.T. bit out. His glittering dark eyes connected with hers. "Is that why you're mine till the end of the month?" "No." "Mind spelling that out, Darlin'." "Jake..." "I know I'm in over my head when you stop using my initials." "Oh, yeah?" "Yeah, Darlin'. I'm only 'Jake' in the gooey afterglow. After you've bucked my bronco." "How disgusting," she murmured. "That's not what you said earlier." His mouth sealed off her disgust, kissing her until her liquid center was just the right consistency for bucking his bronco. When he had her panting beneath him, he said, "Want to take that back?" "Okay, it's not disgusting," she said in breathy gasps between mind-boggling kisses. "You're not disgusting...you're the man I'm a little in love with."

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She hadn't meant to gush that out. But 'a little' didn't even begin to describe it. She was the I-can'tbreathe-without-your-air kind of in love - the kind she'd never felt for Stuart. "I'm a little in love with you too, Darlin'," he said casually and brushed a kiss across her brow. "Let's eat." "Now?" she asked, incredulously. "Now." His gaze and voice were soft, but firm. She donned his shirt; he donned his jeans. He shook a plaid blanket over the grass and hefted down a picnic basket and thermos from the bed of the truck. They sat next to each other, cross-legged, knees touching. Cook's ham sandwiches were tasty; the dill pickles crunchy; the lemonade lemony. The apple cake was sweet and fruity. "Cook buys his cakes." "Why do you have a cook that doesn't cook?" "Because he can fix anything from horses to machinery." J.T. reached over and grasped the front of his shirt and tugged her toward him. When she fell across his lap he fed her the last bite of cake. Then he licked the crumbs from her lips. He tasted sweet and sour, from lemon and cake. His skin felt sun-warmed. Her heart was thudding in time with his, skipping beats in unison with his. The wild cowboy would put them both in cardiac arrest yet. Soon they were scrambling amongst the clumps of grass and wilted flowers, rummaging for the missing packets. Success. In no time, they had each shed their one piece of clothing. He pinned her beneath him on the plaid blanket. When she complained about the scratchy wool on her delicate butt, J.T. was quite accommodating. He rolled her over on top of him. This commanding view from atop the wild cowboy was more to her liking. For once she looked down into his deep, dark eyes. For once she lavished the kisses. For once she set the pace. His glassy eyes were smoldering, heavy-lidded. His mouth was hot and demanding. His hands stroked her belly, her breasts, her neck, stirring her to a rhythm he was setting, stirring her to a climax he forced. Afterward, he flipped her over so swiftly, only the sudden itch of the blanket rushed the fact to her brain.

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"Now it's your turn for burned cheeks," he teased. With his hands and his mouth he teased her until her hips ground beneath his in the circular movements he desired. Once he had her under his spell, he mercifully rolled them off the blanket. Her blond hair tumbled over the green meadow grass. Wildflowers tickled her instep. Their gasps mingled in a babble of love words. J.T. wished his words back immediately. He wanted her to say she was more than 'a little' in love with him. He wanted her to say she'd never leave him. But he sure as heck didn't want to ask her for either. She'd have to do it on her own, the saying and the staying. He rolled away and lay on his back with his hands cushioning his head. She followed his lead. They stared up at a banner blue sky. J.T. had asked those loving-and-leaving questions of his ex-wife Carla, and lived to regret them. He didn't want to regret Amanda. She'd proclaimed herself a little bit in love, and he'd admitted the same. A little was as far as this was going. Until she vowed to stay, there would be no more love talk. A hawk kited into view, skimming the sky above a bank of clouds. Amanda turned her head to J.T. "He's proud, but alone." J.T. never nudged a muscle. After a minute he said, "He might have a hawkette waiting for him back at the nest." "J.T. you're such a romantic," she teased. She was back to calling him J.T. He pulled on his jeans and left her alone, giving her privacy to freshen herself up. He meandered through the field, absently plucking white flowers and brooding. When he turned back and saw her from across the meadow, with her hair tumbling around her face and her untucked shirt skimming her hips, his heart slammed in his chest. When she waved and sent a dimpled smile just for him, his blood coursed through his veins with the force of the Colorado River. When he came within touching distance and she reached her arms out to him he grabbed her to him, roughly, begrudgingly, because she made him want her. His dark gaze locked with her sun-catching green ones. He wrapped her fingers around the bunch of wildflowers. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (77 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Sleep in my room tonight," he said in a hoarse whisper. He smiled crookedly. "I bought candles."

Chapter 8 The candles had burned down long ago. In the morning's early light, Amanda was just getting around to counting those enticing chest hairs of J. T.'s when a sound made her lose count. "Now I have to start over." She kissed his nipple. When she lifted her head to toss her hair away from her face, a woman stood framed in the doorway. The woman stood so still that at first Amanda thought she was an apparition. But the blue eyes glittered, full of life, and an amused smile showed her pearly white teeth. Amanda plucked at a clump of chest hair hard enough to make J.T. wince before she lowered her mouth to his ear. "It's customary for a man to wait until a lady leaves before bringing the 'other woman' into the bedroom." J.T. just stared into her flaming green eyes. "What are you talking about, Darlin'?" "Me." The woman stepped into the bedroom. Her high heels made clicking sounds on the oak floor until the woven carpet muffled her footfalls. Without looking down, she kicked the rumpled navy bedspread out of her path. A long, red manicured fingernail darted out and flicked at the hem of the sheet. With a rustle, she settled her fanny on the edge of the mattress next to their (luckily) covered hips. She crossed her shapely legs and patted her long brunette locks into place with her palm. She sighed. J.T. flung his arm over his eyes and groaned, loud and long. Amanda looked at the woman, dumbstruck. "I'm Mrs. Cutter." The woman pronounced each word emphatically. "And I'm out of here." Amanda leaped up from the bed, dragging the sheet with her, leaving J.T.

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exposed - which was just where he deserved to be. Amanda felt Mrs. Cutter's sparkling blue eyes follow her as she scooped up her clothing and headed for the doorway. Just as she reached the top of the stairs the woman's sticky sweet voice sang out. "There's also a woman downstairs who claims to be his fianc‚e. What exactly does that make you, Dearie?" Those lethal words had Amanda tripping on the sheet as she bolted down the steps. In a flash, J.T. rolled off the bed away from Carla. He wriggled into his jeans as he hobbled down the stairs, thumping his shoulder against the wall in his struggle with a twisted pant leg. By the time he hit the landing, Amanda was already out the door. Wearing a sheet and boots she raced down the path ahead of him. As he bounded down the last step, J.T. banged his shin on a suitcase. He tottered, regained his balance, then sprinted after her, as fast as he could. Pebbles bruised his instep and a rock slashed his toe. He limped onto the cabin porch just in time to have the door slammed and locked in his face. "Open this door. Now!" he yelled, kicking at it with the bare toes of his unhurt foot. Silence. "I mean to say my piece. Open the damn door." He pounded on it with his fist. The door stayed shut. With a sudden blast rock music blared out noisily. His hand chafed and his voice went hoarse, but the pigheaded woman refused to answer. J.T. braced his back to the door and thumped his head against it. Slowly he slid down the length of the door and sat there, arms dangling between his knees. Quiet might smoke her out. If she thought he was gone she might open the door. And then he could wring her neck. Nothing. After an hour, still nothing. Now what was he going to do? He didn't even want to think about going near the ranchhouse, but he file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (79 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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couldn't put it off much longer. He had to get it done. He stood tall and swaggered up to the house. As much as a bare-chested, bare-foot man could swagger. Sure enough, they were waiting. His ex-wife and his wannabe-fianc‚e. Carla looked triumphant. Joley looked pouty. Don't fail me now, he thought. J.T. was counting on Joley to run Carla off. "J.T.," Joley stammered. As soon as the words left her trembling lips, she glared at Carla. Carla drummed her fingers on her crossed forearms. She crooked her head to face him. She widened her eyes and tried to look innocent, but no way on this green earth could Carla pull off innocent. When she parted her red lips to speak, J.T. raised his hand and halted her lying breath in midair. "I'm taking a shower, then I'm eating breakfast." He scowled at her. "I'm not having this discussion on an empty stomach." When he descended the stairs 20 minutes later with damp hair and a nicked chin, sure enough they were still waiting - his ex-wife and his wannabe-fianc‚e. Purposely, he stomped with his booted feet on his way into the kitchen. Joley had brewed coffee and poured him a mug. It sloshed over the rim of the cup when he swung around to narrow his fiery eyes on his ex-wife. He'd straighten her out fast. "First off, you know darn well you're no longer Mrs. Cutter. You haven't been for the last three years." He thumped his finger onto the table three times, then swallowed a mouthful of coffee and burned his tongue. "Three years isn't so long," she said, stroking his index finger with the tip of her red lacquered nail. "And my name is Carla Cutter, Dearie." "Three years isn't long," he sputtered. "Our marriage didn't last six months. And you're no longer a Cutter. You signed away me, the ranch, and anything with the Cutter name for a substantial settlement." She curled her lips into a seductive smile and all but purred. "Furthermore," J.T. stretched out his palm, "give me the house key." Carla toyed with her low-cut neckline. "It's safely tucked away." She bent forward. "You're welcome to fish it out." "Jolene," he beseeched, panic rising in his voice. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (80 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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He needed Joley's help. He could shout and stomp and hope to chase Carla off, but if she didn't scare he couldn't bodily remove her. He figured it was permissible for Joley to drag her out by her hair, though. Jolene's face was flushed red and her bottom lip started to quiver again. She didn't look like she was going to be much help. "We'll talk in private," he said in a soothing tone. J.T. was mean, not cruel. He had no intention of exposing his wannabe-fianc‚e as his never-to-be-fianc‚e in front of Carla. "Carla, wait here," he snarled as he tucked Jolene's arm in his and headed for the den. "And don't listen at the door." When he glared over his shoulder Carla skittered back into her chair. "My blood pressure elevates every time that woman opens her mouth," Joley said through shaky lips once J.T. closed the door behind them. J.T. patted her hand until her rosy complexion returned to its normal shade of creamy white. "I can see why you're sour on marriage after the likes of her." Jolene spoke calmly at last. "But I only said we were engaged because she rubbed me the wrong way this morning." She squeezed his hand. "Although I kind of held out hopes that someday you'd see me as more than a friend." "Joley." He flashed her a smile. "You and I both know that's not true. You've been inviting me to dinners to make Fred jealous. You've been wanting to learn about ranching from the bottom up, so you can help him build up his spread when he finally gets around to proposing. We'll always be friends, though." "As one friend to another," Jolene pressed, "tell me you're not in love with that phobic woman from the east who's afraid of every animal on your ranch?" He whistled a long breath. "You don't ask easy questions do you, friend?" "I guess that answers that." Joley fretted her auburn eyebrows into a straight line for a moment. "Looks like it's time I took Fred up on his proposal." Joley winked at J.T. "Want to kiss the bride before I go?" He leaned over and smacked a brotherly kiss on her cheek. "I still need a favor." Joley shook her head. "Don't even ask. J.T., I'd do anything for you but go to jail. If I stayed in this house with that Cutter witch one more hour, there'll be bullets and blood." "Please." "That's between you and Carla, and maybe Amanda, and a load of ammunition. But try and stay in one file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (81 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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piece until my wedding." She patted his cheek. "Fred promised me one heck of a bash, and I'd hate for you to miss it." "I'll give the bride away. I'll bring a big wedding present," he teased. "A major appliance. Just reconsider." Joely kissed him long and hard before leaving him alone with Carla. J.T. held onto what he was coming to think of as a revolving door. Joley marched out, head held high, while Carla traipsed in. "Okay Carla, come clean. Why are you here?" She perched her bottom onto his desk and crossed her legs, exposing enough thigh to stop a trucker in a no hitchhiking zone. "I missed you, Dearie." "Uh-uh," he said. "It's not going to work." "Because of the blonde mop-top that was in your bed this morning?" He let out a whining whistle. Same question, different phrasing. "Yeah," he admitted, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "Trust me. I can make you forget her." "Carla, the only person I want to forget is you." He shifted his eyes to tour the room. "Where's your suitcase? I know it's around here somewhere. I skinned my shin on it this morning." "I unpacked," she said, studying one red nail and avoiding his steely stare. "Then repack!" he shouted. A vessel in his neck throbbed and threatened to pop. "I took the spare room." "No. Absolutely not." Carla dipped one delicate shoulder. "I'm already in." "I have to check my men, my fences, my cows." Grabbing his hat from a coat rack, he stormed the front file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (82 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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door. He yelled over his shoulder. "Don't be here when I get back." "Listen..." She followed him outside. "I can't go home yet." He slapped his hat onto his head and whirled around. "You're going." Carla grinned sheepishly. "I had a problem with my neighbor." J.T.'s eyes narrowed. "Go on. Get it done." "Okay, so I had a problem with my neighbor's wife. She resented my being so neighborly with her husband. She's the jealous type. The butcher knife in the back jealous type." "Get a hotel. I'll pay." "She'd find me," Carla squealed. "I know I'm safe here. Nobody would look for me here in never-neverranchland." "Nobody'll find your body either when I wring your neck." He tromped off toward the stable. It was hot and gritty out on the range. J.T. was glad; hot and gritty suited him. The bray and moo of the cows provided the right amount of irritating background noise for his gloomy thoughts. He stewed all day. "The heck with it." He patted Buck's neck, and they galloped for home as the sun cast an orange glow across the sky. The heck with Carla for showing up, and Jolene for not staying and helping him, and the heck with Amanda for not letting him explain. The heck with them all. J.T. unsaddled Buck; he rubbed him down; he fed him oats. He spent an inordinate amount of time in the stable fussing with Buck. Carla was rocking in a chair on the wraparound front porch when J.T. finally sauntered up to the house before dark. She had on red shorts and a top, and she was polishing her toenails. Wads of white cotton stuck out between her toes. "Why are you still here?" he grumbled. She stretched one shapely leg across his path. Her nails were painted red. All that red was fitting because she had him seeing red. "J.T.," she pleaded, "when you calm down you'll realize the advantages of my staying. We might even file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (83 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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have a little fun." "Just stay out of my way and be gone come morning." He brushed by her and headed through the house toward the kitchen. He was leaning on the door of the fridge, popping the tab on a can of beer when Shorty poked his head through the door. J.T. tossed him a can and slammed the refrigerator door. "A mite crowded up here earlier today." "You could say that." J.T. slugged down half a can of the foamy amber liquid. "Going to be a vacancy tomorrow." Shorty juggled the beer can while he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, then plopped the Stetson back on. The can hissed and foamed when he pulled the tab. He chugged down a long swig. "Yeah, I'm hoping Carla will take the hint." J.T. downed his beer and crushed the can with one fist. "Not Carla I'm talking about." "Can't be Joley. She's long gone." "The little missy's been scrubbing the cabin all day. And packing. Reckon she'll light out come morning." "Shoot." J.T. trashed the beer can with an overhand toss. "We'll see about that." He pushed passed Shorty and headed out the back door. "I've got an idea," Shorty said. J.T. stopped and waited as Shorty swiped the beer suds from his mustache. "Out with it."

Amanda was sprawled on her stomach across the sofa with the air conditioner blasting on high. Exhaustion had weakened her muscles, disappointment her nerves. She'd spent all her energy scouring the place from top to bottom. Nothing remained untouched or undone. Every essential, except for what she needed in the morning, was packed. She wasn't leaving anything behind. Except her heart...the snake had that. The married snake, who'd wanted her to listen to him. Ha. The blissfully wed Mr. Cutter. Seemed he forgot to tell his wife he got divorced. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (84 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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Mrs. Cutter had taken it quite calmly. She was probably sedated. Hardly blinked an eye at catching him bare ass naked with another woman. Must be a regular happening. He had Jolene Thursdays and Amanda any time he wanted... Amanda's temperature was rising at that thought, and there wasn't a notch higher the air-conditioning could go. The poor woman - Mrs. Cutter. Being married to J.T. had probably driven her to a sanctuary. Only to come home to what? An orgy, that's what. A woman downstairs, a woman upstairs. Hanging was too good for J.T. It was Amanda's own darned fault. She knew better. She knew there was no such thing as an honest man. And him bragging about his honesty...the lying, cheating skunk. He even had Shorty lying for him. Poor Shorty. He loved J.T. like a son. Love did strange things to people. Look what it had done to her. She'd been angry and hurt over Stuart's betrayal, but this was worse. J.T. made her just plain sad - took the fight right out of her. The really sad part was that if he threw himself across her bumper tomorrow, she wouldn't run him over. But he wouldn't do that. His hands were full with the wife who didn't want his children. And the fianc‚e who didn't wear his ring. The lover who didn't wear rejection well was disposable. What did she expect, anyway? Even before the overcrowding up at the ranchhouse, she'd known he wasn't about to ask her to stay, now or a week from now. J.T. had stated quite clearly he was 'a little' in love with her. From the looks of things J.T. was pretty much a little in love with a whole lot of women.

Chapter 9 Buck was tied to the bumper. Amanda's truck had a stallion attached to its 'pretty in pink' frame. Now how was she going to untie that horse? With a 10-foot pole? Because that was the only way it was about to happen. She certainly wasn't getting any closer than 10 feet of the beast. Buck rolled his black eyes with fury. He was whickering and blowing hard against the headlights. His file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (85 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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hooves pawed the hard dusty ground near her left front tire. Buck was not a happy horse. Amanda was not a happy traveler. With her gear piled on the porch of the cabin, she draped herself over the banister, wide-eyed. This had all the ear markings of the matchmaking Shorty. Or a determined J.T.? No, J.T. wouldn't still want to explain, not after yesterday morning's rebuff. He wouldn't bother again. She didn't imagine he had the time to bother, even if he had the inclination with his house full of company. But whoever had done the roping wasn't about to let Buckaroo die of thirst. That was a certainty. Amanda plopped herself onto the step. Someone would show up sooner or later. She waited. As the morning stretched out, the day heated up. Amanda pushed a damp curl behind her ear. She propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin in her palms. She waited some more. Buck waited, too. He settled down and turned his back to her. He stood stalk still, except for the twitch of a muscle every so often to ward off a fly. Only too glad to have Buck ignore her, Amanda dangled her hands between her knees and concentrated on watching an ant crawl over a stone. Still she waited. Then suddenly a familiar pair of dusty brown cowboy boots butted the toes of her sneakers. She didn't look up. "Problem, Darlin'?" Amanda squinted up at him now. "You mean aside from the horse that's trying to mate with my truck?" J.T. chuckled. Despite everything, she liked the fact that she was able to make him laugh. She felt gifted to be able to do so. J.T. laughed so seldom. "It won't be so funny when you have little pink ponies prancing around your ranch." J.T. sat down next to her. His grin faded. He thumbed his hat to the back of his head. His white hat. "Are you trying to pass yourself off as one of the good guys?" she asked, motioning to his Stetson.

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"Are you telling me you don't recognize the good guys when you see them?" "Well, I guess I've just never met up with one yet." "You've just never met up with one before." He nudged his booted foot against hers. His calf grazed hers. For some reason that slight contact was comforting, as if she hadn't lost him completely. In that instant she decided that she'd let him explain. Then she'd accept whatever explanation he gave her, because deep down she couldn't leave. The fact made her miserable. "Guess you forgot you weren't divorced," she said, not quite meeting him eye to eye. "I'm divorced...got the papers and the expense sheet to prove it." "I don't need proof. But maybe Mrs. Cutter does." "Carla, her name is Carla Danbury. She sold the Cutter name back for a price." Amanda's eyes met his now, searching. Those soulful brown eyes couldn't be lying. "Must have paid her off with a rubber check." Amanda tapped her sneaker against his boot. He smiled at her. A soul-shattering smile. She wanted him to kiss her. "Carla's a bit desperate. She's in need of a refuge. I'm willing to send her on an all expense paid tour of anywhere else, but she's dug in here. She thinks I...we...the ranch. I've told her no way, but she won't listen to me. I can't eject her bodily. I need help, Amanda." J.T. had been pretty helpful to Amanda. He'd let her stay, against Jolene's advice. He'd air-conditioned the cabin. He'd aided and abetted her at the rodeo and the motel. Aside from his snarly behavior, which she'd reciprocated in kind, he'd been an all-around good guy. Amanda was inclined to help. She just didn't see what she could do. "I don't think I could eject her bodily either," she said. "Carla won't stay long if she's not the center of attention. Male attention." "J.T.," Amanda said in earnest, "were you struck dumb and blind when you met her?" His brows furrowed as he explained. "After a six year haul, I'd just received my agricultural degree and put the ranch on the right track. I had a powerful need to celebrate." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (87 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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"Celebrated your way right up the aisle, did you? Were you sober at least?" "Some of the time." She touched her hand to the muscle that twitched near his jaw. "Hey, we were all young and stupid once." He nudged the palm of her hand to kiss it. "Want to hear my plan?" "Yes." She never imagined J.T. needing help, let alone asking for it. She never imagined him needing anyone. Now Amanda guessed even a rugged cowboy needed a bit of looking after. A bit of caring. "I thought you could move up to the house." His voice was low. His words thrummed through her body. Amanda's eyes widened. Move into the house with him. That was a pretty steep order. He called that help? She called that foolish. Moving in would be the easy part. Moving out at the end of the month would be the heartbreaker. His plan involved more than a little help. It involved a heart of stone. Where J.T. was concerned Amanda's heart was putty. "Maybe Jolene would be a better choice." "Joley's gone. Her staying power buckled right under to Carla's fatal charm." Joley, with the staying power of an ox, had rolled over for Carla. Carla must be some adversary. Did Amanda dare? She hated to run from a challenge. "What makes you think I won't be her next fatality?" His eyes narrowed. "Because I won't allow it." Why? Amanda wanted to ask. She'd like to think it was because J.T. was weak in his knees in love with her. More than likely it was because he was just determined to be rid of Carla. Asking him to explain would only confuse the issue. J.T. never really clarified his answers. "Even if I agreed..." Amanda held up her palm in a gesture of helplessness. "I only have a week." "I could renew your lease." J.T. cast a crooked grin her way. "I do have a semblance of a life in Pennsylvania that I have to get back to. To try to put in order." She dropped her hand and touched it to his knee.

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He rested his strong warm hand over hers, moving it up higher on his thigh. She felt the heat and flex of his muscles beneath the denim. They were muscles she'd touched in their naked splendor. Her mind went blank. He was speaking; she saw his lips move. "Amanda, I need you." She heard that. How she'd wanted to hear those words, attached with a P.S., I Love You. But that's not what he was saying and she knew it. "I can give you seven days. That's all I have." Oh, she had more, and J.T. knew it. But seven days was a start. He squeezed her hand. She smiled at him. It was a forced smile, but it was also a start. At least she was talking to him. Talk was good start. "Tell me your plan," she said. "I'll load your stuff into the truck and unload it again up at the house." "Lucky I'm packed." "I'll even haul the air conditioner out. Put it in the office so you can work on the professor's project during the day." "Just me and Carla cooped up in the house, all day, alone, together. Think I'll get much work done?" "I'll start out earlier in the morning and quit earlier in the afternoon. If I hang a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the office door and hole up in there with you, it will drive Carla crazy." "But will I get any work done?" "I promise." He put up a hand in a solemn oath, then crossed his fingers. "No fair, J.T. Those are mixed motions. But then your specialty is scrambled signals." "Only with you, because you scramble my brain, Darlin'." He lowered his tone and kissed her forehead. J.T. petted her hair, lightly. He stroked her tentatively, like a skittish mare. She'd allowed him to touch

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her with his hands and his lips. He wouldn't press for more. Not yet. "The manuscript's typed. I just have to proofread it one more time before mailing it out to Professor Carter." She grinned at him. "Do I get a rebate on my rent, or are you going to charge me room and board?" "A rebate, and a bonus as soon as Carla's gone." "What kind of bonus?" Her grin widened. "How about a paint job for that truck?" He kissed the tip of her nose. "Something in blue?" "Looking to have blue ponies to go with those pink ones?" she teased, pointing toward Buck, who was nuzzling her windshield. "Yeah," he said, nuzzling Amanda's neck. "Want to have a pony with me?" She shivered, then breathed a heavy sigh. J.T. didn't want to spook her. He backed off; he had time. Seven days with Amanda might seem like a short time, but seven nights with her in his bed was plenty long. Good thing she hadn't asked about the sleeping arrangements. He had no intentions of offering her a guest room. She'd sleep in with him. That was an important step in his plan. Getting Carla to leave was only secondary. Heck, Carla wouldn't stay long. Boredom would overcome her fear of a knife wielding wife. Then she'd leave the ranch, lickity-split. The ploy to convince Amanda to stay was the important one. He wasn't really coercing her. She'd stay of her own accord. He'd just have to show her how it could be living and loving with him on the ranch. And he wouldn't mind the showing, not one bit. Amanda stood before him, and it was all he could do not to pull her down across his lap and kiss the daylights out of her. She had on those raggedy jeans with the holes in the knees and that very tempting tear much higher, near the zipper. It wouldn't take much for that material to give way, to tear those jeans off her body and...and nothing. He had to concentrate on first things first - getting her up to the house and settled in. She held out her hand to him. "Come on, J.T. Let's get it done." He palmed that small, white hand in his, grinning at the way she'd turned his words back on him. Dang, file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (90 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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if she didn't make him feel good. "I best start with Buck," he said, as he let her tug him up from the step. "My idea exactly. I'll wait from over there." She climbed the porch railing and waved him on. J.T. untied the rope and patted the stallion's neck and flanks. All the while he stroked the horse, he talked to him in low undertones. "Hey boy, hey Buck," he repeated again and again. "You did real good, Buck," he said near the animal's ear, then patted the horse's rump and watched him trot up the lane toward the corral. If only gentling Amanda could be that easy. He studied her as she sat perched on the railing. Sunlight glinted on those blonde curls. Her eyes flashed green. No, he liked her just the way she was - saucy. "Are you going to watch while I do all the work?" He cocked his head, put his hands on his hips. "I like to watch you work," she teased. "I like the way your eyes darken with intensity. I like the flex of your muscles beneath your clothes. I like - " "Feeling sassy, are you? Don't make me shut you up, Darlin', or the only work I'll be doing is on that mattress in there." He took a few steps toward her and she scooted down. "I decided to help," she said, picking up a crate and carting it off toward the truck. Only a day ago he would have carried out his threat and she would have let him. Darn, if he didn't love that woman. He wished she'd commit to staying already, so he could tell her just how much. "J.T. you owe me a car wash. Your horse slobbered all over my truck. I can't even see out the windshield." Another car wash with Amanda was likely to kill him. "I'll hose it off up at the house."

Carla was leaning against one of the rough cut log pillars on the porch of the ranchhouse. Through slitted lids she observed him as he carried Amanda belongings in. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (91 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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J.T. cast a scowl in Carla's direction every now and again, but she didn't flinch. "I could pack you off just as quickly if you've a mind to flit elsewhere." "No," she said smugly. Evidently Carla had plans of her own. He didn't much mind. He needed her around to keep Amanda around. When Carla followed them into the hall, J.T. figured it was as good a time as any to begin. He draped his arm around Amanda's shoulder. She felt good there. He'd missed the feel of her, and it had only been a little over a day. "Amanda's agreed to move in." He kissed Amanda soundly on the mouth. Her lips felt soft and moist and he didn't want to ever stop. "Trying to make me jealous?" Carla said in a gush of sweetness. J.T. wound his finger around one of Amanda's yellow curls, distractedly. He wished Carla wasn't a necessary evil. He wanted Amanda alone. Tonight they would be alone, in his room. He'd wait. "I need a cold shower," Carla tossed the words over her shoulder and climbed the stairs. "Anyone care to join me?" J.T. ignored her. He was reluctant to break contact with Amanda. His fingers moved restlessly through her silky curls. "I have a few things to tend to," he murmured near her ear. "I'll get back as quick as I can. Will you be all right?" When he kissed the pulse point at the base of her throat, she shivered. He hoped that meant she'd still be here when he got back. "I'll fix some lunch," she said. "Which way's the kitchen?" She headed in the direction J.T. pointed, then stopped. "Will your ex-bride be joining us, do you think?" "No, a shower and a primp take Carla hours." He waved Amanda on. "You go along. I'll stash your stuff." When J.T. strolled into the kitchen later Amanda was grilling hamburgers. He leaned against the counter and parked his hip alongside of hers. "I put your crates in the office and your suitcases upstairs."

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A wisp of her blonde hair moved where his breath touched. It was all he could do to keep his hands off her. He'd purposely kept the upstairs location general. She'd find out soon where her suitcases were. If he weren't around when she did maybe she wouldn't fuss as much. "Mustard, ketchup, onions?" she asked. "All of the above." He sauntered over to a chair and straddled it. She looked good in his kitchen. She looked good in his house. He pictured her in her white nightie with the soft morning sunlight glinting in her hair, her lips rosy and pouty from lovemaking, whispering against his neck, "Jake." A man would be a fool to let that go. J.T. was nobody's fool. He touched her hand when she put his plate in front of him. "I have a few chores for after lunch. I'll be back in a couple of hours," he said. But what he really wanted to know he didn't say. Would she still be here in a couple of hours? He turned his chair around and pulled it up to the table. While they ate he chatted with her about the professor's book. When she said she planned on working on it until he returned, J.T. felt easier about leaving her. She was at the sink rinsing dishes when he brushed up against the back of her. He rested his hands on her hips and kissed the back of her neck. When she yielded and moved into him, molding her body into his, he moaned. He'd take her down, right here on the kitchen floor, if he didn't restrain himself. But Carla with her impeccable sense of timing had walked in on them before. J.T. wouldn't put Amanda through that again, although as far as J.T. was concerned it would be worth the ruckus. He promised himself that as soon as Carla was gone, he'd roll Amanda through every room in his house, including up and down the stairs. That brought a grin to his lips. That would make closing the kitchen door behind him a bit easier. "I'll grill steaks for supper," he whispered next to her ear before he forced himself to leave the soft promise of her body. At the door he stopped and winked. "I take it steak's like hamburger to you vegetarian types, another of those unknown entities."

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She splashed soapy water after him. Amanda sighed when he was gone. Why did the man have to be so irresistible? When his brown eyes met hers, she went mindless. He had her agreeing to this harebrained scheme of his. His low caressing voice coaxed her, against her better judgment, into believing in him, trusting him. And when he touched her...her body betrayed her, as well. Amanda flung the dishtowel onto the granite countertop. Goodness knows she had nothing better to do this next week than to stick around here. Until Stuart and his waitress exchanged vows, she was staying out of Pennsylvania. Actually, she had nothing better to do - indefinitely. Aside from a job search when she returned home, she had nothing planned. Amanda glanced at the ceiling, contemplating Carla. She had no intentions of going upstairs and confronting the she-cat. The day had been eventful enough, and it was barely past noon. Besides, she had a feeling she'd come full force up against Carla before the week was out. Blotting Carla from her mind, she studied the room. The kitchen was done in varying shades of gray to match the granite countertops. The appliances were modern, state-of-the-art. She wondered who kept everything so spotless. A cleaning service. Now that was an attractive feature in any man. And J.T. cooked, too. In bed and out. A playful smile quirked her lips. J.T. was quite a package. Amanda decided to explore the downstairs rooms of the house and avoid the upstairs and Carla for as long as possible. The living room was spacious. She paced off about 30 feet. A stone fireplace with a rock ledge mantle centered the main wall. Lightly, her fingers trailed over a pair of coal oil lanterns, a set of empty candlesticks, and a wooden carving of a coyote. Overstuffed furniture in earthy brown tones were scattered about the room. Amanda sat on the sofa and then a chair, bouncing up and down, testing. Very comfy. Her eyes rested on a framed map of the ranch that hung on the wall opposite her. She left the cushy chair and examined the chart more carefully. A small square appeared to be the original homestead, and a larger one the barn. She traced the route they had taken on their tour. Her index finger stopped at the point where the meadow was located. She couldn't help herself. She kissed the tip of her finger and placed it to the spot. Her foolishness snapped her to attention. Amanda marched herself into J.T.'s office. Digging through the file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (94 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:27 PM]

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crates, she extracted the manuscript and settled herself onto a taupe-colored suede sofa. Line editing Professor Carter's manuscript soon became tedious. Easily distracted from the work, she watched dust motes dance on a beam of sunlight across her knee. The light filtered in through an enormous window that took up most of one wall. Her eyes feasted on the view of the ranch. Distant dark hills, waves of green pastures, a turquoise blue sky, and somewhere out there, J.T. Before the end of chapter one, she fell asleep. A sharp twitching in her shoulder aroused her from her nap. Carla was poking Amanda in the arm with one well-manicured fingernail. "Don't get too cozy, Sleeping Beauty," Carla crooned. J.T.'s only using you to make me jealous." Amanda blinked up at her through a sleepy haze. "Go away." "That's what J.T. would have you believe - that he wants me to go away." She grinned at Amanda with a cat in the cream look. "Truth is, the man is wild for me. He's been using Joley to make me jealous, until she caught on. Now it's your turn. How long do you think you'll last, Dearie?" Amanda rubbed her eyes. She elbowed herself up into a sitting position. "I know this is a nightmare. Don't let my being asleep stop you. Go on." "Do you think this is the first time I've been at the ranch since our divorce?" Amanda shook her head in bewilderment. How could she know? "I come and I go, but J.T.'s desperate for me to stay. He still loves me. He'll always love me." "He sounded desperate for you to leave, if you want the truth, Carla." "The truth is, J.T.'s just plain desperate when it comes to me. He'll do whatever it takes to keep me here. Even lie to you." Amanda opened her mouth to defend J.T.'s honesty when Carla laughed. "Don't tell me you believe that honest, mean ol' J.T. routine. J.T. will do whatever it takes to keep what's his." Amanda recalled the morning of their walk. J.T. had told her he'd do whatever it took to keep his ranch. Would he do the same to keep his wife? "I see by your expression that sense is filtering into that lovesick, lust-fogged brain." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (95 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"I'm not sick," Amanda said for lack of a better argument. "Ask him if you wish." Carla smirked her red lips into a straight line. "Do you think he'll tell the truth? Love makes fools and liars of men." "Carla's Concept of the Common Man," Amanda said dryly. "Don't be so idealistic." But Amanda knew firsthand about fools and lies. She and Stuart were walking, talking proof. She'd been the fool while he'd told the lies. Ask J.T. That was a good one. Amanda swallowed back her grimace. To J.T., answering questions was an inexact science. Amanda stuck out her stubborn chin. Carla wasn't running her off. Amanda was staying until the end of the month--as planned. When Stuart was safely wed she'd return home. She wasn't budging before then. Otherwise, she'd have to find a place to stay somewhere between Colorado and Pennsylvania. She'd been willing to do that this morning, but J.T. had talked her into changing her mind. Now her mind was staying changed. She was staying put. He owed her that much...the skunk.

Chapter 10 J.T. whistled a tuneless ditty. He slapped the pink fender of the truck, which was parked exactly where he'd left it. Amanda was still at the ranch. Taking the steps two at a time, he bounded through the front door of the house with the eagerness of a bronco busting out of a chute. He no sooner cleared the door than he spied Carla coming out of his office. He skidded to a halt in the hallway. She was smiling, cheerfully. As sure as the sun rose and set that spelled trouble. In a zip, her body clung to his like Velcro. "Dearie, I admit it. I'm jealous. Now take me upstairs and I'll let you make it up to me." Just as Carla attached her lips to his like a suction hose on a sweeper, the door to the den swung open.

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J.T.'s eyes widened. Over the top of Carla's head he spotted Amanda standing in the open doorway. With a smacking sound, he pulled his mouth free of Carla's. Prying her arms from around his neck wasn't as easy, especially while trying to maintain eye contact with Amanda. The feat seemed worthy of a rodeo score. Finally free, he headed toward Amanda. He didn't quite reach her before Carla staged a grand exit. "Tomorrow's another day," Carla O'Hara Danbury said with dramatic flair before prancing on up the staircase. J.T. shook his head, then directed his full attention on Amanda again. She worried him. He didn't like the look of her. Her eyes should have been spitting fire. They were placid pools of green. Her feet should have been stomping all over him. Not even her toes tapped. She wasn't saying a word. Not one sassy syllable. J.T. advanced. She was calm, too calm. He expected to be brushing volcanic ash from his shoulders at this close range. The next stride put him within shin kicking distance, and still nothing. If she didn't flare up soon, she'd melt down. There was only one thing to do. J.T. picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and headed outside. Still no struggle. She hung flaccidly, her arms and breasts bumping his back as he trotted down the steps. He swatted her firm fanny with his palm. No reaction. That did it. He knew of only one way to douse the fire that had to be raging inside of her. J.T. grabbed the garden hose in one hand while jostling Amanda on his shoulder with the other. He watered the truck while he threatened her. "Last chance. If you shout, bite, scratch, or kick, I'll show you mercy. Okay, you can even pull hair." No movement. No reply. That did it. J.T. stood her on her feet and hit her directly, center belly, with a spray of water. She squealed and lunged. He let her tackle him. He went down easy. They wrestled with the hose. Water soaked his hair, his shirt, his jeans, his boots. He squished with each roll as they tussled and twisted about on the ground. Putting out the fire that had finally flared in Amanda was no small task. J.T. rolled on, valiantly. Then opportunity struck. She slipped while elbowing for leverage.

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He straddled her hips and pinned her arms above her head, the hose forgotten. Water puddled beneath them. Their clothing was soppy. J.T. looked down at her - her tangled, soaked hair; her mud-streaked cheeks; those glistening, moist lips. His eyes toured lower. She sure knew how to wear a wet T-shirt. "Amanda," he croaked. "Get off of me you...brute." She called him a brute. His saucy Amanda was back. "You used to like me on you." His eyes smoldered into hers. "Is this strategy necessary?" she gasped with winded breaths. "Is this muddle being staged for Carla's sake?" "Yeah, sure," he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers. That did it. The skunk had admitted it. Amanda bucked her hips, tipping him. Before he could untilt, she kneed him, missing vital organs and grazing his thigh instead. But he did end up flat on his back in the mud puddle. Panting, Amanda struggled into a kneeling position and flicked a mucky tangle of hair from her eyes. J. T.'s dazed expression curled her mouth into a satisfied smile. Quickly, the dazed expression became hers. In a blink, a mud-caked blink, he grabbed her. Banding her arms to her sides with his, he pulled her down on top of him, flattening her body against him. Only the slide and glide of mud separated them. The sensation was not that unappealing. With her arms pinned to her sides, her body was pretty much at his mercy. His smudged grin told her he knew it, too. He moved his arms up an inch, and then an inch further. Her body skidded along his in very slow, enticing degrees. Her breath caught in a gasp as her nipple skimmed over one shirt snap, and then another. One more inch and those grimy, muddy lips would claim hers. But he lowered his arms instead. Her breast slipped over those same snaps, while her hips did a slick and slippery tour over a fascinating file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/EB...ks/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (98 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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bump in his jeans that wasn't there last trip. She held her breath, anticipating the smooth, sleek ride where only J.T. was capable of taking her. On the return trip, she wasn't disappointed. This time she made it all the way to his lips. His mouth tasted gritty. His tongue didn't. His kisses promised to take her to places where she'd never been but definitely wanted to go. He loosened his hold to stroke her mud-raked hair. With her arms free, she slid her hands underneath his shirt and touched his muddy, slick skin. "Is this public display of affection for my benefit?" Carla called out from the porch. Amanda pulled her mouth away from his. He released her and rolled away. When he stood up, he held out his mud-splattered hand for Amanda to take. She hesitated, waiting to hear his explanation to Carla. J.T. gave his standard reply - none. His silence didn't surprise Amanda. Carla persisted. "Don't bother. We all know the answer, anyway." When Amanda still didn't take his outstretched hand J.T. bent down on one knee and picked her up in his arms. He carried her toward the house. "Excuse us," J.T. said as he slipped by Carla, murky droplets of water trailing him. "We're taking this public display behind closed doors." As he climbed the stairs, J.T. adjusted his hold several times, and Amanda clung tightly, due to their slimy state. He walked them fully clothed into the shower stall and grappled with the faucets. His strong arms clutched her to him. He smelled of fresh, wet earth. She shut her eyes against the force of the tepid water as it cascaded over them. His lips slid over hers, claiming them with a hungry kiss. His mouth tasted wet, wild. She heard the gurgle of water as it swirled down the drain. Then she heard only her blood as it pounded in her veins, in her brain. Following that rush of blood was a rush of common sense.

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What about Carla? Not a half hour ago, he'd been locking lips with Carla. Amanda was allowing those very same lips to carry her away. Where was her self-control? Where was his? J.T. seemed more than eager to see the wet and wild ride through to a happy trails end. That wouldn't help him get rid of Carla. Or help him keep her, if that was his inclination. It wouldn't help Amanda either, especially when it came time to go. Making love with J.T. would only make leaving more difficult. "J.T.," Amanda mumbled against his mouth. "Put me down." He shook his head no; his lips remained sealed to hers. It was the tastiest refusal she'd ever received. "J.T.," she insisted. He released her and moaned. "Amanda, there's room for improvement in your private displays of affection." He reached behind her and the tepid water turned to cold. A cold shower was what they both needed. Separate cold showers would've even been better. When he stepped out of the stall and began peeling his soaked clothing from his virile, masculine body, Amanda yanked the shower curtain closed. The goose bumps crawling over her flesh weren't entirely from the icy shower spray. Darn the man. Not wanting to want him was becoming a full time job. "Hand me a towel," she called from behind the curtain. A fluffy, navy blue bath sheet crashed through the curtain. "Thanks," she muttered, deciding to ignore his obvious reaction to sexual frustration. After she'd stripped and wrung as much water out of her clothing as possible, she emerged wrapped in the terry towel. J.T. was drying his hair. He stopped and tossed the damp towel at her feet like a gauntlet. She tossed her armful of wet clothes at his feet. He wasn't the only one sexually frustrated. "Amanda." He turned away but looked at her reflection in the mirror. He raked his fingers through his hair. "I want you. Is that such a bad thing?" file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (100 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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She studied him in the mirror. His brown eyes made her kneecaps crumble. She sat down on the closed lid of the commode. Then a crash and a bang from below reminded her that Carla still stalked the house. "You might as well save the romantic words for when they count," Amanda said tersely. "Carla can't hear us through the floorboards." "I'll remember that," he recanted. "Save the romance for when it counts." He smacked a friendly kiss to her mouth before his sexy, towel-clad frame sauntered into the adjoining bedroom. By the time Amanda finished blow-drying her hair and entered the bedroom, he was gone. Both her suitcases were propped up on the bed. How thoughtful. He'd lugged her cases from one of the other rooms into his just so she could dress. Amanda spent a little more time than usual on her hair and make up. Regardless which scenario was true, Carla staying or Carla leaving, Amanda was supposed to be the woman's competition. She dabbed her lips with a lip brush. She didn't plan on disappointing either Carla or J.T. When Amanda walked out onto the backyard patio, her eyes raked over the domestic scene. J.T. grilled steaks over the charcoal while Carla struggled with a paring knife, slicing and dicing what looked to be a salad. Shorty waved to Amanda from a seat at a circular redwood table. "You're a sight for sore eyes," Shorty said, grinning and petting his dark mustache. J.T.'s eyes flashed to Amanda. Carla frowned at her. Amanda smiled at them all before sashaying her denim, mini-skirted butt over to join Shorty on the bench. Shorty popped open a can of beer from an ice chest. "Come up in the world, I see." He handed her a can and a glass mug. "Uphill all the way," she mumbled under her breath, pouring the beer into the mug. She frowned at the glassful of foam. Shorty tweaked her cheek and took another mug. Tilting it, he poured a perfect head of beer. Her smile returned. He clinked his beer can to her glass before drinking. She was dipping her tongue into the inch of foam when her eyes met J.T.'s over the rim of the mug. She lowered the glass and ran her tongue along her lip, slowly licking off the suds. His brown eyes hooded. She winked at him, brazenly, then tipped her head to where Carla stood watching. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (101 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Now let him wonder if Amanda wanted his sexy, formerly towel-clad body for herself, or if she was playacting for Carla's watchful eye. Carla trounced over to the table. With fingers wrapped with Band-Aids to protect her manicure, she plunked a bowl of hacked up lettuce leaves, garnished with oddly chopped red and orange vegetables down in front of them. She plopped onto the bench across from Amanda, snatched up the heady beer, and gulped it down nonstop. Evidently making salad was thirsty work. Before Carla could clunk the empty mug down, J.T. was slapping steaks onto plates. "Medium." Slap. "Medium." Slap. "Medium." Slap. "Well done," he enunciated sharply, then plunked a cut of blackened meat onto Carla's plate. Dinner conversation went downhill from there. Utensils clinked, napkins rustled, cans popped and hissed. "Party's tomorrow night," Shorty said. "Yeah," J.T. replied. "What party?" Amanda asked. "The social event of the season." Carla wrinkled her nose in disdain. "What party?" Amanda repeated. "Shorty and Madge's engagement party." J.T. reached across and clapped his hand to Shorty's shoulder. "The wedding's next month. I'm the best man." "Congratulations." Amanda squeezed Shorty's hand. This was sudden. Shorty had said he wouldn't marry while J.T. was unsettled and alone. She glanced at Carla, then at J.T. They didn't look like a happy couple. "You're invited," Shorty said to Amanda. "Thank you. At last, I'll get to meet Madge." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (102 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"I've met Madge," Carla said blandly. "Can you imagine someone owning a whole town?" Amanda rushed her words in her excitement. Carla shrugged. "Don't you want to know all about it? Who founded the town? And when? And how? And why?" Amanda glanced at Shorty. "Madge is probably tired of 'inquiring minds.' Do you think she'll want to talk about it?" "Yep." "Oh, good. Where's the party and what time?" "Eight, at the bar." "You can count on me being there." "Me, too," Carla said, wearily picking at the adhesive on her fingers. Amanda stood up and started to clear the dishes. Everyone else remained seated. "Don't get up," Amanda chided. "I cooked," Carla's voice whined. "You cooked the salad." Amanda's eyes widened. J.T. coughed. Shorty muffled a laugh. Carla didn't budge. Amanda continued gathering plates. "I guess it's only fair that I clean up because I didn't cook. You'll have to give me your recipe sometime." "Only fair that I help." Shorty stretched his six-foot-five frame up from the bench. "You sit," Amanda said pushing on J.T.'s shoulder as he attempted to stand. "You helped Carla cook." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (103 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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While Shorty and Amanda rinsed dishes in the kitchen, J.T. barricaded himself in his office, and Carla wandered off to nurse her manicure. J.T. and Carla didn't reappear until it was time to serve up the butter pecan ice cream. From the front porch, four wicker rockers squeaked disjointed tunes on the floorboards. The click of spoons scraping against ice cream dishes provided accompaniment. Shorty collected the dessert dishes to deposit in the kitchen on his way out the back door. He said his "good-nights." "Me too," Amanda said, yawning and rising from her rocker. "Which room is mine?" J.T. bolted from his chair. "I'll show you." Carla sulked her ruby lips into a drooping curve. "I might as well go up, too." Inside, J.T. dawdled, turning off lights and locking doors. While Amanda waited, Carla stamped up the stairs in her size sixes. Then J.T. entwined his fingers with Amanda's before he led her up the steps of the darkened house. "Darlin'," he said as he opened the door to his bedroom. His arm jerked back. Amanda dug her sandaled heels into the floorboards. "This is your bedroom," she hissed. "I can explain." His voice was a husky whisper. A door clicked open down the hall. "Hurry," he said, tugging on her hand, "so Carla doesn't hear us." Amanda stopped bracing her legs, and J.T. yanked her into his room. "Get it done," Amanda threatened into the darkness. "Darlin'," he began again. "Better turn on the lights." He reached behind her head and flicked on the overhead fixture. A blast of bright light made her blink. His hand remained on the switch. The silky hair on his arm touched her neck and shoulder. He leaned into her. His mouth was an enticing inch from hers.

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She held her breath. This was going to be some explanation. "Amanda," he said. She saw his lips form her name, felt his breath touch her lips. Then nothing. "Don't tell me." She sighed, bumping her head against the wall when she tried distancing herself from his mouth. "We're going to share a room to make Carla jealous." "Yeah," he agreed, moving closer, narrowing the distance again. His warm breath puffed the word against her lips. She moaned, trying to fight the fatal attraction of those lips. She knew she was losing when she found herself craving longer, wordier answers from him. And when she found herself asking another question. "J.T.," she said, mesmerized by the shape of his lips, "do you have a sleeping bag?" "No." That answer fluttered in her stomach. They'd be sharing a bed. His breath had been closer, warmer. As if all on its own, her mouth seemed to ask another question. "Do you have pajamas?" "No." She was almost certain his lips touched hers that time, but the feather light pressure could have just been the airy rush of his breath. A question with more than a yes or no answer would do it. Her mouth betrayed her again. "No bag, no PJs. What will you sleep in?" His lips touched hers now. His breath gushed into her mouth. His mouth moved over hers, forming words - lengthy words she didn't hear. Meaningless words with lots of syllables. "Wh...at?" she panted, when he lifted his mouth from hers. "I'll sleep in my bed with you." His voice rumbled through her like a rockslide. The floor tilted, the walls caved in, she panicked. "That's not such a good idea." "I'll wear pajamas," he said.

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"I thought you said you didn't own any." "I'll borrow Shorty's."

Chapter 11 Shorty's pajamas were a drugstore cowboy's dream. "Very colorful." Amanda bit back a giggle. "Are those little red and yellow and blue figures cowboys and horses?" She couldn't help herself; the laughter tumbled from her lips. The rolled cuff of one brightly colored pajama leg drooped. J.T. tripped as he crossed the floor to the bed. Despite his tall lean frame, Shorty clearly had a few inches on him. But then, Shorty had a few inches on everybody. "The cowboy's Roy Rogers, and the horse is Trigger." J.T. looked down at the limp cuff in disgust. "Madge bought these for Shorty for Christmas. She has the matching set." "She must be a Roy 'groupie.'" "Hers have Dale on them." He answered Amanda's blank look - Dale Evans...Roy's wife." "Oh, I remember now. Black and white westerns. Roy and Dale, and his trusty horse Trigger." Amanda's smile widened. "Madge has a sense of humor." J.T. was still scowling at the pajamas. "Evidently you don't." He bounced onto the bed and plumped the pillow with his fist, pounding the feathers nearly out of it. Then he turned his scowl on Amanda. "Nice," he said, plucking at her pajama sleeve. "Thank you." Gone were the white nighties. Her brown, opaque pajama top was buttoned to the last button. If a sexual fantasy could penetrate the heavy cotton material it deserved to live. In the morning, Amanda woke up clutching Trigger. The contrast between the smooth satin material and J.T.'s hard body was putting a serious strain on her organs and limbs. Her stomach was knotted. Adrenaline rushed her heart and had it beating against the file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (106 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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brown fabric with more than enough enthusiasm to crack a rib. One of her legs was tossed carelessly over J.T.'s firm thigh, her arm rested on his strong chest, and her nose nuzzled his silky collar. All of her extremities were flashing hot and cold. A week in J.T.'s bed. She sighed. She didn't know if she had the stamina for it, to resist. "Darlin', you keep touching that and it's likely to go off." "Oh," she said, shifting her knee away from his rigid body part. Her fingers released the small yellow Trigger that centered his shirt pocket. She skimmed a few red, yellow, and blue cowboys before her hand drifted onto the mattress. Rolling to his side, J.T. reached over her. "The alarm clock, Darlin'." His warm fingers lifted her other hand off the snooze alarm. She shifted her weight and came face-to-face with a row of brightly colored horse shaped buttons. "Do you think Carla's weakening?" she croaked as her fingertip outlined one tiny horse shape. "Weak as a kitten." His fingers threaded through Amanda's tangled locks. She raised her eyes to look into his. Suddenly those little horsy buttons were imprinting themselves into the heavy cotton of her pajama top. She rubbed her arch over J.T.'s calf, not caring how many satin cowboys she suffocated with her impulse. "If this plan doesn't work," she asked, trying to read his eyes, "do you have a B?" "I don't need a B." His jaw was set with determination. "But if things backfire, if Carla has more backbone than you thought, and she doesn't back down or back off, you'll need a backup plan." "How did you do that?" "Do what?" "All that back talk." "Enough horsing around," she said, snatching her fingers from the shiny, plastic red horse. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (107 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"My thinking exactly," he said. His lips closed in on hers. For one maddening moment she searched her memory for the perfectly good reason she knew she had for not surrendering to those lips. Then the reason knocked at the door. Carla slithered into the room. "Forgot to put a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the doorknob." Sporting heels high enough to cheat a hangman, she minced over to the bed. "Nice pajamas." She arched a brow. "Yours too, J.T." "Carla, leave," he barked. As his bare feet thumped onto the floor, one slippery satin cuff came undone, and his foot skated out from under him. Amanda crawled across the mattress and peered over the bed at his sprawling male form. Her hand stretched down and petted J.T.'s head as if he were a puppy. Although he wanted to be indignant, wanted to swat her hand away, J.T. had to admit to liking her tender touch. When his flashing dark eyes met those soft, concerned green ones he was almost content to lie there. That was before the corner of his eye caught a set of laughing brown ones scrutinizing him. Carla was a nuisance, with an uncanny timing for entrances. Every time he got Amanda all soft and gooey the woman appeared, as if cued to interfere in his life - his love life. Make no mistake, this was love, the sooner Amanda committed to it the better. Heck, this was only day two. He had five more, and most of this one wasn't lost yet. There was still the party tonight. Parties softened women up - especially engagement parties. Tonight Amanda would be his. She was fighting it. Once she gave in, love would be his. Victory would be his.

Madge had closed off the back room for the private party. A table heaped with serving dishes of fried chicken, steak and gravy, and hot and cold vegetables was set up where the pool table usually stood. People milled about. Music drifted from the jukebox. Shorty scooted Amanda right over to meet Madge.

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A strawberry blonde French twist greeted her. At the sound of Shorty's voice, the head with the sophisticated coif turned to reveal a heart-shaped smiling face. Eyes sparkled, like the vibrant Columbine blue of wildflowers. The slender woman barely reached Shorty's shoulder. "Congratulations," Amanda wished the smiling couple. "Isn't she just the cutest thing," Madge cooed to Shorty as she hugged Amanda's arm. Shorty agreed. As they both beamed at her, Amanda began feeling like a prize brood mare. "Shorty's told me so much about you," Amanda said, attempting to draw attention away from herself. "I think it's incredible that you own a town." "Not really," Madge said modestly. "I inherited it." "Even so, it must be steeped in history, legends." "Loads of history. With four states intersecting this area, it was a crossroads for early settlers and such." "And such...like gunfighters?" "Some," Madge admitted. "Cowboys on cattle drives?" Amanda asked excitedly. "Droves of cowboys." "Miners on their way to the gold fields?" "Definitely miners. Their money was as good as gold." Madge chuckled. "So the Kendals were retailers, selling supplies to settlers and miners and cowpokes." "Not exactly," Madge said. "The Kendal sisters were stunning beauties. There were five of them. Men came for miles to spend their money and their time on them. Word of mouth, you know. This building used to be a gaming house. The Kendal cousins, not quite so gifted in the gene pool...beauty-wise, you understand, did the cooking and chores. All of the Kendals prospered. "Oh," Amanda nodded, not quite sure how to extricate her sandaled foot from her lipsticked mouth. "Yes, the Kendal sisters ran a bawdy house. A very colorful, profitable, but naughty business." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (109 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Yes, colorful," Amanda agreed. "Nothing original is left," Madge said, sweeping her hand about the premises, which were western but modern. Then she tugged Amanda closer. "Except for Katie Kendal's bed. The brass bed." "Was Katie one of the sisters?" Amanda's eyes widened with interest. "Katie was the youngest, the prettiest, and the richest of the sisters. Retired early, too." Madge laughed. "More gold dusted her bed than most of the mines around here." Amanda squeezed Madge's hand happily. "I'd love to see it." "See it...you'll sleep in it. I have the bed set up in my guestroom. I haven't had a visitor complain yet about a restless night's sleep." Madge winked at her. "Legend says you'll dream of gold - a golden wedding ring inscribed with your true love's name." "You made that up," Amanda teased. "Honest." Madge held up her hand as if to take an oath. "You'll see when you spend the night." "A good night's sleep is temptation enough." Amanda yawned. "Been sleeping poorly? Sometimes it's a lumpy mattress." "It's definitely a lump," Amanda agreed readily. "What you want to do is run your hand over it to smooth it out." "I've rubbed it, several times. It won't go away." "How distressing." "I've known stress." Just then, Jolene strolled up and joined them. She was towing a man along by his arm. "Amanda, I want you to meet Fred." Fred, the dateless wonder. Was Jolene still trying to pawn him off on Amanda? Amanda eyed her suspiciously, and then him. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (110 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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The wonder was why Fred was dateless. He was tall, handsome, and bald. His sleek scalp had an allure all of its own. It showcased the shape of his head and the shape of his eyes and his mouth. The lack of hair seemed to accent each enticing feature. Fred was a fascinating fellow to look at, although not as fascinating as J.T. "We'd like to share your spotlight for a minute," Fred said in a deep, resonant voice. He hugged Jolene's shoulder to include her in the 'we,' then pecked her cheek. "Joley has finally consented to be my wife." Amanda's eyes popped. Just last week Jolene had been eager to give the man away, like a door prize. Poor Fred. He seemed to have so much potential. "Good luck," Amanda said, figuring Fred would need it more than congratulations. After a round robin of well-wishes and thanks, both happy couples wandered off to spread their loving good cheer to one and all. Amanda made her way to the buffet table. Just when she figured it was safe to breathe an unsullied puff of air, Carla strode up next to her. Amanda stood her ground. If she didn't fortify herself with food, she didn't stand a chance of lasting out the night. Carla wore a low-cut red sheath dress with matching spike heels. Red combs held her dark hair away from her perfectly made-up face. Much as Amanda hated to admit it, Carla was runway-model beautiful. Owning to that fact called for some heavy-duty calories. Amanda suddenly craved comfort food. She scanned the table for something high in cholesterol. Southern fried chicken. She plunked a drumstick onto her plate. "Not my style of cuisine, but as long as I don't have to pare or peel I'm not complaining," Carla groused. "Not too loud anyway." "The all occasion smart answer. You're so predictable." An unexpected clever remark from Carla. That called for two more drumsticks. Plunk, plunk. "Watch you don't outsmart yourself, Dearie." A threat. She needed mayonnaise to handle that. Her eyes searched the dishes frantically. Potato salad. Amanda slathered a blob onto her plate.

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"I have something personal to share with you." Carla inched closer to Amanda's elbow. The scent of roses engulfed them. Did all J.T.'s women wear eau-de-rose? Did they know something Amanda didn't? Did J.T. have a thing for rosebushes? "A secret," Amanda murmured as she loaded blocks of brownies onto a second plate. Secrets warranted chocolate and sugar. This conversation had the potential for danger. Amanda was looking at a probable five pound weight gain. Carla yanked her toward an empty corner. Amanda's plates teetered. J.T.'s large hand grabbed one. "Must be planning on sharing. This is way too much for one little cowgirl." Want to bet? Amanda looked around. Where was the cowgirl? "Drop something?" J.T. looked down. Carla looked up. "I'll share with you J.T. We can do dessert later." Carla narrowed her eyes seductively. Amanda bit into a brownie. J.T. snatched one from the plate and snapped off a bite. Carla seemed to have a way of draining calories from a body. Amanda sank into a chair at a nearby empty table. J.T. joined her. So did Carla. Carla nibbled a drumstick while J.T. ate everything else on the plate. Amanda picked at the brownies crumbs. Then they all finished chewing and stared at each other. Amanda bolted when Madge called and waved to her. J.T. followed, catching her around the waist as she reached Madge's circle of friends. "I want you to try something delicious," Madge said, shoving a cocktail glass into Amanda's hand. "It's a Sakerita. Sake and margarita mix." "I don't think I've ever tasted sake," Amanda said, taking a tentative sip. "I sampled one in a restaurant in Denver last month. They brew the sake right there in Golden, Colorado, you know." "It is good," Amanda said after a second sip.

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"Shoot, Madge," J.T. said when she foisted a glass off on him, "no self-respecting cowboy's going to drink Sakerita. It's a sissy drink." "Fine." Madge stroked his cheek as if he were a contrary child. "Next time, we'll teach Amanda to do 'shooters.'" "I've never had a shooter," Amanda said, her curiosity peaked. "Darlin', a shooter comes with a beer, and you can't even handle the beer." "That's because I forgot to eat. Next time I'll eat." "I kind of like when you drink on an empty stomach," he murmured next to her ear, the hand on her waist tightening. "J.T.," she scolded in a fluster. Then the missing link joined them. Carla snuggled up, sipping from J.T.'s glass, cooing over its "sumptuous" flavor. The trio remained joined at the hip - J.T. glued to Amanda's side, and Carla to his - for the remainder of the party. Thank goodness no one was dancing. The threesome hobbling around on the dance floor would've been a scary sight. Then came the three in a cab ride home in the truck. Amanda wasn't about to try out-manuevering Carla. She rested her weary head on the side window. Carla squirmed and wriggled on the center of the seat, bumping against J.T. more times than Amanda thought possible. She hoped the woman in red bruised easy. The image of a rotten apple bearing Carla's face brought a slight grin to Amanda's, and pacified her for the remainder of the ride back to the ranch. Inside, while J.T. locked up, Amanda sought refuge in the den. Bad move. Carla pursued, and once again corralled her. She pursed her red lips. "My secret is more of a personal dilemma." Amanda shrugged. She'd had enough of Carla's dramatics for one day. "Maybe you had better work it out on your own. I'm not interested." "You will be." Carla stressed each syllable. "What I have to tell you will have you packing up and glad to go."

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"Carla - " "I'm pregnant." Amanda's mouth gaped open. Silence descended - until boots resounded on the hard wooden floor. J.T. stood in the doorway, looking first at Amanda and then at Carla. No one moved or even seemed to breathe. "I'm going up to bed." J.T. studied Amanda with narrowed eyes. Amanda remained where she stood as if nailed to the floor. She avoided meeting his eyes head on. She needed time alone to think through Carla's revelation. "I have to work on the manuscript." Amanda's hands fumbled for the papers on the desk. "I thought you finished that today." Amanda didn't look up. She didn't need to. From the sound of J.T.'s voice she knew his expression would be grim. She also knew his soft brown eyes would be hooded to hide his confusion. "I have to package it for tomorrow's mail." "You'll be up soon?" he asked. "Yes." Amanda looked up at last, hoping to discern some truth, any truth, from his eyes. But he had turned to go upstairs. Carla scuttled after him, leaving Amanda to sort out her own conclusions. Now that Amanda was alone, she puffed out a deep cleansing breath. It didn't work. Tears welled in her eyes. When she was able to lift her feet in her summer sandals loose from the floorboards, her feet shuffled toward the sofa and sank down onto the cushions. Sure, she'd given J.T. a week. But somewhere deep inside of her a flame of hope had flickered. In that secret spot happy endings were possibilities. Carla would hightail it from the ranch. J.T. would profess his undying love - okay, so maybe he didn't shout out words of love, but he did ask Amanda to stay longer...like forever. Thanks to Carla's announcement, the candle had been snuffed out. She couldn't stay now even if he asked. This couldn't be happening again. Amanda fought back the tears. She'd thought this nightmare had file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (114 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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ended with Stuart. Stuart's folly - the paternity nightmare. Stuart had wanted to marry Amanda and play at being a weekend father to the waitress girlfriend's child. Amanda had insisted that fatherhood demanded a stronger role. Maybe she'd done more than insist. But she had her reasons. Amanda had been brought up in a single parent home - a happy home. Unhappiness came after her father's visits, during which he lavished her with just enough affection and attention to remind her of what she was missing. No way was Amanda going to be a factor in Stuart's decision. So she'd removed herself from the equation. Looking back, doing so had been easy, and a relief. Overnight Stuart had opted to marry his wayward waitress. As the date drew nearer he paid a condolence call on Amanda. Sad and lonely, she welcomed his friendly comfort. Big mistake. His visits became more frequent, he became more amorous, and the gossip became more difficult to ignore. Amanda explained straight out that she wanted no part in his marriage quotient. Plus or minus marriage, she and Stuart were through. Finally Amanda fled, far and fast, for Colorado. Leaving Colorado and J.T. wasn't going to be easy, or a relief. She pictured J.T. as a papa. He wanted to be a papa. He'd be good at it, too. Whatever J.T. set his mind to he was good at. Except making Carla happy. Amanda's inner flame flittered with faint hope. Maybe he wasn't really interested in making Carla happy. The flame sputtered. A child would change that. J.T.'s had strong feelings about ancestry and roots. He wouldn't settle for weekend fathering, Amanda thought with pride. But his fathering wasn't her concern. That issue was between him and Carla. Clearly, Carla hadn't told him about the baby yet. J.T. would demand what was his - a role in his child's life. Then the candle flame sparked again. Carla hadn't said J.T. was the father. Hadn't said he wasn't, either. The flame died. She had said it was a dilemma. A dilemma meant choices. What alternatives could Carla be considering? Adoption? Abortion? Amanda couldn't stay uninvolved, then. She'd have to tell J.T. if Carla didn't. A man had a right to know.

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Amanda planned to corner Carla first thing in the morning. Maybe Carla wasn't even pregnant. The candle burst with a brilliant light on that thought. Maybe Carla had made the whole thing up to get Amanda to move out. Maybe someone else was the father. If not, Carla might give the baby to J.T. to raise while she roamed less greener pastures. There were so many probabilities. What did it matter? Amanda was leaving in a few days, never to lay eyes on any of these people again. J. T., Carla, or the child - if there was one, and if it was J.T.'s, and if Carla kept it. Maybes and ifs marched through her head, the cadence pounding in her brain. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples. So many questions with no answers. And J.T. wasn't one for providing answers, even when he had them. "Amanda." Jake. She opened her eyes. The source of all her pain stood in the doorway, bare-chested and barefooted. His jeans were zipped, but not snapped. His hair was sleep-ruffled. She wanted him. The ache was physical. When her eyes met his, she felt drawn to a void in him. A void she knew she could fill - wanted to fill. Fanciful thoughts. Did he want the void filled? Did he care who filled it? She studied his somber face. She wanted him anyway. This ache was emotional, and very painful. "It's cow camp lonely upstairs without you," he murmured, shifting his weight to one foot while assessing her through heavy-lidded eyes. His tone was soft, low. His voice weakened her. Thoughts of Carla and her pregnancy faded. This could very well be the last night Amanda spent in his house, in his bed, in his arms. Temptation sapped her self-control. "Amanda, come sleep with me. I won't touch you. I just need you near me." He held his hand out to her, unwavering. Need wasn't love, but it was more than want. It would have to do. It was all he was offering.

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His hand was still outstretched, waiting for her. She rose and walked over to him. He slipped his arm around her waist, hugging her to him as they walked arm in arm to the stairs.

Chapter 12 "Cough it up, Carla." Amanda sat at the kitchen table, watching Carla nibble a piece of dry toast. The woman had on a redand-white striped nightshirt, but visions of candy canes weren't dancing in Amanda's head. Carla waved the burnt slice of bread. "Toast your own." "You know what I'm talking about." Amanda sighed an exasperated breath. "What's with the dry toast? Morning sickness?" "I take it now you're interested?" "You knew I'd be. First you set off your fireworks, and then you scurry for cover. Always so dramatic. Have you considered soap operas? I mean acting in them instead of living them out." Carla tossed the burnt toast onto her plate and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. "I'll take that as a compliment." Carla would. Amanda rolled her eyes. "Let me fix you a decent breakfast." Amanda went to the refrigerator. "And pour you a nutritious glass of milk." She filled a glass and plunked it down in front of Carla. "Then when you're done eating, we'll share your little secret, resolve your dilemma." "I've changed my mind. I don't want to share and I don't want your help." She sipped the milk. "I take it you still want breakfast?" Carla nodded. "I like my scrambled eggs fluffy." "Eggs fluffy, toast lightly browned, lightly buttered," Amanda said, handing her the platter a while later. "Anything else before I sit down?" file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (117 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"No, Dearie." Amanda slid onto a chair across from her adversary. "Quit stalling Carla. You can eat and talk. I've seen you do it before." Carla smirked. "You want the answer to that eternal question, don't you?" "I suppose I do." Amanda's shoulders sagged. Maybe she didn't. As long as the question hung in the air, hope sparked its flaming head. "You don't seem so eager all of the sudden." Carla's voice was syrupy enough to douse pancakes for the entire ranch. "Yes, the eternal question that only the mother knows the answer to..." Did Carla plan to drain this for every theatrical drop? Of course. Amanda slumped back in her chair. "Only the mother ever really knows who the father is." "Save the melodrama, Carla. Remember modern science? DNA?" "That would be months from now. Can you wait that long?" "I don't get you, Carla. First you want to talk, then you don't. Is everything a game to you? Even an innocent baby?" "Now look who's being dramatic. Really, Dearie, it's no concern of yours." "Then why did you confide in me?" "Expedience." "Expedience?" "The quicker to get rid of you, Dearie." "Okay, with all due haste...who's the father, Carla?" "I don't know." One striped shoulder shrugged.

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In all of the scenarios that had run through Amanda's head the night before, that particular maybe or if hadn't crossed her mind. Now what? "If you don't know who the father is," Amanda said after some contemplation, "you surely know who he isn't?" "And wouldn't you like to know if our ranching host is on the list?" Amanda began clearing the breakfast dishes. The longer she put off knowing, the longer she could put off making a decision. Could J.T. be a member of Carla's Who's the Papa Club? As she continued loading the dishwasher and wiping the table, her nerves knotted and unknotted. She threw the dishrag onto the table. "Is he?" "Yes." Amanda left the room. She was numb - shot through with Novocain numb. She plodded up the stairs. Her fingers fumbled with the doorknob. Finally, she was inside the bedroom. She laid herself out on the bed like a corpse. Maybe she'd been hanging out with Carla too much. She wondered if melodrama was catching. This wasn't the end of the world, even if it seemed like it. Come on, Amanda, snap out of it. She hated this effect J.T. had on her. He managed to take the fight right out of her. She guessed she could stay a day or two with Madge and take a slow ride home. Sadly, she turned her head into the pillow. She smelled his scent on the percale case - spice and man. She remembered last night. He'd kept his promise. He hadn't gotten the least bit out of line - sexual line darn him. But he had been romantic as all get-out. J.T. had held her in his arms, petted her, kissed her. He'd said and every romantic word and gesture she'd ever dreamed of - right down to murmuring her name in his sleep. He made it difficult for her to leave. And why should she go? To please Carla? Uh-uh. If she left now, without knowing, she'd always wonder who the baby's father was, or if there really was a baby. Just then, she heard Carla retching in the bathroom down the hall. Oh, well, that answered one part of file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (119 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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the two-part question. She picked her head up and strained to listen. Carla was definitely tossing up her 'fluffy' eggs. She could ask J.T. the other part of the question. Plopping her head back onto the pillow, she groaned. She might as well stuff her head into its feathers for all the good that would do her. His answers were hazy when he understood the question. Carla hadn't shared her secret with anyone except Amanda, so far. Lucky Amanda. She could have gone another week without knowing. But then, Carla hadn't known she was leaving within five days. And what would she ask J.T.? He didn't know if he was the winner in the father pool. He didn't even know there was a contest. And no one knew what Carla would do next. But that wasn't the immediate problem. The problem was what was Amanda going to do next. She wasn't going to do anything. For the next five days she'd let J.T. lavish her with his affection, and when the time came...well, if he didn't throw himself under her tires to stop her, she'd go. What else could she do? If Carla left first...that could only mean that J.T. wasn't the father. Or Carla wasn't interested in claiming him as the father. Or that she really wasn't pregnant. The Carla-go-round was making her dizzy. One fact was unalterable. Someone had to protect J.T.'s interests. If Carla headed for an abortion clinic or an adoption agency, J.T. had to be told. Protecting J.T. Who'd have thought it? First he'd needed her help, and now he needed her protection. Amanda was getting tethered in some pretty strong love knots. Lust was so much easier. Rising from her deathbed posture, she showered and dressed. She donned white linen shorts and a colorful striped top. Forcing a bounce into her step, she bounded down the steps and right into Carla. "Going somewhere, Dearie?" "Don't get hopeful. I'm only going into town to post my package." Amanda gritted a cheerful smile onto her lips. "Don't guess you'd want company?" "No, Carla, you can't come along. You have a car. Drive yourself."

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"And do what?" She slung her hands onto her hips. "I have no friends to visit." "Whose fault is that?" "I don't have anything in common with these people. They're so rustic." "So go back to the city." Amanda brushed by her on her way into the den. After sliding the manuscript into a large padded envelope and addressing it, she made a quick escape for the front door. "Good-bye, Carla," she called to the brooding figure guarding the hall. Amanda had just flung open the pink door to her truck when J.T. called to her from the corral. She shielded her eyes against the sun with her hand and waved to him with the other. "Come here, Darlin'," he said. Leaving her purse and package on the seat, she swatted the door closed and walked down to greet him. One of his booted feet was propped on the bottom rail of a cedar fence. Grasping the top rail with one hand, he leaned back as he watched her approach. The sight of his masculine stance made her pulse skip and brought a glowing smile to her lips. Soon as she was within reaching distance he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, turning her to face him. Her back was against the fence, her hip against the thigh of the leg he braced on the rail. Close and intimate. He smelled of fresh air and hay. "You look pretty today." Was that her first compliment? She strained to remember. She was awfully sure it was. "Thank you," she whispered. He leaned down, his lips intimately close. She leaned into him. "I'll get you dirty," he said, with not the least bit of remorse in his tone. "It's wash and wear." She trailed her fingers along his collar as her body strained against his. His brown eyes took hers, promising long, sweaty nights. Intimate, lusty words, today and forever.

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Capricious dreams. At last his lips touched hers. His mouth was hot, shaping and reshaping her lips as his moved over them. With a final flick of his tongue along her bottom lip, he backed off. "Where are you heading, Darlin'?" "To the post office, and to visit Madge. Need anything in town?" His finger traced and retraced a horizontal stripe across her midriff. "I have to stop by the Lazy G to look at a bull. I could wait till you get back. We could go together." A bull... Still, his touch was mesmerizing. How could she say no? "It's a date," she said in a husky whisper. She touched her lips to his tight jaw. "Not to worry - I don't expect flowers or candy." He laughed. "Good thing, because I don't expect you'll be getting either." When she turned away, he caught her wrist. "Amanda..." "Jake?" She smiled back at him. "If you want flowers and - " She shook her head no, then turned and floated on pink clouds back to the truck. Okay, so maybe they were really little puffs of dust that her sneakers had stirred up, but it didn't change the fact that he'd been willing to buy her flowers and candy.

At the postal window in the general store, Amanda met the postmaster/store manager/notary/justice of the peace. "Howdy. Name's Lonny Kendal," said the skinny, bespectacled man behind the window. "Met you at the party last night. Heard you're sweet on J.T. Thought you should know he's too ornery for marriage. "

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"Thank you." Amanda winked at the serious, thin-lipped man. "I'll be sure to mention it to J.T." "Won't be a surprise to him." Just then an elderly gray-haired woman came waddling through the jangling door. Saved by the bell. Wrong. "Howdy, Mrs. Kendal. Come meet the Easterner," he called out. "Mrs. Kendal couldn't make the party," Lonny informed Amanda as the woman bumped her way through a narrow aisle, heading toward them. Amanda pasted on a smile. "Mrs. Kendal, this is Amanda Martin, the woman who's sweet on J.T." His voice rose an octave. "Nice to meet you, and I'm not sweet on J.T." "Not to worry." The elderly woman smacked Amanda's arm with the envelopes she held in her hand. "My money's on you." "Mine's not." Lonny poked his head around the caged window and shouted as if the woman were hard of hearing. "Bet's are running two to one in her favor. I heard J.T. actually smiled...several times," the woman said. Amanda rolled her eyes toward the rusty, sheet metal ceiling. "Going to lose your Bingo money," Lonny teased, raising his voice higher yet. While Amanda fumbled for her wallet to pay her postage, Mrs. Kendal smacked Amanda with the envelopes again. This time on the elbow. "This sweet girl isn't going to let me down, Easterner or not." "Thank you." I think. Amanda waved and made her escape. Over at the diner Amanda caught up with Madge. "Is there some kind of a local marriage betting pool?" "Sit and have a coffee break with me." Madge gestured toward an empty stool. "Don't you fret yourself over it," she said. "You understand, Shorty and I didn't bet more than a hundred on you." Amanda sank onto the red vinyl seat. "A hundred dollars? Are you crazy? You and Shorty, of all people, know I'm leaving in a few days." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (123 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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With a thunk, Amanda had a cup of coffee between her hands. "It's a sure thing," Madge asserted. "J.T.'s never going to let you go." Amanda knew better than to believe that. If it came down to a choice, smiling was not going to beat out parenting. Good-by, Amanda. Madge artfully turned their chat toward less depressing topics. She told Amanda another Katie Kendal story and again insisted that Amanda sleep over in Katie's bed. "I won't leave Colorado without sleeping in the brass bed," Amanda promised as she swiveled off of the stool. "Bye." She waved.

Amanda had a creepy feeling that she was being followed. On the drive back to the ranch a green van tailed her. She watched in the rearview mirror. There hadn't been a whole lot of turnoffs along the road, but there had been several the van could have taken. She was just being paranoid. Living with Carla could do that to a person. Jolene was beginning to look like the sensible one. The van probably had business out at the ranch. If the road wasn't so deserted and the van's grill weren't so close to her back bumper, she wouldn't have given it a second thought. She tuned in the radio and tried to tune out her morbid thoughts - motorist murdered on isolated road, news at six. She pressed the 'SEEK' button on the radio until a local news station blared out. No mention of escapees, manhunts, blood hounds. Good. Finally, the Cutter cedar arch, the dusty gravel drive, and the house. She shut off the ignition and abandoned the pink vehicle, taking brisk steps toward the safety of the porch. "Ma'am," a male adolescent voice squeaked behind her. Amanda turned and came face-to-face with a handful of helium-filled, foil balloons. "There's more," he said, trotting the few steps back to the van. He returned with a bouquet of roses and a

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satin box of candy. Her mouth hung open and tears welled in her eyes. "How in the world - ?" "J.T. called the order in. Said I wasn't to deliver until the silly - I mean the little - pink truck left town." "Wait." With shaky fingers she took a wad of bills from her wallet and she thrust them at the teenager. "Ma'am, this is too much," the boy said, shoving the bills back at her. "No," Amanda shouted happily, hurrying toward the porch. "It's not nearly enough." Hugging the armful of presents, laughing and crying, she squirmed through the front door and into the waiting arms of Carla. "Just tactics to make me jealous," she crooned, holding Amanda by the forearms with bony, cold fingers. "When the baby comes, he'll bombard me with all of this and more." "If he's the father." Amanda was determined not to let Carla ruin her happy mood. Besides, the odds in town were running two to one in her favor. Why fight it? She laughed as she ran off to the kitchen to look for a vase. When she let go of the strings, sunlight glinted off the shiny balloons as they bobbled against the ceiling. Carefully she arranged the delicate, rich red roses into an earthen clay vase she'd found in one of the cabinets. Seemed her competitors wearing their rose essences had been on to something. J.T. did have a thing for roses. The thought of her rosy competitors brought Carla's nasty warning back. Amanda's happiness dimmed. J.T.'s willingness this morning to give her flowers and candy had been touching, and private. The actual act hadn't been. Carla's presence tainted the gifts with unavoidable questions. Which woman was he trying to win? Were the flowers a show of his caring, or just a show for Carla? But by the time J.T. came up to the house for her, Amanda's original exuberance had returned. She threw herself into his arms and showered him with kisses. The kisses didn't last the length of the ride to the neighboring ranch. Halfway there, Carla's niggling words scratched at Amanda all over again.

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Chapter 13 Bull. Amanda didn't like bull - animal or the sort Carla or J.T. had been tossing about. She glanced at the buff-colored animal. He had to be an omen of some sort. Danger was written all over him. A ring pierced his nose, and a Hail to the Chief presence exuded from him. She guessed he was quite handsome, as bulls went. On the other hand, J.T. or Carla, whichever one was handing her the bull, was quite despicably ugly. The Brahman bruiser had to be a warning sign. After the rodeo, she'd had no intention of ever laying eyes on another one of the beasts. And here she was, standing in a barn admiring a bull - from however afar. Well, it wasn't really admiration. Fear better described her dry mouth and clammy palms. Her heart beat in a constant drumming pattern instead of a steady patter. Just being this close spelled trouble. Distrust permeated the air, and all of it wasn't emanating from the beast. She eyed the animal warily, then J.T. Amanda stood a little behind J.T. and the man who was selling the heavyweight champion. She overheard words like weight and temperament and breeding. Amanda peeked around J.T.'s shoulder at the animal once more. Bruno didn't like her. She saw it in its eyes. He rolled them back to show her the whites - a threat if she'd ever seen one. He wanted to sharpen his horns on her ribs. See the color of her blood. Snort over her innards as they spilled into the straw. Amanda backed up a step. J.T. didn't look up. He went right on discussing sperm count, but he shifted slightly and reached back to grasp her hand in his. The moment they were alone, J.T. swung Amanda around into the circle of his arms. "Ever seen a hayloft?" Now, there was a line a girl didn't hear everyday. She had to give the man a ten for creativity. "No." "Care to browse one?" "Why?"

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"Can't tell you. Got to show you." "Ah, show and tell. I know that game. You show me yours, I show you mine, and hay is the last thing we talk about." "You'll make a cowgirl yet." "I'm pretty sure you're the one who wants to make a cowgirl." He held her away from him. His eyes narrowed, and he skimmed her from head to toe, slowly. She hated when he did that. Against her will, her body heated and flushed wherever his eyes touched. Her determination just didn't melt; it dripped, and pooled at the core of her womanhood, right where she didn't want any pooling. Fighting for a sane thought to shut out the lurid ones his eyes told her were perfectly sane, she concentrated on the bull. Fear didn't work. She thought about Carla. Shock didn't work, either. She thought about J.T.'s sexy body. Whose side was her brain on? Obviously the side laced with estrogen. His thumb worked at desensitizing the pulse in her neck...and her resolve. Both were numbing at a rapid rate. "Jake..." she murmured, wanting to tell him to stop right there. But her catchy breath refused to say the words. It formed murmurs and moans and whispers of 'yes.' He wasn't smiling. But his grim, sober mouth only made her want to kiss it until it softened and groaned. His eyes weren't smiling, either. They were steamy, making her want to dive in, soul deep, and never come up for air. "Coming?" he said in that low, hoarse tone that wilted every cotton fiber she wore. Amanda climbed the ladder leading into the hayloft. His hard strong chest supported her back. She felt safe. She knew she'd never fall with that wall of muscle to stop her. When she reached the loft, she dusted her hands on her shorts and sneezed. J.T. dusted his hands on her shorts, too. His hands gripped her hips and pulled her into him. His lips crushed hers, stopping her breath momentarily. She didn't mind overly much. An ache deep in her core was telling her that breathing wasn't all that essential, anyway. Essential was the way his mouth moved over hers, fashioning it into pliant shapes. The way his tongue

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played with hers, promising varied intimate rhythms. And the way his hands roved over her, on a guided tour to the path of glory. For once, she knew the performance wasn't staged for Carla's benefit. And J.T. was performing so well, too. The hardness throbbing against her stomach - she was stretched up on her tiptoes - told her so. She was plastered up against him so close a dust mote couldn't survive. And then she wasn't. When J.T. stepped back, she moaned. He smiled and began unsnapping his tan work shirt. He spread it over a bale of hay, like a coverlet. He waited. She got the hint. With shaky fingers, she tugged her striped top over her head and handed it to him. He laid it over the hay, also. Amanda eyed the bed of hay and then J.T. With mere days left to go was she going to lose her head now? Looked like it. What was wrong, though, with making a few additional memories to take back home with her? When she moved a step closer, J.T. hooked his fingers into her belt loops and pulled her flush against him. He kissed her mouth. Hot, memorable kisses. He trailed kisses down her neck to that fluttery spot on her throat, which they both knew was her soft spot. The scrap of lace that lay between them opened in front, and gave way with a flick of his fingers. J.T. worked his mouth over hers while his hand worked over her breast. Was she going to stop him? J.T. hoped that she'd do it soon, if she planned on it, because in another few moments he'd be past redeeming. She whimpered a soft sigh. A good sign. He pulled her tight against his chest. Her nipples were hard and nubby. They excited his fevered skin. Her mouth was soft against his. That excited him, too. His thumb massaged a circle against an inspiring dimple near the base of her spine. Any more excitement and major blood vessels would pop like corn. He'd give her 10 more seconds to shut him down, then he was going for it - flat out going for it. His teeth gnashed against hers slightly as he counted in silence. He lost count at five. His overexcited brain refused to concentrate.

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He wasn't going to start the count over. He smelled victory. After victory, she'd be more amiable. Once he had her amiable, she'd commit to staying. Then he'd say his piece - they'd talk love. "Jake," she whispered. That was his cue. "Yes, Darlin'." He maneuvered her toward the straw bed. While he recaptured her mouth, he heeled off one of his boots, then the other. It was a struggle not to break contact with that tasty mouth and still get his boots off, but he wasn't taking any chances that she'd change her mind at the last minute. He kept her mouth sealed. The struggle had its benefits. Her bare thigh wrestled against his zipper. Her bare breasts massaged his bare chest. Her hips rocked with his. He unsnapped his jeans and tugged at the zipper. He couldn't shimmy his jeans off and not break body contact, not without unmanning himself. And what about her shorts? He feared that she would have an unfevered moment to change her intent if his mouth left the soft, wet promise of hers. Then what? He'd die. Right here in this smelly old hayloft. Heck, it wasn't even his hayloft. A man had a right to die in his own hayloft. But it was too crowded over at his place. What with Carla and Shorty keeping tabs on the progress of things - for opposing reasons - a man had no privacy, not even in his hayloft. She wasn't refusing, but she wasn't cooperating, either. The woman needed direction. He took her soft hand in his and pressed it against his hardness. Now that should put a few notions in her head. It did. In a flash, they were skin to skin. He groaned. His toes were curling from trying to hold back, but he wanted it to be good for her, memorable. Then she'd finally commit and he could end this charade with Carla and get on with the real living - with Amanda. It was memorable. When they lay panting, sticky from the heat in the loft and prickly from the straw, she said so. "Oh Jake, I'll have these fond memories to take with me when I go." Heck, he didn't want her fondness, he wanted her love. He wasn't about to be anybody's fond memory. He was making love and she was making memories. She was holding memorials for him while he was... file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (129 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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beating his head against a barn door. "Amanda, you can't go, Carla's still here." That should do it. He hadn't outright asked her to stay, and yet he'd gotten the idea across, tactfully. The man had about as much tact as a bull in a hayloft. How dare he bring up Carla at a time like this. They were naked for crying out loud. J.T. was about as sensitive as Bruno the bull. So much for building fond memories. There weren't going to be any more conjugal rights attached to this arrangement. Until things were settled up with Carla, anyway. She plucked a stick of straw and jammed it in her mouth to keep from voicing her ultimatum. But it didn't work. "Well then," she spat the words out with the piece of straw, "maybe we should perform this naked dance over in your barn, so Carla can catch us at it." "Looking for another barn dance so soon?" His eyes were hooded. "How disgusting." She shoved him aside and grappled for her panties and shorts. A bra would work nicely, if she could find it. She tugged it out from under his muddy boot-anyway, she hoped it was mud. "J.T., some day you're going to push me too far." "And...?" He watched as she hooked her bra. "I'll stay. I'll never leave. I'll torment you till your dying day." "I dare you, Darlin'." His eyes met hers, flashing with the challenge. She tossed his jeans at his chest. He was easier to talk to when he was dressed. Well, J.T. was never easy to talk to, but it was easier to concentrate when he was clothed. He took the hint. Jamming his legs into his jeans, he stood and hopped them up over his hips. She shoved her feet into her sneakers and headed for the ladder. He yanked her back by the hem of her shirt. "I'll go first, in case you fall." "I don't fall easy." "So I've noticed," he snarled and started down the ladder, fading into the musty dimness. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (130 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Now what was he talking about? She shrugged and followed. Near the bottom, his strong hands grabbed her from behind by the hips. He turned her to him and seared her mouth with a knee-buckling kiss. Evidently he did want her to fall, because her rubbery legs stopped supporting her. She clung to his neck. When he broke away, he picked her up and planted her feet firmly on the ground. Then he nodded, and with a satisfied grin led her away by her hand. The man was a puzzlement. She snapped the radio on to avoid the silence that screamed at her from across the bench seat of the truck. He flicked it off. She drummed her fingers on the seat restlessly. He stayed them with his large palm. She crossed her legs and wagged her foot. "Stop fidgeting." "I can't. This is not what is called a comfortable silence." "When my tongue is down your throat is the only time there's comfort and silence. And even then you're not quiet. You make those mewling sounds in your throat that drive a man crazy." He arched a brow and smiled at her. "Nice crazy." "You drive me crazy, too, J.T. Nice crazy," she added for the sake of peace. "And the other kind, I reckon." "Let's keep to the nice talk." "Okay, Darlin'. I know a nice quiet place where we can be alone. No Carla, no interruptions. We can make nice all night long." "It doesn't exist - not on your ranch, anyway." "Have I showed you the adobe from the inside? Even Carla and Shorty wouldn't track us that far, on foot, in the dark." "J.T.," she groaned. She'd just promised herself no more conjugal visits. But she couldn't resist the promise of a few more fond memories, to bring out on frosty winter nights, to warm her right down to her toes.

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When they pulled up at the ranch and got out of the truck, he pinned her against the fender. He tipped his hat back and stared her down. Silence. Unable to fidget, she quickly came to terms. "Yes, my answer's 'yes.'" He stroked a curl near her ear and then pecked her on the forehead. "It's a date," he said, then winked. "Not to worry - I don't expect candy." "No, you'll eat mine." She watched the man swagger away. He had a very watchable swagger. At the door, she was greeted by Carla. "Still playing with fire." Carla picked straw from Amanda's hair. "Very flammable." "Carla, I'm done playing. You are J.T.'s problem, not mine." "You're right." Carla adjusted her blouse, opening a few buttons, exposing her cleavage. "It's about time I settle up with him." She swayed her hips as she padded out onto the front porch to sit in a rocker and wait for J.T. Amanda's time had just run out. Why had she pushed Carla? A showdown by sunset looked imminent. Amanda just knew that even though she wasn't one of the duelists, she was going to be the one left with a bleeding heart. When J.T. came up to the house it was dark. Carla had moved indoors. Soon as the door slammed, she sprang like a cat at a mouse hole. From the kitchen where Amanda was thawing a casserole of beef stew she'd found in the freezer, she heard J.T. "After I wash up and eat, we'll talk." Supper was a quiet affair. Carla bided her time, like a cat with a morsel. Amanda bided hers, too, on the edge of a cushion that seemed as prickly as horsehair. J.T. was the only one who looked calm. Of course, he didn't know what was about to hit him. By the time she cleared the dishes Amanda was quite willing to have it done with. Her shaky hands had clattered cutlery to within an inch of bending spoons. She was pretty sure there was a chipped dish or two churning away inside the dishwasher. Her shaky stomach was about ready to heave up the beef stew. Even her lips were shaky when J.T. kissed her. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (132 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he promised, "I'll be up soon." Amanda stroked his cheek. "I'll be waiting." "The adobe," he reminded her, as if she needed reminding. "The adobe." Upstairs, she tried to put a positive spin on the situation. She soaked all the shakiness out of her body in a tub full of hot water. She even found a sample of Ombre Rose amongst the tiny perfume ampoules she'd collected in her cosmetic case. Then she occupied herself with finding something suitable to wear. What did a woman wear to a rendezvous at an adobe when she had to walk to get there? Boots were a good bet. She could hardly wear a nightie and boots, could she? She settled for jeans and boots. It seemed fitting for a cowboy seduction. Denim and boots and...what? TLC? Mindless sex? What would J.T. want from her when Carla got done shattering his world?

Chapter 14 Still dressed in her jeans and cowboy boots, Amanda was surprised that she had fallen asleep. She listened. The house was quiet. Deadly quiet. She focused her eyes, seeking the digital alarm clock. A fluorescent 4:00 A.M. glowed in the encasing darkness. Before her hand reached across the mattress, she sensed that the bed was empty. Where was J.T.? He'd never come for her. He'd never come to bed. She slid into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Her boots hit the carpet with a muted thunk. Groping for the lamp switch, she flicked it, and a soft halo lighted up the room. She moved across the floor, careful not to let her boot heels drag. Why was she creeping? Who was she afraid of waking? Did she really want to know the answers to those questions? When she entered the hallway, everything was hushed and shadowed in the glow of the night-light. She

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stood for a moment, chewing her lip. What to do next? Dare she? She opened the door to Carla's bedroom. A faint light spilled in from the hall. Empty. Pristine empty. Flipping open the closet door, and then the dresser drawers revealed the extent of the emptiness. Carla was gone. Amanda flung open the doors to the other two bedrooms. Nothing. Empty also. Her boots clattered on the hardwood steps as she stumbled down the stairs. Den empty. Living room empty. Kitchen empty. It was too early even for ranchers to be up and about. Her heart stilted, almost ceasing to beat. Had J.T. gone with Carla? She calmed her panic by clenching her fists tight at her sides and puffing out a couple of cleansing breaths. She'd make coffee, and while it dripped she'd search the house for a note. No message. No word. Shorty would be awake soon. Amanda drank coffee and tapped her fingers until five o'clock. Then she couldn't wait another second. She lit out the back door, searching for Shorty down near the barn. She found him down at the cookshack drinking coffee. "Morning," she said, eyeing Hank and Cook. "Could I speak with you for a minute, Shorty?" With a crook of her head she gestured to the door. Shorty rose and took his cup with him as he followed her outside. "Problem?" "J.T. and Carla - they're both gone. Carla's room is cleaned out and her car is missing. J.T.'s pickup is parked out front. Buck's in the stable." With flustered hand movements Amanda pointed in the direction of each room and the vehicle and the stable. Then her hands stilled. "Did J.T. leave word with you?" "Nope," Shorty mumbled. He squinted up toward the house and sipped his coffee. "Does he usually leave without word?" "Nope." Shorty shifted his weight from one hip to the other. "He'll turn up, though." "If you hear from him, will you let me know? I'm a bit worried about him." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (134 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Shorty patted the top of her head. "I'll let you know, right quick, as soon as he calls." If he calls. Amanda forced a feeble smile and walked back to the house at a less frantic pace. The day crawled along. No call. No J.T. As night closed in she became angry. Fine. Going off with Carla was understandable. After all, she was in all probability the mother of his child. But he could have left word - if not for her, for Shorty. Poor Shorty. He'd been up at the house every hour. Worry creased his brow, etching deeper with each visit. Amanda guessed no one was as important to J.T. as his unborn baby. Impending fatherhood. He'd probably been jubilant. In all likelihood he'd rushed Carla off to marry her again and seal his claim. She was happy for him in that respect. A child. She wouldn't mind having a child. Especially one that looked like J.T. A pipe dream. Still, he had no reason to treat her so shabbily. He could have at least said good-bye. She could have at least wished him well, feasted her eyes on him one last time. If she'd have known that last time in the hayloft was going to be the last time she wouldn't have been so flip afterward. Their time together there was memorable, but so was the silly spat. She wished she could take it back. She hauled herself up to bed, to J.T.'s bed. This could be the last time she slept in it. If he didn't return tomorrow there was no sense in staying on. She felt like a intruder, a ghost really, creeping around his house living on lost memories. She'd take a slow ride. Make a few extra stopovers. That way, by the time she reached home, Stuart would be married and on his honeymoon. J.T. would be 2000 miles away. And Amanda would be left alone with her fond memories. Some plan. The next morning the house remained empty, and Shorty hadn't heard from J.T. "I'll stow your things in the truck," Shorty said as he toted her crates outside. She followed on his boot heels with her suitcases. "I guess I'll be going." She fought back stinging good-bye tears by biting down on her lip. Shorty reshaped his Stetson after having knocked it against the tailgate. "You promised Madge that you'd stay overnight at her place. She'll be disappointed if you don't." He fitted the hat onto his head. "Seems to me we've had enough disappointment around here." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (135 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Why don't you give Madge a call?" Amanda forced a lightness into her voice that she didn't feel. "I'm in no all fired hurry to drive a couple thousand miles." Right about now, she could use a good dose of Madge's kindness. Make that an overdose. While Shorty went into the house to place the call, Amanda settled into her pink and black seat and buckled up. Keeping her eyes aimed down the road, she refused to look back. She'd had her last look around the house. Shorty's tall shadow preceded him. He leaned his forearm onto her open window. "Madge is airing out the guest room. She's also throwing a small going away party for you tonight. Just us three and whoever happens to be in the bar." "Thank you." Amanda was anxious to be away from J.T.'s home, to put it all behind her. "I'll see you in a bit." Shorty waved as she pulled away from the ranch. She saw him in the rearview, which provided an adequate scope of the house, and the steps. She figured the hollow feeling in her chest would subside in a few years.

Amanda stood in Madge's office in the back of the bar, gripping her overnight bag. Madge wrapped her in a cocoon of a hug. As soon as Madge cooed, "Ahhh, poor baby," tears welled in Amanda's eyes. "He'll turn up sooner or later," she assured Amanda. "When he does, shoot him," Amanda blubbered. "Before I have Shorty wing him, you understand I'll need a few details." The woman led her to a chair. With a bit more coaxing, the story and a few tears sputtered out. Amanda felt no qualms about confiding in Madge. After all, she and Shorty would be the closest thing to paternal grandparents a child of J.T.'s would know. "Not to say that Carla hasn't been around before this, you understand, but I haven't laid eyes on her until recently," Madge said. "Shorty hasn't mentioned her until now, either. Don't you worry yourself." Madge bobbed her head. "When J.T. shows up, he'll explain."

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"I'll be gone by then." Amanda chewed on her lip. "We'll see." Madge studied her through twinkling blue eyes. "A good night's sleep in Katie's bed will fix you right up." Amanda doubted it, but she thanked Madge anyway. "Now you go on upstairs and get prettied up for the party. We're giving you a first class send-off. A few shooters will cure what ails you." Amanda wondered if shooters could mend a broken heart. Good to her word, Madge had made a party that was a blast. Music blasted from the jukebox, tequila blasted into shot glasses, and cowpokes blasted their special brand of charm on any willing female within distance. Amanda wasn't willing. She sipped her beer and nibbled an order of Madge's french fries, fortifying herself for a round of shooters. "These are great," Amanda lied to Madge. Everything tasted like sawdust in her mouth. Then a jolt raced up her spine. Shorty walked through the door, trailed by a grim J.T. Madge sprang from her chair. "Something I've got to see to in the kitchen." Shorty veered off toward Madge and the kitchen. J.T. stopped and plugged change into the jukebox. The clod was playing music while her heart was breaking. Then he turned and aimed his dark, somber eyes at her. With a loose-limbed walk he headed toward her. When the soft washed denim of his thigh brushed her bare shoulder, Amanda frowned up into his scowling face. "Go away...again." She waved her french fry for emphasis. "Glad to see me," he intoned in a sober voice, straddling the chair Madge had vacated. Resting his arms along its back, he leaned forward and closed his gleaming white teeth over her fry. His teeth grazed her thumbnail. His moist, hot lips sucked at her fingertips. Her lungs deflated. Breathing stopped. His eyes smoldered into hers. Forget it. No way was she sharing Katie Kendal's brass bed with him. There would be no private goodfile:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (137 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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bye party - regardless how memorable she knew it would be. Their partying days were over. With a gasp her lungs kicked in. "I knew you'd never stay," he accused when his sensual lips slipped from her fingers. "Stay." It was all she could do not to leap out of her chair. "Get this straight, Cowboy. Joley didn't stay. Carla didn't stay. Heck, you didn't stay. I was the only one out at that ranch for the last two days." The snake grinned. "Don't you curl that lip at me." "I'm in agreement. You're absolutely right, Darlin'." She stabbed a french fry into the ketchup on her plate and champed down on it. She didn't want to be right. She wanted... just forget what she wanted. It was past happening. His warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. Unhurried, his mouth lowered over the nub of the ketchupcoated fry she held. His eyes mesmerized her while his tongue licked the ketchup from her fingers slowly, sensually. Oh, she knew what that tongue was capable of. He needn't remind her. "The boys," her words came in a gasp. "Are going to teach me to do shooters. "Then it's lucky I showed up. We both know how much you need me when you drink." "I'll admit I relied on you that once, but I was snookered. I drank on an empty stomach. As you can see I'm eating tonight. So go away. I don't need you." "Right." He tugged her wrist as he stood up. "Let's dance." "Dance?" At a time like this. "You know how, don't you?" His voice dripped over her like hot fudge sauce, tempting her with its dark warmth. "All you've got to do is move your hips. I know you know how to move your hips." "How disgusting," she murmured with very little conviction. "They're playing our song." His voice became darker, sweeter. "Our song." She was standing now. "I didn't know we had a song."

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He didn't even bother two-stepping. Soon as he had her on the dance floor, J.T. encircled her in his arms and just swayed with her. "Is our song still playing?" she asked, straining to hear the words. "Yeah. A cowboy love song by Ian Tyson." Love. He'd said the word love. She listened closely, trying to blot out the sound of her clamoring heart. "...come on girl we're going to ride, up where the rimrock meets the night." She didn't know what a rimrock was, but she sure wanted to go there with J.T. "All I know is I love you." Did Ian sing that or did J.T. say it? She raised her head and studied his eyes. "You heard me, Darlin'." "I'm not sure I did." Her breath was wispy. "I said I wouldn't mind seeing your nail polish in my fridge permanently." "No," she persisted. "The sentence was much shorter." "I'm thinking about installing central air." "Enticing and short, but I'm sure that wasn't it either." "I'm trying to be romantic here. You said to save the romance for when it counts. With you packed and halfway out of town, I figure now is when it counts." "Oh, Jake." She closed her eyes and snuggled into his neck, inhaling the scent of him. "Oh Jake, is that all you've got to say?" She leaned back and stared into those soulful brown eyes, which were flashing with anger. What did he file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (139 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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want her to say? He didn't want to hear about love, not even a little. He hadn't asked her to stay, although he'd thrown out enough bait to entice a she-wolf into living with him. And what was he angry about? He was the one who had disappeared for two days. "I have plenty to say." Her words were clipped. "But I couldn't say them because you were nowhere to be found." "I left you a note." He cupped his hand over her open mouth, muffling her reply. "I found it crumpled and stuffed into the backseat of Carla's car this morning." He moved his hand down to her waist. "What were you doing in the backseat of Carla's car?" Amanda tried to pull away, but both of his hands were on her waist, holding her tight. "Jealous, I like that." "Don't bet your buttons on it," she sniped, trying again to pull away, with no success. "I was getting her overnight bag from the car." "Overnight. The honeymoon, I suppose." "Honeymoon? Are you crazy?" He frowned at Amanda. "You're serious." "I would think you'd want to marry the mother of your child." "I do want to, very much." He pulled Amanda close and snuggled his maleness into the cradle of her thighs. "Did you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Marry her?" "Why would I?" "Because she's the mother of your child." Amanda was losing patience. Trying to pry answers from him was like driving over an endless cliff. You never got to the bottom. "Carla's nobody's mother. Least of all, a child of mine. Amanda, think about it. She's only been at the ranch less than a week." "She said she'd been out to the ranch before, many times." "She hasn't. Besides, you knew I wanted to be rid of her." He entangled Amanda's hair in his fingers and file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (140 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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tugged lightly until she faced him. Her lips were within an inch of his. "Carla said you were using me to make her jealous." Amanda could feel his breath on her mouth, taste it. How did he expect her to talk when she could barely think or breathe? "And you believed that?" His voice was low and thrummed through her body, making her weak in places she needed to be strong. "Yes...no. I hoped... Jake, I don't know what to believe. You never explain. I pretty much have to draw my own conclusions. I don't know what you want from me. I've never known." He kissed her. His mouth was soft and warm. Caressing and demanding. It sapped at her strength, and she clung to his neck, answering his hunger with her own. "Okay, that part I can figure out on my own," she murmured when their lips parted. "I had some figuring to do on my own, too," he growled. "I'm figuring gossip didn't run you out of Pennsylvania. You're too sassy to run." He smiled. "I figure you wanted Stuart's baby to have a proper daddy." "You figured right." She sighed. "When you figured I sired Carla's spawn, you were willing to step aside again." "I wasn't so willing." She met his eyes. "I believe you're not the father, but Carla's baby deserves a proper daddy. I'm worried she'll run off to a agency or a clinic without giving the father a chance." J.T. stopped dancing. "Carla's not pregnant." "I heard her throwing up in the bathroom." "I talked her into going to a clinic, Amanda. A clinic that specializes in eating disorders. Carla's bulimic." She stroked his cheek. It was rough and unshaved. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked tired. The past two days had taken their toll on him, too. "Amanda," he murmured, kissing her palm. "What are your plans?" "I thought I'd sleep in Katie Kendal's bed tonight and see whose name is inscribed in that golden ring." She teased him with a smile.

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"The initials in the ring are J.T." His voice was low and sultry. "The inscription reads Jake loves Amanda." "And Amanda loves Jake." Her words were choked with emotion. "What are you going to do about it?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her to him. J.T. had plugged the jukebox well, because just then Ian Tyson sang, for about the fourth time, "All I know is I love you." "I agree with Ian," she murmured against his lips. "And I agree with you." "Jake." Their eyes were locked. "Aren't you going to ask me to stay?" "No." His voice was hoarse. "I want you to stay of your own accord, without my having to ask." "Is this some sort of a personal quest?" "Yeah." He kissed her. "I guess I'll have to dare you into asking me." "Never dare a cowboy, Darlin'." He smiled, and swung her around in his arms. She laughed. His smile widened - and in her whirl around the room she saw money exchange hands all around the bar. "Stay." The whispered word hung between them for a brief second before their lips met.

Author Info: Born and raised in Northeastern Pennsylvania in the shadows of the Pocono Mountains and its honeymoon havens, Sylvia Karpowich breathes the air of romance daily. After getting one short story published in 1994, she went from hooked on reading romances to hooked on writing them. Her years of work experience in manufacturing, as well as varied jobs in offices, a store, and a bank, to file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (142 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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name a few, lent itself to writing contemporary romances. Her interest in cowboys and a road trip to Colorado provided her with a setting for her first book, "Never Dare a Cowboy," which was published by Kensington in May of 1998. Her latest story was inspired by a trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota and, you guessed it, cowboys. "Luring Jesse" will be released in June 2000 by LTDBooks. Return to Table of Contents

Publisher info: Stories that stimulate your laughter, Provoke your tears, Evoke your secret fears, Stories that make you think...The stuff that dreams are made of...LTDBooks www.ltdbooks.com Return to Table of Contents

Thank you for choosing LTDBooks... The New World of Re@ding! For more great romances, visit our website: http://www.ltdbooks.com

Also by Sylvie Kaye: Luring Jesse And by Gail Kennedy: file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (143 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Tell Me No Lies Read on for excerpts from both novels...

Luring Jesse by Sylvie Kaye Cover Art by Sandra Martin ISBN 1-55316-023-1 Published by LTDBooks Copyright © June 2000 www.ltdbooks.com

Copyright © 2000 by Sylvie Kaye

Chapter 1 So the mountain had come to Mohammed. Lynda Mason a.k.a. Talbot knew the exact moment Jesse Talbot entered the foyer of the penthouse apartment. The hairs on her forearms stood at attention. They would've saluted, too, if she hadn't run her hands over her arms. Markie Elliot, society maven and notorious gossip, zeroed in on him as well. She arched one finely plucked eyebrow and cleared her throat. "Hubby's here. . .down from the Black Hills." With a swish of her purple-highlighted dark mane, she gestured toward the marble entranceway. Markie's nasal grate and her heavily sprayed, wine-colored tresses hit Lynda at about the same time. "So he is." Lynda spat the words out along with a strand of Markie's metallic tasting hair. A quick gulp of Perrier water washed away the tinny flavor. On an impulse, she clinked her teeth to the fluted glass in a private victory toast. To us, Jesse Talbot. . .to our inhaling and exhaling the same air at last. Markie elbowed Lynda. "Jesse looks very GQ, despite the boots." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (144 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Thanks," Lynda murmured. Through heavy-lidded lashes, she glimpsed black slacks, black shirt, and a charcoal-gray sport coat. She glanced at his feet and smiled. He had on flat-heeled, lace-up black ropers and not some fancy-tooled, pointed-toed, high-heeled cowboy boots. She watched him work the room, or should she say the room work him - hand shaking, shoulder clapping, everyone pandered to Jesse. And the 'King of the Mountain' accepted it as his due, only sidestepping Cleo. "Poor Cleo." Lynda shook her head. "You mean Jesse's snub?" Markie rolled her eyes. "She brings it on herself. If Cleo has one failing, besides marrying too readily, it's wanting to get one over on her cousin Jesse." Lynda nodded reluctantly. Cleo hadn't brought it on herself this time though. However willing, she'd been innocent of Lynda's plan. A couple of parties, a few well-chosen words, and Cleo had scampered off to launch an all-out Jesse attack. A successful attack, too, from the looks of it. She'd gotten the reclusive rancher to venture down off his mountain. Lynda watched as the banker pointed Jesse in her direction, watched as her adversary closed in. Over six feet of stalking manpower headed her way. What a shame. At five feet ten, with an added two inches for high heels, Lynda couldn't help but notice that Jesse Talbot was the only man at the party she could look up to. And what a look. He redefined handsome with his determined jaw, prominent nose, and great bone structure. He had great hair, too. His sun-streaked brown locks were a bit on the longish side, due no doubt to a barber shortage up there in God's country. She guessed the newspaper photos she'd studied had been out of focus. Handsome didn't change a thing. Mr. Talbot was the opposition, or would be as soon as she confronted him. No, Jesse wasn't going to like his imposter bride nor her recent inheritance from her Aunt Fanny that laid claim to a section of his mountain - not one bit. "Absence doesn't seem to make his heart grow fonder," Markie said in a nasal undertone. "No. . .no rush to arms." Lynda gritted a gleaming smile at the gossipy woman. "Too provincial." "You seem to think you've got him where you want him." Markie patted Lynda's hand with a patronizing tap. "Never rely on a man's heart. That's why, unlike Cleo with her multiple marriages, I indulge in very long, very intense relationships that don't end at the altar...or in divorce." "Never fear. It's not Jesse Talbot's heart I'm after." "Better fear," the woman clucked her tongue, "until you know what Jesse's after." With a crook of her finger, Lynda pawned both her empty glass and Markie off on Edward Ferdy. The banker usually hovered somewhere within elbow distance of the purple-haired socialite. "Markie, darling," the eager banker gushed and kissed her cheek. "I've been meaning to talk to you about the stock options offered by the bank." Lynda suspected Edward had the hots for the sleek lines of Markie's portfolio more than for her svelte figure. While Edward fawned over his lucky break, Lynda strayed away to the floor-to-ceiling window. She stared out at the black, black night and the glittering skyline of the South Dakota metropolis. She needed a moment to herself. She couldn't believe she'd gone to such lengths to capture the rancher's attention and to lure him down off his mountain. Pretending to be his wife of all things. But there seemed to be no other way to fulfill the terms of Aunt Fanny's will in the time allotted. The funeral had taken place three weeks ago and Lynda's deadline was closing in. She had only one week left to stake a file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (145 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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claim to a section of Talbot Mountain and then sell it back to Jesse Talbot. Weeks had dwindled away while the letters her uncles, Skeers and Skeers the realty lawyers, had sent to Jesse informing him of the inheritance went unanswered. More than likely they'd gone unopened. The Skeers' Uncles had been sending proposals for subdivision of Talbot Mountain since well before Jesse's Uncle James had died. Offers the Talbots either rejected or ignored. But this was different. This was personal. This had nothing to do with subdivision. This had to do with Aunt Fanny Skeers, her last will and testament, and a timeline that was running out. Lynda had merely a week left to persuade the rancher to buy or else. Or else what? She really didn't know. She guessed the codicil to the will would reveal that when it was read next week. Although Lynda surmised the money from Talbot's buyout would go toward her aunt's favorite charities, she wasn't positive what she was supposed to do with the money or what she was supposed to do about Jesse if he didn't buy her out. All too soon her moment alone ended, interrupted by Jesse's image reflecting back at her in the glass. Somber-faced, wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped, he ambled slowly, but methodically, toward her. He looked as impregnable as his ranch up on the mountain. She'd tried to get by the ranch's barbed wire fences and the locked main gate to see him. No sooner had she mentioned the Skeers name than the ranch hands chased her off like some hungry wolf. But, with Cleo's unwitting help, Lynda had gotten Jesse to come to her. So maybe he was not the formidable opponent everyone claimed him to be. Maybe Jesse Talbot would concede easily. Right. And maybe he'd roll over and let her tickle his tummy, too. Time out for a reality check. Don't underestimate the opponent. As steely gray eyes closed in on her, Lynda pivoted and faced Jesse. He had unusual eyes, storm cloud gray with a flicker of lightning. Her heart fluttered in anticipation of their awaited meeting, then stopped mid-beat as he got within shave-lotion-sniffing distance. He smelled good. She smiled at the wayward thought. That was a distraction she couldn't afford. She snapped her mind back to the matter at hand. Somehow she had to get Talbot to own up. Quietly. "Jess-e-e-e." Cleo's screech of vowels seemed to break the sound barrier. "Wait up." Snatches of emerald suede and auburn tresses followed on his boot heels. Evidently Cleo had no intention of missing out on what she hoped was a knock-the-chip-from-Jesse's-shoulder greeting by his neglected new bride. She was in for a disappointment. Lynda had no interest in publicly airing their differences - and from what she'd read and heard about Jesse's tight-fisted control of the Talbot holdings, they'd have differences. Lynda's nerves twanged like guitar strings. She was about to rock the unsuspecting Talbot's world. When he halted within a foot of her, Cleo collided with his back. He didn't even flinch. His face looked like granite, strong, unmoving, craggy. Cleo's looked triumphant - glowing, grinning, sort of like a jack-o-lantern. Lynda tried to keep her own face passive. She stood her ground. Flashes of a cowboy in a long linen duster on a dirty cow town street played through her mind. Jesse's legs were braced with his feet apart and his hands on his hips. His stance said, Hit me with your best shot. Lynda took aim. She pecked a wifely kiss to his cheek. Oh, but didn't he smell good enough to eat. She swallowed back that thought in a hurry. Brushing her thumb lightly to his jaw, in a pleasant wifey gesture, she flicked at the lipstick smudge. His skin felt warm and surprisingly soft. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (146 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Good evening, husband." He rested his hands on her waist, but held her firm, making it clear that escape was impossible. Of course, he had no way of knowing that he was in her clutches and not vice versa. His steady grasp caused her some worry. Forget El Ni¤o and it's warming trend. The man created his own phenomenon. Her heated body felt as if it had just emerged from a relaxing hot tub. This was not good. Those gray eyes weren't making it easy, either. She blinked as her warm gluey brain cells translated his hypnotic message. Nice shot. But if you throw down your gun it can get even nicer. Well, Mr. Sex Appeal had better forget about that. She was immune. Or she would be as soon as she rolled her lolling tongue back into her mouth. "Hello, wife." Her eyes dropped to his mouth. What a voice. Deep. Low. Husky. What a mouth. That mouth performing 'nice' on hers flashed a mildly erotic image through her mind. She shook the idea right out of her head, fast. Underrating Jesse Talbot could be hazardous to one's health. He was a walking, talking, shoot-from-thehip menace, but with 'curb appeal' as they liked to say down at the real estate office. And why was he smiling? She didn't like the look of that smile. Didn't much matter, because in the next instant with a sweep that would make any movie director proud, Jesse bent her backward over his arm and planted a lusty kiss to her lips. Only one thought penetrated that steamy kiss. He tasted every bit as good as he smelled. Better than good. He tasted like more. Too bad. She hadn't met a man in a long time that tasted like more. Why did it have to be Jesse? When his hold tightened, she figured he'd end the kiss and restore her to her former posture. Instead, he deepened the kiss. His lips were hot, firm, pliant. Jesse had very talented lips. She sighed. Being held in his strong arms and leaning against his hard body tottered her equilibrium. While she teetered on the brink of dropping her six-gun, her balance restored. Not on its own, though. Or his. Cleo's singsong voice jolted things along. "Jesse," she chanted, "I see you brought your mountain manners with you." On that off-key note Jesse jerked upright, and Lynda with him. As the gun smoke cleared, Lynda was able to see and think again. Well almost. Cleo looked a bit blurry. And Lynda's brain waves trickled instead of flowed. Soon the cause became apparent. Jesse's palm cupped Lynda's butt. She yanked his hand up to her waist. There, now her thoughts streamed crystal and clear. Cleo's image even became sharper. Cleo was propped in front of Jesse with her regal jaw jutted out. "I still haven't forgiven you for not inviting me to the wedding." "Not now, Cleo," he hissed through a forced smile. "We're starting in on our belated honeymoon." Honeymoon. Lynda beamed up at her groom with cow eyes, while she subtly pinched the skin on his wrist, firmly. He flinched. Good. At least the man wasn't terminal. While his kiss had thrown her motor into overdrive - with a loud knocking that sounded like either her heart pounding or her bones rattling - his never revved beyond an idle. She had begun to think the man file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (147 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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was fossilized. A murmur rippled through the room bringing her attention back to the party at large. Eyes peeped from behind cocktail glasses, linen napkins, potted fronds, over shoulders, around elbows, beneath fringed bangs. Ears perked, straining in their direction. The last thing Lynda wanted were the eyes and ears of the city's who's-who watching her and Jesse's alleged reunion. Jesse didn't seem to mind though. "Newlyweds," he announced with a grin and winked at the crowd. Jovial laughter broke out. Lynda's fidgety fingers smoothed down the skirt of her basic black dress, then fumbled with the Mikimoto pearls nestled at her throat. The necklace had been part of her inheritance from Aunt Fanny. Tonight she'd worn the pearls for luck. Flicking her tongue along her bottom lip, she glanced sidelong at Cleo for help. "Don't let him have his way," Cleo gushed almost on cue. "He'll drag you off to that mountain. You'll be eating beef daily and wearing never-been prewashed jeans." "Cleo, that attitude of yours is why your daddy entrusted me with the mountain, ranch and businesses." Jesse raised his brow. "And with you." Then he hugged Lynda to him. "Besides, Lyn loves denim and cows. Isn't that right, hun?" Lyn? Nobody called her Lyn. Especially her soon-to-be opponent. And hun? Her vertebrae locked, throwing her shoulders back and her chin up. Her blood pressure elevated, flaming her cheeks to what she guessed was a splotchy red. She hoped her guests didn't misinterpret her fluster as a sign of a gushy, blushy bride. Her strategy called for this bride to be cool and indifferent. The man was messing with her cool. Lynda stared up at him. His hand had drifted higher, to her midriff. His thumb was making circular movements beneath the cup of her Wonder bra. The mesmerizing strokes were zinging glowing promises to her womanhood. He was grinning. He was enjoying himself. This definitely wasn't part of the plan. He was not supposed to enjoy himself. Chapter 2 Warily, Lynda eyed her opponent. What was wrong with him? Jesse was not supposed to enjoy having a wife, especially one he hadn't handpicked. Oh. . .but he knew what he was doing. She had suspected he wasn't going to be easy to deal with. She just hadn't realized he was going to be so irresistible. Okay, so the man could kiss. So what? So his kiss could set her on fire. So what? So she liked the fire. None of that was going to help with mission-near-impossible - getting Jesse to listen to reason when it came to his mountain. And that was not a so-what. "We have to talk," Lynda said in a hushed voice. Clamping her fingers over his, she shoved his hand from its disturbing resting-place on her midriff down to her waist. "And we have to talk alone." Her look warned him to keep his hand put. "I guarantee it will be alone," he murmured. His fingers crawled up her ribs again, while his eyes darted to Cleo who had positioned herself next to them. "Excuse us a second," he barked, "lover's talk." As file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (148 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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soon as Cleo moved aside, he lowered his head and whispered near Lynda's ear. "I need privacy when I lay claim to my wife. . .whoever you are." Lynda's eyes widened, but she managed to stay calm. After all, wasn't this what she'd been working toward, getting him alone? The will had alluded to a love affair between Jesse's uncle and her aunt, and Lynda certainly didn't want the public privy to that information. Aunt Fanny had an upstanding reputation in the community. Why, she even had charitable organizations mentored in her name. Surely, once Jesse was told of the affair that is if he didn't already know about it - he'd feel the same about protecting his uncle's good name. "Sec's up." Cleo maneuvered close to the bodies of the supposed newlywed couple. "We have to talk and right now," Lynda persisted while being jounced between Cleo's scrawny elbow and Jesse's strong arm. "Later. When your guests leave." With a nudge of his hip, he pushed Cleo out of the way. His low voice rumbled near Lynda's ear. "I don't recall there being this many guests at the wedding. Funny, but I don't even recall the wedding." He eyed her with a gaze steamy enough to melt her misty black pantyhose. "Or the honeymoon." Cleo edged back in, ducking under his arm. "I'm an expert on honeymoons. Fly to Seattle and use my yacht for a romantic cruise, Lynda. Don't let him talk you into burrowing in up on that dreary mountain." "Honeymoon? Did I hear honeymoon?" Markie's grating voice reached Lynda moments before the woman did. With Edward tagging along, Markie forced entry into the ever-growing circle of honeymoon planners. "You must stay at my hideaway villa in Molokai. Don't shake your head no, Jesse. I won't hear of it." Her deep purple lips caught him mid-shake and bussed the corner of his mouth. "Congratulations." "My congratulations, also," Edward said. In a move Lynda was sure was created by eager executives, Edward extended his hand in a highpowered handshake that knocked Markie out of contention, not to mention out of proximity. On second glance, he appeared a bit green around his wire-rimmed glasses. Jealousy? Could the banker have a heart after all? Did his interest extend beyond Markie's bonds and Tbills? How unworthy of his greedy reputation. Markie on the other hand seemed oblivious to the green gleam in his eye. Her purple pout clearly showed her displeasure at being routed in the middle of her magnanimous gesture. Edward nodded to Lynda. "I have a charming cottage on the lake if you're not into traveling." "That sounds lovely," Lynda said, smiling. But, there wasn't going to be a honeymoon, not if she could help it. She glanced at Jesse. His gray eyes were blank, his face unreadable. She sighed. He'd be expressive soon enough. How soon? Her guests didn't show any signs of leaving. No yawns, no fidgets, no beeping beepers, not even a clock-watcher. She flicked her wrist to read her Timex Indiglo. "Again with that glow-in-the-dark department store watch," Markie griped, while Cleo grimaced. If the ladies only knew that Lynda didn't care a twit for any of these trappings. The penthouse itself was a very temporary sublet from one of her real estate clients. If she and Jesse had been allies - but of course that would never happen - he might have enjoyed being in on this bit of materialistic subterfuge that pulled the wool over Cleo's eyes. Lynda forced her attention back to the discussion at hand - her honeymoon. Now Jesse Talbot was the kind of man a woman dreamed of honeymooning file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (149 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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with. She'd bet that on a good day his mouth could do well over a hundred and twenty to a woman's pulse. And that low, sinking voice of his echoing across a candle lit room was an absolute melter. Just thinking about it was melting her insides. She felt all soft and gooshy, like the inside of a toasted marshmallow. But this mode of thinking was getting her nowhere. She needed time out for another check in with reality. When Jesse learned of the terms of their marriage and its demise - a buyout subbing as a pretend divorce settlement - he'd do a slow melt all right, but not on her womanhood. "I insist," Markie whined in a sinus pitch. While Edward nodded agreeably, Cleo pushed her own point. Or points. Four sculpted nails etched their insistence into Lynda's wrist. "Perfect," Cleo purred. "Use the yacht to get to the island." Lynda rolled her eyes. Too bad showing the whites couldn't frighten the moonstruck trio into fleeing. Of course, that depended on how squeamish they were. She knew of one way to find out. Test them. She tapped her finger to her lips. What sort of pop quiz would work on this bunch? Choking was an option. But if she grabbed her neck with both hands and gasped would some Good Samaritan attempt the Heimlich maneuver? Her brow crinkled. Could an inept blow to the breastbone be fatal? "That's a grand idea," Markie said. Lynda's finger tapped faster. A sprained ankle looked like a less risky alternative. A quick twist to the left or right and a painful wince should about do it. That is if no one decided to call the doctor. "I think we should let them decide," Edward chimed in. Lynda could pass out. Her mother, Vivian, was an expert at passing out. Vivian could pass out cold, faint dead away, or swoon delicately. As her only daughter, Lynda should be able to muster a mild dizzy spell. Markie wagged her finger under Lynda and Jesse's noses. "You don't want a yacht crew hanging around, do you?" "Nope." Jesse stroked Lynda's arm. Up and down, up and down. His finger sent hot chills through her. Now how was that possible? "My crew knows the value of privacy," Cleo argued. "They're honeymoon seasoned." For Aunt Fanny, and for the sake of a speedy settlement, Lynda decided she'd better give fainting a lightheaded try and soon. After all, if it weren't for Aunt Fanny, she'd never have survived life growing up with her mother, Vivian. Fanny had a way of balancing out her sister's eccentricities. Fanny had her feet planted firmly on the ground while Vivian wasn't even of this earth. "What do you think, hun?" Jesse asked, tracing a line from Lynda's elbow to her shoulder with the tip of his finger. Another hot chill raced through her. What did she think? She thought this whole plan needed Vivian's special touch. From here on out, whenever the plan hit an unexpected snag, she was asking herself one question. What would Vivian do? In this instance, she'd faint. That was a given. Lynda rolled back her whites and keeled over, right into Jesse's strong arms. Assured by his secure hold, she let herself go al dente limp. "Air, she needs air," Markie whined through her sinuses. At last, Cleo's lethal manicure released its piercing hold on Lynda's wrist. With a loud beep, Lynda was hoisted against Jesse's hard-bodied chest. With a second beep, he tossed her off onto the smallfile:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (150 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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shouldered, weak-muscled, much shorter banker. Edward dropped to his knees almost immediately. Lynda fluttered her lashes. There wasn't much sense in continuing the scene once the hero had left the stage. She groaned woozily and continued to flutter. Cleo slapped Lynda's wrist with enough force to shock her shockproof Timex. Before Cleo could inflict any real damage, Lynda flipped open her lids. "Typical male," Markie said in a huff, "he ran off to answer his pager while his bride of mere weeks lies at death's door." "Are you all right?" Edward asked. Lynda wriggled into a sitting position on the floor - where poor Edward had landed with her when Jesse had tossed her back like the bad catch-of-the-day. Bracing her under her arms, the banker helped her to her feet while a crowd gathered around. "Looks like the party's over," Markie announced to the ogling faces. "Lynda and Jesse wish you all a good night." She waved a diamond studded wrist at the circle of curiosity wrinkled faces and shushed them on their way. Between Markie and Cleo's gracious prompting the room emptied within a matter of minutes. Lynda sat on the mauve brocade sofa and looked blankly at the remaining trio. What could she possibly do for an encore? Her perfectly executed faint had gone to waste, upstaged by Jesse. She couldn't have predicted it and she certainly couldn't top it. She didn't have to. A second later, Jesse once again upstaged her. He sprinted into the room, grabbed her by the arm, and yanked her to her feet. "We're leaving. Now." He towed her after him as he made for the front entrance. "I'm not coming back to these cement, glass, and tight-packed city buildings again any time soon." "Wait." Lynda spragged her feet as best she could to stop the momentum. The Aubusson carpet helped a bit, but by the time her leather-soled shoes hit the polished marble it was clear sailing. Forget a sprained ankle. A broken foot wouldn't have stopped Jesse. He would've hauled her along, never breaking stride long enough to notice. They were halfway out the door by the time Cleo caught up. "Where are you going? To the yacht?" Cleo's blue eyes glowed with humor. Behind her Markie's purple head bobbed up and down with a snicker. "And in such a fevered pitch." Cleo's laugh was positively wicked. "There may be hope for you yet, cousin." Lynda knew better. He was spiriting her off to end their charade, and suddenly he was in a hurry to be done with it. His haste might work in her favor. She was all for a quick, amicable buyout. "There's a fire." Jesse yanked Lynda's arm harder. Then her body crashed against his shoulder as he stopped to cast a stony glower at Cleo. "Yes, it's the mountain." His voice reeked with sarcasm. "Not the mountain." Lynda winced. Saving the mountain was tantamount as a bargaining tool. She raced past Jesse before realizing she had no idea where they were headed. "Up," she screeched. "Are we going up?" Yes, they were. Up to the roof. Did he plan on flinging her off the building before saving his ranch? No, Jesse wasn't foolish. His mountain would come first. Then he'd kill her. Lynda cringed, and then uncringed. She'd show no fear. Men, powerful men like Talbot, thrived on fear. She encountered power-mad men everyday at the realty office. Every one of them set on perfecting the file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (151 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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deal, looking to develop, resell, profit, bankrupt, rape or reap the land, whatever it took. Well, this time she was pushing for a full share. Not a mere ten percent. Not a token amount. The whole ball game, all ninety yards. Her beloved Aunt Fanny deserved no less. Then they were on the roof. Suddenly the wind, or more like a whirlwind, enveloped her. The black chiffon of her dress whipped at her knees. A noisy wh-eeew, wh-eeew, wh-eeew pulsed through her. Jesse dragged her along faster. To where? The edge? "Keep your head down," he shouted. Why was he ducking her head down? So the propellers didn't whack it off. Propellers? This was a helicopter pad. A heliport. They were heading for a copter. Didn't he care that she had a fear of flying? Don't show fear. Well, that little motto was getting harder to live up to every minute she remained in Jesse's company. "I'll stay here," she yelled to his back as she tripped along. She hadn't bargained for this. What was that pounding? A rush of wind? The vessels in her brain popping with fear? No, of course not. That would put her out of her misery, and that was too easy. She wanted to cover her ears, yet didn't want to let go of Jesse. Her death grip on his hand tightened as they boarded. This wasn't part of the plan. Nothing appeared to be going well. He had a knack for messing with her plan - not to mention her head and her hormones. Maybe it was time to abandon ship, abort all systems, regroup. Too late. They were taking off, lifting up into the sky. She squeezed his hand until both her knuckles and his fingers whitened. Good. He needed to be taught a lesson. And numb fingers seemed to be the only one she was up to teaching at the moment. Besides, one's blood shouldn't flow with any viscosity at altitudes higher than the average twenty-story building. Her heart was jackhammering against her ribs and her pulse was drumming in her ears and the copters' blades were echoing through her entire body. Once she could think again, without that pounding in her chest and brain - once that stopped and they landed - she'd formulate a new, better, bigger plan. One even ole Jesse couldn't fool with. "Sorry, Rick," Jesse said, slapping the shoulder of the pilot who wore a tan, too snug, husky-sized jumpsuit. With a click, Jesse closed the buckle on his seatbelt while he continued to talk. "We had to cut our trip to the city short. Chopper's needed back home, and so are we." "Don't mind leaving the city fumes behind, boss." Rick maneuvered the joystick with his right hand and the throttle with his left. "Too bad we're leaving it to eat smoke." "Hopefully the fire will be under control by the time we get there." Rick didn't answer, just raised his thumb. Jesse settled back onto his seat. "If you want, you can sit up front," he said to Lynda. "The bubbled canopy provides quite a vista from your toes clear on up." He turned to face her. Her eyes were clenched shut. Her pale lips formed a grunting, "uh-uh." What was wrong with her? "Did dust or dirt kick up into your eyes?" He tried to tune out the concern in his voice and play up his annoyance. After all, lugging the woman along was becoming an all-out nuisance. "No," she squeaked. Her voice sounded tight and nervous. Jesse couldn't help but chuckle. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (152 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"If you're worried about a crash," he said rather cheerfully, "shutting your eyes won't prevent it." She peeped one eye open at him, briefly. That wink of blue was enough to wipe the smirk from his lips. That had been the first thing he'd noticed about her. The woman had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Bluer than the Dakota sky, and way more exciting. "We'll be there in less than twenty minutes." With a deep sigh, he rested his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, too. His mind focused on his ranch and on the mountain. He needed his strength and wits to help fight the fire. The ongoing war of wits with the blue-eyed damsel of distress was going to have to wait until afterward. "The mountain won't burn." Her voice sounded matter-of-fact. He kept his eyes shut and ignored her. Then, in an accusing tone, she added, "You do have your own fire equipment, don't you?" That he couldn't ignore. "Yes, and enough men to fight the fire." He held back from tossing the words in her face. He didn't want to look at her. She was too pretty to look at. She was way too pretty for her own good - for his own good. Beautiful enough to be a real bride. So, what was her game? Giving in, he studied her, but through a half-lidded, slant-eyed gaze. With a tilt and a vibration, the chopper veered toward the direction of the mountain. Alarm widened her eyes. Again blue flashed through his brain. "Is the helicopter okay?" she asked. Concern strained her vocal chords and her fingers viced his. Yet, despite her steely grasp, she somehow managed to look vulnerable. Her unguarded blue eyes appeared as innocent as a Sunday morning sky. Her lips trembled beneath the weight of her question. None of this was good. He tried to think. What would his namesake do? He'd read enough western history on the man to know. Shoot, remembering wasn't any help at all. Jesse James was tongue-tied and shy around women. Jesse yanked his hand away from hers under the pretext of searching through his pockets for. . .for what? He found a pack of peppermint gum. Great, she'd really believe he urgently needed a stick of gum. "Want one?" He passed her the open package. "Chewing's good for unblocking the ears or calming the nerves." Her eyes squinted up at him suspiciously, slivering a gleam of blue. What did she think? He carried poison gum on him in case wayward, unsuspecting wives happened to turn up. She clamped her teeth together and shook her head. Blonde silk swayed seductively around her cheeks and neck with each shake. He turned his head away from that image, and quick. "Suit yourself." He tossed the pack onto her lap and searched the horizon for a blaze of orange and funnels of smoke. Another tilt, another vibration. He felt her soft, warm hand clasp his. "Is the helicopter okay?" she asked again. "Yes." He grumbled the assurance. He wished they'd get there already. The woman made him nervous. Those blue eyes of hers caught him by surprise each time he looked into them. She made him feel as if he were free falling into the wild blue yonder. And he didn't even want to think about her mouth. Shoot, that intriguing tremble was the half of it. If those pale, naked lips - with the slick, honey-flavored lipstick kissed away - didn't tempt a man he didn't know what did. He'd like to plant his mouth on hers until that quivering stopped and shivering began. "Isn't twenty minutes up yet?" file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (153 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"No," he said, trying not to notice the way her lips formed words. Back at the penthouse, when he'd tried to scare her off, he'd kissed her hard and fast, or so it started out. But the kiss had deepened and softened, and weakened his resolve. She had the softest lips of any woman he'd ever kissed, with the most tender, gentle touch. The woman could kiss. He'd give her that. Way too well for his own good. He'd enjoyed kissing her more than. . .well, more than he could remember. When he'd tried to roughen the kiss a second time, he near drowned in all her tenderness. Shoot, she had him actually wanting a honeymoon. Honeymoon? His mountain was in flames and all he could think about was the fire in his groin. Was he nuts? He'd have to make sure there'd be no more kissy face with this non-existent wife from here on out. Soon as the fire on the mountain was under control, he'd settle up with her. "Won't be long now," he muttered and squirmed in his seat. What was her game anyway? Was she after money, power, his mountain? It certainly wasn't his manhood. He reckoned she could have just about any man she wanted. So why did she want him? Talbot influence? Talbot Towers? Heck, he'd give her the tower for one night of No, he'd better wipe that thought right out his head. She was probably just some gold digging, loveless woman. Once she had him in her grasp, she'd have him sitting up and begging for her favors. And that was only the beginning. What about the fetching and heeling and rolling over, and the jumping through hoops? He'd be no better than an obedient, trained pet dog. . .a cocker spaniel, mooning after her with love-struck, puppy dog eyes. Jesse had seen what love-struck could do to a man. His father couldn't think straight when Jesse's mother had died unexpectedly in a car crash. He hadn't bothered himself about Jesse becoming motherless at the age of six. No, the old man simply mourned himself into an early grave. Didn't much care that he left Jesse alone and unloved. Jesse aimed on staying that way. Love had driven the old man batty. Jesse planned on staying in control. Always. No woman was going to bend his will. Especially, this conniving piece of baggage with the blue eyes and the long, lean body, with legs that craved to be upended. "How much longer?" She crossed her long, lean legs. "Ten minutes," he said and looked away. Women. A man who spent more than a couple of hours with one was a fool. Two hours from the ranch in Bucket Falls, he had a willing woman with no strings. A few hours in bed several times a year was as tolerant as this fool got. "Is that okay?" Lynda was asking, all wide-eyed and innocent again. He hadn't even heard the chopper vibrate that time. "We're not going to stall. Quit asking," he barked at her to shut her up. It worked. She turned her snooty nose up and looked away. He liked her better this way. Snobs he knew how to ignore. Enticing women who tried to steal a man's heart and mind, and everything he owned, he made a point of staying away from. But this one was sitting right next to him, touching his hand, smelling like a summer's morning. Somehow she promised to fulfill every lonely ache he'd ever experienced, and that was hard to ignore. As soon as they landed, he'd figure out her game and pack her off like yesterday's garbage. Well, she file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (154 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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smelled a lot better than yesterday's garbage, but she was going all the same. She and that lusty, flowery scent of hers were going to be history. Jesse couldn't wait to get back to the ranch and the scent of spruce and ponderosa pine. The trees cloaked the mountain so thick they appeared black from a distance. Space. Panorama. No city could compete with that. No city girl either. At last, the mountain came into view. So did dark sooty funnels of smoke backdropped by a golden glow. He could almost smell the fire. Acrid, burning, dangerous. "When we land, keep your eyes on the ground and head in the direction of the house. You can't miss it. The spotlights will guide you. Rick and I will be taking right off again. My housekeeper will take care of you. Ask for whatever you need." Barely listening, Lynda nodded. She hated landings, almost as much as the take off and the actual flying. Her breath stilled, anticipating the screeching and braking and ear popping. To her surprise, their gradual descent proved rather painless. As dirt closed in, Rick pulled the joystick and the nose of the helicopter up, which made the landing even slower and smoother. A sense of security came over her. Her first since Talbot had walked into the penthouse. She couldn't wait to get away from the man. Her whole plan was proving to be a bad idea. She should have let the courts handle the thing. So what if the papers and press found out about a love affair between Aunt Fanny and James Talbot. Well, that was just it. It did matter to her, and to Aunt Fanny's memory. Lynda didn't want her aunt's good works overshadowed by gossip. The unwed mother's home her aunt founded would surely take a hit. She'd bet speculations on a hidden baby in her aunt's past would be fabricated faster than newspaper could be printed. Despite the threat of exposing the love affair or feeding the rumor mills, Lynda wasn't about to let Auntie get cheated. It seemed to her that love and James Talbot had shortchanged her aunt when it came to marriage and children. But this particular Talbot wasn't going to shortchange her. He'd have to pay up. In full. The quieter and the faster, the better. Right now couldn't be fast enough. She didn't care for his take charge attitude, his smart alecky answers, or his suspicious leers. Nor did she care for his musky aftershave. Or his hot lips, soft gray eyes, and hard body. She didn't. She really didn't. Return to Table of Contents

TELL ME NO LIES by Gail Kennedy Cover Art by Suzette Cooper ISBN 1-55316-022-3 file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (155 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Published by LTDBooks (c) May, 2000 www.ltdbooks.com Dedicated to Eleanor and Arthur Palmer Mom and Dad...this one's for you. Copyright © 2000 by Gail Kennedy Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1

PROLOGUE He was a hunk. A college football hero, destined to become a legend. And every time she was near him she grew quivery inside. Corky Yarborough sat in the small space behind the front seat of Tucker Malloy's pickup and stared at the back of his head. A fourteen year old Tom-boy, she was smitten for the first time in her life. Too bad he was seven years older. Too bad he was in love with her sister. Helen had been dating him for almost nine months, ever since the start of her senior year at Bama. A refreshing change from the preppy fraternity boys her sister preferred, Tucker didn't fit the Yarborough profile. As one of the University of Alabama's football stars, three piece suits, and martinis at the country club weren't his style. His relationship with her sister was doomed. If Helen ever hinted at being serious about him their politically ambitious father would never allow it. And Helen always did what her father wanted. Corky shook her head and yawned. If she couldn't have Tucker for herself, it would have been neat to have him for a brother-in- law. Weary from having played two tough tennis matches on an exceptionally warm spring day, she punched her tennis bag into a pillow, curled up, and closed her eyes. Testy voices drifted back from the front seat. Tucker sounded upset. She could listen to their bickering or block it out. Her tired body lobbied for the latter. As their conversation faded to a hum, she slipped into the most delicious dream featuring herself and Tucker... *** "Watch out!" The deep masculine voice startled Corky. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she rose from her prone position. Brakes screeched. The impact flung her forward. As she struck her head on the back of the file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (156 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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headrest, blinding pain shot through her. Metal crunched and a grinding noise grew shrill just moments before she plunged into darkness. "Corky, can you hear me? Are you all right?" Groaning, she felt someone touch her arm. "Corky, wake up. If you're all right you've got to help me." It was Helen. She sounded desperate. "Help you?" Corky weakly replied, trying to focus through her double vision. "Help me slide Tucker over. He's stuck." "Stuck ... slide over," she repeated, wincing. The pain in her head grew stronger, and it hurt to talk. Was that blood she tasted on her tongue? Somehow, she managed to lean forward over the seat. Her head buzzed, and every muscle in her body ached, but she helped push and tug Tucker's husky frame until he was settled under the steering wheel. The task completed, Corky frowned, sensing something wrong. Dizziness overwhelmed her, and she collapsed onto the back seat, blackness quickly encompassing her. *** The unfamiliar smell of antiseptics drifted to Corky's nose. Hospital smells, she moaned. "Cornelia, you've come to. Thank God." It was her father. Only her parents persisted in calling her by the name they'd saddled her with. "Dad." She lifted a hand in the direction of his voice. "Dad, I hurt." "I know, Baby. You've been unconscious for nearly a day," he explained, concern evident in his voice as he took her hand. "A day?" "Yes, a day. I'll call the nurse and let her know you're awake. Your mother's out in the lounge. How do you feel?" Pain made her grimace as she tried to speak. "Never mind. Don't try to - " Panic rushed through her and she squeezed her father's hand. "What happened?" "You don't remember?" Forcing her eyes open, Corky frowned. She sent her brain in search of answers. Nothing came. Nothing. "Why am I here?" "You were in an accident." "Accident?" She shook her head, agony the price of her movement. "You sure you don't remember?" Corky searched through the dark void again. "The last thing I remember is winning my tennis match."

CHAPTER ONE FOURTEEN YEARS LATER Late. She was very late. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (157 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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Cori Latham yawned and focused her tired eyes on the road. Lyrics from her car radio hummed through the vehicle. Dreamy lyrics of moonlight and starlight spinning through your hair. Little chance of that tonight, she thought as she flicked off the popular song and turned onto the main street of Enterprise. Her headlights swept over the statue in the center of town. Hey there, Mr. Boll Weevil! Cori smiled at the town's offbeat sense of humor. She and her son, Kevin greeted the ugly critter whenever they saw it. And it certainly was worthy of the town's tribute. When the boll weevils destroyed the cotton crops, farmers in the area turned to peanuts which proved to be their salvation. Nearly midnight the empty street stretched before her, ominous shadows cast across it. She applied more pressure to the gas pedal, eager to get home. Thanks to engine trouble, her three hour drive had turned into five. As she guided the car onto her street, thunder rolled in the distance. At least that was in her favor. She'd beaten the storm. And the fog, too. It had just begun to roll in, clinging to the ground. A minute later, Cori swung her blue Wagoneer into her carport, noting the sitter's car parked at the curb. "Poor Doris," she commiserated aloud. Warm and loving, Doris Simpson was like a grandmother to Kevin and a lifesaver for Cori. It was a relief to know Kevin had been well taken care of while she'd rushed to Birmingham to check on her father's heart attack. It had been a trying few days, but his prognosis was encouraging. Throughout the drive, his trembling touch and feeble, parting whisper traveled with her. "Good to have you home, Cornelia." Opening the car door, Cori slung her purse strap over her shoulder and carried her suitcase to the back door. She fumbled for her keys and quietly opened and shut the kitchen door as the first loud clap of thunder cracked. A trickle of light spilled from the living room lighting her way as she walked through the kitchen. She reached the living room doorway and froze. A man was crouched in front of her entertainment center, fiddling with the stereo and wearing her earphones. A man? The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Doris and Kevin? Had he harmed them? Several scenarios flashed through her head, none of them reassuring. Enterprise was a small city, a safe place to live, but there had been a rash of break-ins lately. All the local news reports ran through her mind. So did the grisly murder in the last thriller novel she'd just finished. She ducked back into the hallway and hugged the wall. Steady, Cori. Don't panic. But her heart continued to thud at an alarming rate. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and quietly gathering courage, took another peek. Large. Huge. Broad shoulders. What was he up to - testing out her stereo, television, and VCR before he pronounced them worthy of heisting? And what had he done with Kevin and Doris? Again she stepped back into the hall, hardly daring to breathe. She had to keep calm. Think. Call the police. Yes, she'd call them. And she wouldn't leave the house to do it. When they came, she didn't want this brute of a man using Doris and Kevin as hostages. She wasn't sure what she could do to prevent it, but she'd think of something. Quietly setting her suitcase down, she tiptoed down the darkened hallway to file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (158 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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her bedroom, positive she made enough noise to wake the dead. She tossed her purse on the bed and shakily lifted the receiver. After punching 911 and whispering her dilemma and address, she crept back to the entrance of her room and braced herself against the wall. Now what? Get Kevin and Doris to safety. As quietly as possible, she pulled her dresser drawer open and lifted out her flashlight. Flicking it on, she slipped across the hall to Kevin's room. Thank God. He was safe and sound, asleep in his bed. Ever so lightly, she brushed Kevin's forehead with her fingertips. Where was Doris? The elderly woman would never leave him alone. Chills ran up and down Cori's spine, but she forced herself to check the bathrooms and the guest room, as well. Intently listening for a sound from the man, she opened closet doors and knelt down to feel under beds. Since there was no basement, Cori couldn't imagine where Doris could be, unless she was hiding somewhere else in the house, waiting for a chance to get to a phone. Shrugging out of her black jacket, she fervently prayed that her hunch was true. She flicked off the flashlight, and still finding it difficult to breathe, leaned against the wall for a few seconds. A plan. She needed to devise a plan to thwart the intruder's ability to use them as hostages. Kevin's baseball bat. It was in his bedroom closet. *** Tucker turned off the C.D. and removed the earphones, the last notes of Jimmy Buffet's rendition of 'Stars Fell On Alabama' floating through his head. He switched on the television set, then tilted his head and listened. A sound? Naw, probably his imagination, or maybe it came from the movie on the television. He finished adjusting the picture, settled back against the sofa, and focused his bleary eyes on the set. Where in blazes was the woman? In less than six hours his shift would start, and what would he do with the boy then? Two hours ago, his mother had called and asked him to come over and relieve her. She'd said she wasn't feeling well and that the boy's mother had called saying she'd be late. If it got much later he'd have to sack here for the night. He sure as hell wasn't going anywhere with a dead battery in his mother's car. When she'd gone out to start her car it wouldn't crank so he'd sent her home in his pickup. He glanced at his at watch again. Maybe there'd been an accident. He'd give the woman a little longer and then he'd call down to the station. They might have information on her whereabouts. Tucker shifted in his seat and was just about to nod off when he heard another noise. He cocked his head. A door opening? Or was it shutting? Damn. Footsteps. Using the remote, he lowered the volume of the television. It could be the boy, but then there'd been a number of burglaries reported in this area of town. If someone had broken into the house, they were in for a rude surprise. He'd be ready for them. Out of habit he slid his hand down to his hip. Damn, possibly a burglar in the house, and he'd hadn't brought his gun and cuffs. But he rarely carried them offduty.

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Instinct flooded through him. He rose to his feet and stealthily walked into the hall. Alert to a sound behind him, he turned to see a figure loom out of the shadows and lunge at him. He sidestepped quickly. A second later a loud crash resounded as an object smashed to the floor. Holy Hannah! His head could have been split like a grapefruit! He reached and grabbed at the dark figure. Elbows jabbed at him as his hands dug into smooth warm flesh. He pulled the slender figure closer, his hands spanning a tiny waist. As the squirming body came in contact with him, he felt lush rounded hips and froze. A woman! So, the cat burglar plaguing this neighborhood was a female. From the fight she was giving him, she was one hell of a feisty woman. He twisted her wrist, then heard her weapon clunk to the floor. Instinctively sensing she was about to kick him, he moved aside. The woman fought like an alley cat, her arms flailing against his chest. Pain from her fingernails dug into the side of his neck. That tears it! He'd been holding his full power in check, but now she'd drawn blood. For all he knew she had a partner - maybe a man waiting outside, or in another room? He hoped not. He didn't want anyone going near that kid. Changing tactics, she ran into the living room, the dim light outlining her darkly clad figure. In seconds, he was after her. He tackled her, surrounding her waist with his arms as they fell to the floor together. Conscious of her slight frame, he pulled her with him, trying to take the brunt of their fall. As she landed on top of him, air swooshed from his lungs, and he grabbed her hands before she could inflict more damage on him. "Ooh," she groaned, lifting her head only to let it fall back on his chin. Tucker tasted blood and ran his tongue over his lip. The crown of her head had split his lip in their fall. He pressed his lips together to stop the bleeding. Rolling her over onto her back, he straddled her thighs and discreetly searched her for a weapon. Relieved to find she didn't carry a gun, he grasped her arms above her head. "I think I'm bleeding." The woman said, then met his gaze. "Let's see." His gaze traveled over her hair, long and sleek, the color of sun-streaked honey. A fringe of bangs feathered across her forehead, and flecks of green danced in her hazel eyes. "You look fine. It's me. I split my lip." He shifted her two hands into one of his and whipped out his handkerchief from his jeans pocket, then pressed it against his mouth. "How about you?" he asked, ever aware of the charges of police brutality. "My wrists. I used them to help break my fall." Good ploy for securing her freedom, but he wasn't going to be suckered into that trap. "See if you can move them." "Then let go of me." She thrashed against his hold. Tucker quirked an eyebrow at her tart tone, then released her hands one at a time, watching her flex them. When it appeared she was uninjured, he grabbed her wrists again. The woman beneath him was small-boned and pleasant to look at. He would have never pegged her as a thief, but dressed in a black jersey top and tights, she fit the description to a T. And she was a damn good one, too. He hadn't heard her break into the house. Looking down at her flushed face, he saw a trace of fear in her eyes. "Look, Lady, stay cool and I promise nothing is going to happen to you. Nothing," he repeated, trying to put her at ease. Experience had taught him he'd get more information from her if he downplayed the rough and tough cop routine. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (160 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"If you don't get off me, I'll scream." Tucker arched his brow again. He'd have sworn she was afraid, but that was the second time he'd caught a hint of fireworks in her voice. "I wouldn't scream. There's a kid down the hall, and I don't think it'd be wise to involve him in this." Cori bit her lower lip and nodded. So, he knew about Kevin. The last thing she wanted to do was waken her son. It was best to keep him out of harms way. The fact that this crook had left Kevin unharmed and seemed concerned for his welfare reassured her. She winced at the tone she'd taken with this man - a tone that belied her jittery nerves. Belatedly sensing it unwise to antagonize him, she immediately regretted her false bravado. The helplessness of her position was all too clear, yet somehow the quiet tone of the man's voice had a soothing effect on her. She had to admit he'd seemed more preoccupied with learning about her injuries than trying to harm her, but her overactive imagination still harbored the fear that he might have tied and gagged Doris and stashed her somewhere. "You won't get away with this." She forced a calmness into her voice. Tucker shot her a quizzical glance. Won't get away? With what? Arresting her? The woman was totally irrational, yet she'd spoken with brazen determination again. He suspected she could prove to be a thorny handful. "Okay, Cat Lady, let's make sure you're okay and find out some things. I'm going to pull you up and walk you to the sofa." Before he called for backup he wanted to find out if she had an accomplice waiting outside. He stood up, pulling her with him. Holding her hands, he led her to the sofa, scanning the room for something to use to tie them together. If he let go of her, she'd run. Maybe he'd just have to drag her to the phone in the kitchen and hold her to him while he called the station. On trembling legs, Cori accompanied him to the sofa with as much dignity as she could summon. Nothing could be gained by physically battling with him. Far better to submit for the moment and hope for a chance to get free. If she could just get her hands on the bat again, maybe she could knock him out or at least stun him until the police arrived. She debated asking him about Doris, but decided the best policy was to say little or nothing. On the remote chance Doris was hiding somewhere in the house, Cori reasoned the less he knew the better. By keeping this man distracted, she might even be helping Doris escape. Sitting close to him, imprisoned by his hands, Cori studied him with the determination of a witness who intended to give an accurate description to the police should he run away before they arrived. He had high, jutting cheekbones, a strong arrogant chin, and the blackest eyes she'd ever seen - an inky black to go with his jet black hair. Tall, possibly over six feet, he possessed a broad pair of shoulders that went on forever. Hands down he had to be the handsomest burglar in the whole state of Alabama. Probably only had to smile and crook his little finger, and women foolishly gave up their purses or cookie jar money. Incredible, that a man with his looks couldn't find honest work. There was an inner toughness about him, and a gentle streak, too. He'd inquired if she'd been hurt and seemed concerned about Kevin. He reminded her of a mystery story about a gentleman thief she'd read years ago. When robbing a woman, the thief had been charming and thoughtful. Heavens, she had to be insane to be charmed by this two-bit criminal. Cori shook her head. Nothing twobit about the man beside her. Not one darn thing. To banish the disturbing direction of her thoughts, she tore her gaze from him and stared at the television. The old adventure movie caught her eye. The hero, file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (161 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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clad like a medieval knight was struggling with a woman. She hoped the woman had better success than she'd had. "Okay, Lady," he gruffly interrupted her thoughts. "Let's have your name. You have a partner lurking around somewhere, waiting for you in a car, maybe?" "What?" Cori asked. Good grief! He thought she was a fellow thief. The guy must have a screw loose. Did he think she was infringing on his territory? He had to be the dumbest creature on earth not to suspect she might be the owner of the house returning home. Speechless, she looked up at him. A fuzzy memory floated into her mind. Something about his rugged masculine features seemed familiar. Probably because she'd seen his likeness on a wanted poster in the post office. Over thundering heartbeats, Cori lamented her plight. She didn't need this. Her day had been harrowing enough worrying about her father's recovery and dealing with her car. And right now she was trying hard to sound fearless and brave. "I said, who are you?" he prodded, his voice heavy with a Southern drawl. Cori fell silent, suddenly suspicious of why he wanted to know her name. She'd never been a very convincing liar. Silence was her best defense, and in thinking it through, she reasoned it was to her advantage to let him assume she was a compatriot in crime. "I don't talk to strangers." As if that was the last answer he'd expected out of her, he chuckled. "That's usually a good policy, but sooner or later you're going to tell me what I want to know." "Never," she answered defiantly, the fear of antagonizing him overcome by the determination not to let this common thief terrorize her. Tucker's keen eyes caught the saucy tilt of her chin. Yeah, he'd been right. The woman just itched to give him a piece of her mind, yet there was something about her, something he couldn't put his finger on, something different. Female criminals were usually brassy, nothing at all like this one. There was a soft feminine aura of innocence about her. What a shame to lock her up. Under the proper influence she might blossom into a rare flower. But he fully intended to book her, though he'd give her another minute to calm down before he escorted her to the phone in the kitchen. Tucker caught her staring at him, and he realized he hadn't officially identified himself. He couldn't imagine what had caused him to act so unprofessionally. He was just about to speak when he heard a noise at the door. Her partner? A scuffling sounds on the front porch drew Cori's attention and gave her hope that the police had arrived. Instead of trying to pull away from her captor, which she figured would be virtually impossible, she pushed forward, sending him backwards against the end of the sofa. Quickly, she raised her right knee and strategically jabbed it between his thighs. He doubled over in pain, releasing her hands. Not wasting a minute, she sprang to her feet, raced to the front door, and threw it open. "Thank Goodness, you've come," she breathily called out. "There he is, Officer." She nodded in the direction of the sofa. Two policemen dashed into the house, running past her. Their pistols raised, they aimed them at the intruder. "It's the lieutenant," one of them shouted. "You hurt, Tuck?" The intruder groaned, still doubled over. "Stop that woman," he gritted out. "Arrest her!" They turned and started toward her, and Cori's eyes widened in shock as they approached. "Not me. I live here. I'm Cori Latham. This is my house. Ask the neighbors. My driver's license with my picture on file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (162 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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it is in my purse, and if that isn't enough, there are photos of me on the wall in my bedroom. I'm not the intruder. He is." She pointed her finger in the man's direction. "No, Ma'am. Lieutenant Malloy's not a thief. He's one of us." She stared at them in disbelief. "Wh ... wha ... one of you?" She could feel herself spinning, her body starting to sway. "What did you say?" "The lieutenant over there, he's one of us." "He's a policeman, and he breaks into houses?" "Naw, you got it all wrong, Ma'am. Tucker's as fine as they come." "Tu--" She strangled on the word. Trying to remain calm, she dug her nails into her palms. A premonition swept through her. "His name. What's his full name?" "Tucker Malloy. Lieutenant Tucker Malloy." That's what she thought she'd heard. Color drained from her face, and circles spun before her eyes. Cori's mouth dropped open as she stared at the man on the couch. Yes, she murmured to herself. He was Tucker Malloy. Pulling her mouth into a wry twist, she took a shaky step backwards and clutched the table. The room and the man spun before her eyes. *** Cori closed the door behind the departing policemen and limply leaned against it. She glanced at the clock. Two a.m. She was still reeling from the shock of running across Tucker. Good Lord, who'd have thought: Doris Simpson's son. Tucker Malloy. Fear must have prevented her from recognizing him because now that she thought about it, he hadn't changed all that much in fourteen years. Tucker! Had she actually kneed Tucker Malloy in the crotch and demanded the police arrest him? Tucker, here in Enterprise. A policeman. How ironic that he was from the same hometown as her late husband, Greg. Had he and Greg known each other? Probably not. Greg was six years younger. Tucker had gone off to make a name for himself at college before Greg had even entered high school. She hadn't thought about Tucker in years. When he'd first been drafted into the NFL, she'd followed his career in the newspapers. But he'd been out of football for five years now, and she'd no earthly idea where he'd disappeared to. And now she knew. To his hometown - the place her sister had ridiculed. Guilt tugged at Cori. Helen wasn't the only member of the Yarborough family who hadn't done right by Tucker. But in spite of the evil deed her family had visited on him, Tucker had gone on to glory. Cori sighed. At least now she could explain the unsettling attraction she'd felt for him. Even as a girl, she'd been drawn to Tucker. The strapping, brawny young man of her youth had aged to perfection. There wasn't an inch of fat on his well-proportioned body, and about the only changes in his handsome sculpted face were a few lines around his eyes. His dark, probing eyes. Cori shuffled away from the door. Seating herself on the sofa, she stilled her trembling hands. She really had no cause for alarm. No trace of recognition had shown in Tucker's watchful eyes. There was little of the girlish Corky Yarborough to be found in Cori Latham, a twenty-eight year old widow. Her appearance had changed so dramatically that Tucker couldn't possibly know who she was. As it was,

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he'd hardly paid her much attention those many years ago. Perhaps she needn't worry. If this was the first time she'd run into him in the three months since she'd lived here, it could very well be another three before she saw him again. As long as he never discovered who she was, the town of Enterprise should be large enough for both of them to peacefully coexist. An involuntary shiver coursed through her. As the years ticked by, the intensity of her shame over what Tucker had suffered at the hands of her family gradually diminished. But now after seeing him in the flesh, the guilt she thought she'd buried ruthlessly reasserted itself. One thing she knew: it would serve no good to let him know who she was. Cori speculated on the incredible odds of running across Tucker and what it might mean for her ... and for Kevin. Ever since Greg's plane had crashed in the Balkans, Cori's prime concern had been Kevin and his adjustment. Greg's widowed mother had succumbed to cancer soon after and the double blow of his father and grandmother's deaths had hit Kevin hard. Returning to her husband's boyhood home had seemed the ideal choice. She looked on Greg's home as a way to be close to him and recapture his memory for Kevin. Moving around like Gypsies from base to base, they'd never spent much time in one place. Settling down in Enterprise would give Kevin and her stability. And it would thwart her father's relentless campaign to convince her to move back to Birmingham. Back at the hospital, the moment her father had addressed her as Cornelia and started to harass her into returning to her childhood home, was the moment she'd realized he was well on his way to recovering from his heart attack. Now all she had to hope was that Tucker never found out who she was. She probably wouldn't have to worry about seeing him anytime soon. After tonight, she imagined she wasn't exactly one of his favorite persons. Tucker. Cori stared into space and smiled. The look he'd shot her when he discovered she wasn't a thief had been deadly enough to kill. And it hadn't helped his disposition when his colleagues started razzing him about what had happened. As he had marched past her on the way to the front door, she'd apologized. "I'm sorry. I really thought you were a robber." "I thought you were one, too." His dark eyes flashed with anger. "Lady, you should have told me who you were." "And so should you." "I was getting around to it when you-" "Yes. I said I was sorry." Feeling as gauche and clumsy as a teenager, Cori regarded him from beneath her lashes. He was a giant of a man. A man, clenching his jaw and struggling to keep his temper under control. "What were you doing in our house?" "Babysitting." "Sitting?" For a split second she looked directly into his blazing eyes. He was angry, fit to be tied. The teasing from his fellow officers had not sat well with him. After tonight, probably as long as he lived, he'd never consent to babysit again. "Doris Simpson's my mother. She didn't feel well, and I came to relieve her," he said in answer to her frown. "Doris is your mother?" Stunned, Cori took several deep breaths to steady herself until she saw his gaze shift from her face and focus on her heaving chest. "My dad died when I was a boy. Mother remarried, and now she's a widow again. When she went out to file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (164 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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her car, it wouldn't start so I sent her home in my truck." The sharpness in his voice made Cori aware of the tension in him. A shiver of uneasiness worked its way up her spine. She felt as if her maiden name was emblazoned on her forehead. Automatically, she gazed into the small oval mirror hanging on the wall, searching her face for any sign that might give away her identity. "I apologize if I hurt you." His brusque voice momentarily softened. Cori felt her cheeks grow warm. "I hope Doris is feeling okay, and that you'll be all right." Her gaze drifted down to his thighs and the snug jeans that encased them. Embarrassed, she quickly raised her head. His fellow officers snickered, and she watched Tucker shoot them a lethal scowl. A tug of sympathy pulsed through her. She imagined they'd make his life miserable for the next few days. "It was a mix-up on both our parts," he mumbled, looking anxious to leave. Before she could say anything more, he picked up his jacket from the Queen Anne chair where he'd tossed it earlier, slipped it on, and marched to the door. "Bart, how 'bout helping me jump start the battery in my mother's car?" He turned to face her. "Night Ma'am. Hope you don't run into anymore trouble." "Thanks. I mean, 'er thanks for-" What did she mean? Certainly not thanks for not arresting her, or thanks for knocking her down and stirring up her emotions. She paused to collect her scattered thoughts. "Thanks for being here for Kevin," she finally answered. He nodded, muttered something unintelligible, and left. The memory of his parting stride brought a smile to Cori's lips. Judging from his haste to leave, she needn't worry about seeing Tucker Malloy anytime in the near future.

CHAPTER TWO Tucker turned on the ignition of his brand new Bronco and pulled away from the police station. His shift was over, and he was giving his buddy and fellow officer, Doug Foster, a spin. It was a relief to get away. He'd had about all the good-natured ribbing he could stand the past three days. Between cat burglar jokes and less than subtle inquires about the blow to his manhood, the episode with the fetching widow Latham was wearing thin. And if that wasn't bad enough, thoughts of her kept creeping into his mind, day and night. "Truck rides smooth," Doug remarked. "Yeah." Tucker grinned, appreciatively running his gaze over the dashboard. Sitting further back in his seat, he widened his smile, admiring his new toy. His former career afforded him such luxuries, but since boyhood, he'd dreamed of following his father into police work. His file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (165 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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criminal justice degree had pointed him in that direction, and at this moment in time, he was doing what he wanted and was where he wanted to be. Driving down the main street of Enterprise. Others might hanker for life in the fast lane, but big cities had little appeal for him. He'd always known he'd return. The only thing missing was the settling down bit, as his mother so often described it. His bachelor days couldn't come to an end too soon to suit her, and bite his tongue, if he wasn't beginning to agree with her. At thirty-five, the years were catching up with him. Somehow that special woman had eluded him. Like an old wound that had never healed, a memory stirred to life. One he thought he'd buried long ago. He gripped the wheel more tightly. There'd been a woman once. She'd broken his heart in so many pieces it had taken years to drum her out of his system. Suddenly, the brake lights of the blue Wagoneer in front of him flashed before Tucker's eyes. "Watch out," he yelled, jamming on his brakes. He turned the steering wheel to the right, trying to avoid a rear end collision, but there wasn't enough space for him to maneuver without hitting the car in front of him. The left front headlight of his truck smashed against the right rear fender of the Wagoneer. Tucker glanced into the rear view mirror, relieved to find no cars behind them. "You all right, Tuck?" Doug shifted back into his seat. "Physically, fine, but I'm madder 'n hell. This truck's only one day old. You okay?" "Not a scratch. What do you suppose made that car stop in the middle of the street like that?" "Beats me, but I aim to find out." Tucker released his seat belt, and as his hand reached for the doorknob, a jolt shot through him. "Lookee there." Exasperation colored his voice. "Will you look who's getting out of that car?" "An attractive female." "Who's nothing but trouble." Doug squinted. "The widow Latham." "Why, Doug? Why me? Of all the twenty some thousand citizens living in Enterprise, why does she have to single out me?" He touched his finger to the scratches on his neck put there by the widow Latham's fingernails. "She's not so bad, Tuck. She and Janie have become good friends." "You have my condolences." "Naw, she's real nice. Her boy, Kevin is the same age as our Scott. They're friends, too." "Well, I'm not inclined to join her fan club." "Too bad. She's a real looker." She was that, Tucker admitted. He imagined a parcel of Enterprise's male population found her attractive. As they both emerged from the truck, Doug called out to him. "You sure you want to handle this?" "Dead sure." "I guess she can be a handful." "You guessed right." He retraced the scratches on his neck. "Any woman who can bloody me and my truck in the space of three days bears watching." A grimace tightened his lips. His patience quota was rapidly dwindling to zero. "I'll direct traffic around your vehicles while you settle up," Doug said.

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*** The crash from the truck threw Cori back against her headrest. For a split second she remained still, waiting for the stars in her eyes to clear. After flexing her arms, legs, and rotating her neck, she opened the car door. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the truck door fly open. A man in a police uniform hopped out. A very angry man. A very familiar, angry man. Oh, no, not Tucker! Only three days had passed since they'd run into each other. This wasn't working out the way she'd hoped. Her nerve endings tense, Cori leaned against her car and braced herself for the scathing words that were sure to come. One didn't mess with men and their cars without suffering the consequences. As Tucker walked toward her, his steps sure and slow, Cori nervously licked her lips. Despite the tense situation, she found him disarmingly handsome in his uniform. The fabric of his shirt stretched tautly across his chest, and the jaunty angle of his wide-brimmed hat added to his appeal. Just as she'd fantasized about him when she'd thought him a crook, Cori could visualize female criminals lining up, eagerly surrendering themselves into custody. Tucker touched his finger to the brim of his hat and nodded. "Ms. Latham. Are you injured?" He towered over her, ramrod straight, and Cori gazed into those hypnotic eyes of his, so fascinated she almost forgot his question. Growing uncomfortable under his probing gaze, she found her voice. "Thank you, I'm fine. How about you? Were you hurt?" "I'm fine, but I think we've had this conversation before." Her gaze flew to his neck, and remembering how she'd fought him, she winced. She hadn't realized that she'd left such angry red marks. Cori tentatively raised her hand, then stopped short of touching him. Much like it was taboo for baseball players to touch an umpire, she sensed one didn't lay an uninvited hand on a policeman. "I'm sorry about your neck." She stared at the vicious red welts. "And your split lip, too," she whispered, her gaze lingering on them. Her velvety soft voice and the tender look in her eyes threw Tucker off balance. With an exaggerated thoroughness learned from his job, he let his gaze skim over her. Her sun-streaked hair tumbled to her shoulders, and there was a sultry fullness to her lips. A tan trench coat hid her figure, but the memory of her soft body trapped beneath his was still fresh in his mind. She looked the picture of health to him, but his police training had prodded him to inquire about injuries. Tucker watched the thickness of her lashes as she looked down at the street. Undercurrents charged through him. To banish them, he turned and surveyed the damage to his truck. The sight tempted him to ask her if she had something personal against him or if it was just men in general, but determined to keep his temper under control, he paused and counted to ten. "Why the blazes did-" Tucker stopped. He heard the exasperation in his voice and counted to ten again. He'd vowed to remain professional, but Cori Latham made that a very tall order. She irritated, riled, and infuriated him. And she sent his blood boiling in a direction he knew had little to do with anger. Cori sensed Tucker was a thread away from erupting. Small wonder after the havoc she'd wrought on him. Defensive lineman weren't known for their tranquillity. Aggression was their trademark, and the mulish set of Tucker's chin confirmed it. Under his prolonged scrutiny, she grew warmer and more uneasy by the second. "Excuse me, Ma'am," Tucker said evenly, "would you please tell me why you stopped in the middle of file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (167 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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the street?" "Two reasons." "Only two, you say?" Cori didn't miss his mocking inflections, nor the slight upward curve of his lips. Her immediate reaction was to snipe back at him, but she did her best to suppress it. After all, she'd given him cause to be upset, and he was handling it remarkably well. "A dog ran out in front of my car. See, there he is, over there." Tucker followed the direction in which she pointed. A young boy was hugging a golden retriever. "And my car was acting up. The gauge said it was overheating." Tucker blinked. She'd stop in the middle of the road for that? The dog, he could understand, but to stop for just overheating? It would be so tempting, so logical, to make a smart remark. But no, he wouldn't. "May I see your license and registration, please?" Entranced, Tucker watched the graceful glide of her walk as she fetched the documents from her car. With a toss of her head, she gathered her license and registration, walked back to where he stood, and handed them to him. At the accidental brushing of his fingers against hers, she softly gasped, then pulled away as if jolted by a spark. Tucker felt something, too. Damn, he was in worse shape than he thought. He'd never let a woman with whom he was dealing professionally distract him before. By sheer will, he forced himself to concentrate on her license, noting she was twenty-eight years old and weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. From out of the blue came the maddening memory of how delightfully distributed those pounds were. And her fresh-scrubbed, innocent face belied her age. "Look," he said, "neither of us has enough damage to our vehicles to warrant informing our insurance agents-" "Are you sure?" Cori interrupted. "I'm sure." He pulled his lip into a thin line. Even if he'd been able to label it as her fault, he'd just as soon take care of it himself. One more encounter with her could prove fatal. He took a pad from his pocket and started writing. "What are you doing?" "Writing a citation to myself." It would serve as a reminder to avoid the woman and her car at all costs. "Under the circumstances, the dog and all, you had good reason to stop, and it was my responsibility to avoid the vehicle in front of me." If he was smart, he'd avoid her altogether, least that's what his mind told him. Damned if his body didn't have something else to say. Tucker stared at her upturned face. "There's a service station one block down. They can check out your car. We'll follow you there in case it acts up." "Thanks." As she reclaimed her documents, a breeze blew a tendril of her hair across her face, and she brushed it aside. Even though she wasn't technically wrong, Cori felt responsible for the accident. "Your truck looks brand new." "It is." Oh, dear. She'd really committed a major gaffe. As he stared at her from under the brim of his hat, lines of irritation fanned out from his mouth. Their gazes met and, just like before, a bristling tension hung between them. No doubt if Tucker possessed a hit list, her name was sure to be on top. "Surely, there's something I could do." "Look, Ma'am-" "Cori. Call me, Cori." file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (168 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Look, Cori. I figure since you've attacked me and my truck you'd be doing me a favor if you just left us alone." Tucker bit back a curse. The woman was like an itchy burr in his side. She was a jinx. A bloody jinx. Tucker saw her tense. Dang it all, he'd offended her. That was the trouble with women. They were too sensitive. You had to be careful what you said and how you phrased it. "Why lieutenant," Cori finally answered him, "I've no more desire to get in your way than you have mine. Maybe I should buy a car phone and notify you and the police where I am ahead of time." Damn, but the lady had a caustic tongue, and her idea, appeal. "Are you done?" "Yes." Tucker saw green flecks of fire in her eyes. "Look, Cori. I'm sure you'll agree that it would be much better if we didn't run into each other again." Not exactly true, Tucker mused. It'd be safer, not better. She was the most vexing woman he'd met, and damn if he wasn't intrigued by her. Even in the heat of their battle three nights ago he'd been attracted to her. Cori looked up into his incredible black eyes and nodded. The less they saw of each other, the less chance there'd be for him to discover who she was. And he certainly was being magnanimous about the damage to his car. "By the way, I called your mother, and I'm glad to hear she's feeling better." When he looked blankly at her, she said, "The other night. You said you took her place babysitting because she wasn't feeling well." Tucker suddenly remembered his mother telling him that she and Cori Latham had become good friends at church. No matter where he turned, it seemed he was destined to run into the widow Latham. Growing more aware of the closeness of their bodies, Tucker tipped his hat and forced himself to walk back to his truck and slide behind the wheel. He had to leave. Before he said or did anything he might regret. Before the fierce surge of emotion bottled up inside of him exploded. Before he recklessly disregarded his own warnings and pulled Cori Latham into his arms. He had to leave. *** Cori systematically cleaned up the examination cubicle and organized her instruments. Her next hygiene patient wasn't due for fifteen minutes. Over the past few days while at home or at work, she managed to block out thoughts of Tucker, but idle moments such as this conspired against her. She had tried to pretend he was a figment of her imagination, but the reality of Tucker had a habit of smashing through her delusions. There really wasn't anything to worry about. It was one of those skeletons best kept in the family closet. If only her conscience would let her... "I wasn't driving the truck, Sir, and you and your daughters know it." Cori shivered. Tucker's fourteen-year-old denial still held the power to give her goose bumps. "Cori, got a minute?" Startled, she dropped a scaler and it clattered to the floor. Appalled by her unprofessional behavior, she stooped to retrieve it while Tucker's words still resounded through her head. Swallowing back her apprehension, she popped out of her small room and faced Judy, Dr. Baker's dental assistant. As her next

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hygiene patient hadn't arrived yet, she had time to lend a hand. "Sure, Judy, what do you need?" "An emergency walked in about ten minutes ago. I just finished taking x-rays - suspected abscess." Cori winced, sympathizing with the patient. Abscesses could be painful. "I need to develop this film, and the guy's in agony. Could you prep him with a topiary, fill the needle with novocaine for Dr. Baker, and put him on nitrous to relax him?" "Sure thing." Cori whipped on her plastic gloves, gathered up the topiary, the bottle of novocaine, and a sterile needle. Her mask hung loosely around her neck. As she entered the cubicle, she saw the outline of a man in the chair and suntan trousers. She walked up to the patient. "You!" Tucker's voice bellowed through the tiny room and out into the hall. He sprang up from his prone position. "Tucker! I mean Lieutenant!" Cori jumped backwards, every bit as startled as Tucker. A million pieces of information simultaneously processed through her brain. As Tucker's appointment hadn't been scheduled, she'd been unaware he was a patient of Dr. Baker's. "Hold it right there." His hand grabbed the wrist of her hand holding the needle. As if computing information, his eyes widened in astonishment. "You're Dr. Baker's assistant?" "Hygienist." He stared incredulously at her. "Since when? I was here six months ago." "Eight weeks." His powerful hand surrounded her wrist like a steel band, and his black eyes held her captive. "I started here eight weeks ago, just after school opened in September." It had been an ideal situation. Dr. Baker was looking for someone part time, and that suited her fine. She was home whenever Kevin was home. Looking like he faced a firing squad, Tucker released her wrist and sat forward, the white bib around his neck coming loose. His gaze made a systematic sweep of her uniform. He pointed a finger at her. "I'm outta here. You're not coming within a country mile of me with that needle in your hand." "But your abscess-" "Forget the abscess." He swallowed an expletive, making it abundantly clear that he didn't cotton to being within fifty feet of her. By the way he held his left hand to the left side of his jaw, she could tell he was hurting. "But lieutenant, you're in pain." "And I have the sneaking suspicion that if I stay here with you and that ..." he pointed to the syringe in her hand, "I could be in more pain than I bargained for." Cori looked at his unsmiling face. At least there wasn't a scowl on it. That was progress, she supposed. She flicked her wrist and checked her watch. "My patient is due. I'll leave. Just stay put. Judy will take care of you." "I'd appreciate that." He looked at her through those damned long lashes and eased further back into the chair. The harsh lines on his face faded into a smile, the first smile she'd witnessed. Like the way he drawled his words, the smile had been slow in coming, and it left her breathless. It's magnetism drew her to him as if she were caught in a spell. She could feel her mouth begin to curve upward in response. "No offense, Ma'am-" "Cori." "Cori," he repeated. "Under the circumstances, you and me-" "I understand," she said brushing aside his apology. They were like little kids, constantly fussing at one file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (170 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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another and forever apologizing. She set down the needle, novocaine, and topiary on the tray. "Sorry for jumping on you." "Look, Lieutenant, it's okay-" "Tucker. Everyone around here calls me Tucker." "Your friends do, I'm sure." "I'm not a discriminating person. My enemies are welcome to use it, too." Tucker watched her stretch across him to refasten his bib. He caught a whiff of her perfume, gardenias, prompting memories of corsages and proms, but the memory faded rapidly. The fabric of her uniform pulled across her chest, outlining the rounded curves of her breasts, only inches from his face. He had only to lean forward and lift his head. The direction of his thoughts was far from gentlemanly. Fighting off his turbulent emotions with rock hard will, Tucker gritted his teeth and clasped the arms of the chair with his hands until his knuckles turned white. The pain in his mouth vanished, supplanted by a new ache that throbbed deep in his lower body. He was dying inside. Dying. And he was crazy to have insisted she go. Certifiable crazy. But if she didn't leave soon, he'd surely turn blue with embarrassment. When she finally straightened up and left the room, Tucker let out a long, tortured breath. Far from composed, Cori dashed back towards her room, passing Judy on the way. "Was that Tucker I heard bellowing?" Judy asked. "Yes. He has an aversion to needles." "Tucker? Not Tucker. He wouldn't let a little thing like a needle scare him. He'd eat nails first." Cori reflected on what Judy said. Perhaps a more accurate statement would have been an aversion to people named Cori Latham. He seemed to have formed a dislike for her, which she could understand, and though Cori tried to return his dislike, she found it impossible to sustain. Somehow she was strangely drawn to him. Maybe it was compassion born from guilt over what her family had done to him. "Well, what'd you think of Tucker Malloy?" Think of him? Apparently, Judy didn't know how often they'd met. "Isn't he the sexiest thing you've ever seen?" Judy exaggerated her drawl. He was sexy, all right. A dangerous combination of charm, craggy good looks, and an exceptionally fit body. One look at Tucker's brawny physique and handsome face, and Cori didn't doubt for a second that every female in Enterprise was smitten with him. Random thoughts spilled through her. Maybe he had a wife. She hadn't seen a ring, but- "Is he married?" "Tucker, married?" Judy broke out into a five alarm grin. "Lucky for us he's still on the market. Not that every woman within a radius of ten miles hasn't tried." Cori imagined there wasn't a shortage of females chasing him. She hadn't acted much better herself, the way she was drawn to him. She didn't want to be, but she didn't seem to be able to help herself. "I don't think he's ever been married," Judy added. If he hadn't married when he returned to Enterprise, Judy probably was right. Cori knew for a fact he'd remained single during his football days. When the press got tired of speculating about Tucker and his alleged misuse of alcohol, they started pairing him with movie starlets and models. He'd led a glamorous life, but he'd tempered it with clean living and a high profile in volunteer work. "I suppose he hasn't met the right woman." Dumb comment, she silently chastised herself. He'd met one woman he'd thought right for him, and what had that gotten him. "Rumor says that Darlene Johnson has the inside track to Tucker's heart," Judy remarked. file:///D|/STORAGE/Brighteyes%20FTP/UPLOADS/E...s/Sylvie%20Kaye/Never%20Dare%20a%20Cowboy.htm (171 of 173) [11/11/2007 6:39:28 PM]

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"Darlene Johnson?" Why did that piece of information fail to buoy her spirits? She should be greatly relieved to hear he was otherwise occupied. It would keep him out of her hair. Her life, as well. "Waitress at the Copper Kettle Cafe not far from the police station," Judy explained in answer to Cori's frown. "They serve the best ribs in town." Cori looked at the counter in the hall and picked up the chart of her next patient. "I didn't manage to do anything you asked me to." "No problem. I'll take care of him. It'll be my pleasure." Cori returned to her room, readying it for her expected patient. She took in a deep lungful of air. It'd been only a week since Tucker had crashed into her car. Three Tuckerless months in Enterprise and then bingo. Three encounters within ten days. So much for her idiotic notion that she wasn't likely to cross his path. They couldn't turn around without bumping into one another. Factor in their mutual friendships with Janie and Doug Foster, and Tucker's mother, and it was hopeless. One way or another they were bound to become acquainted. Acquaintances didn't need to bring up their past histories, did they? Her secret ought to remain safe. But the air between acquaintances didn't sizzle with electricity, either. There was some kind of incendiary chemistry going on between them, and she sensed Tucker felt it, too - that he was fighting it every bit as much as she was. She hoped he won. She sure wasn't having much success at it. *** Relief swept through Tucker as he left the dentist's office. Though his shift had been over before he'd come, he still had some paper work to finish. The moment he made it back to the police station, they were waiting for him, lined up like a regular receiving line. "Ah, so you're back," Chief Mason commented, raising a bushy, white eyebrow. Tucker observed the know-it-all gleam in the chief's eye, and he nodded in answer. "How's the tooth?" Doug asked. "I'll live," Tucker curtly replied. "Anything unusual going on at Dr. Baker's?" Doug asked. Tucker glared at Doug. "You knew, didn't you? Doug could barely keep from laughing. "I told you, she and Janie are close friends, so I couldn't help knowing where she works, and that it just happens to be your dentist." "You could have warned me." "Could have. Didn't. Last time I looked you were a big boy, Tuck. I figured you could take care of yourself." "That woman is lethal." Tucker arched a brow. "Your shift was over an hour ago. What are you doing here?" "Same as you, getting caught up." Tucker knew better. Dedicated as he was, Doug rarely hung around the station this long. Patrolman Floyd Jernigan, sidled up to him. "Speaking of lethal, I heard you busted a big time prowler the other night." "Bug off, Floyd." Tucker scowled. Floyd was always days late getting his information. Tucker walked toward the docket room, then swung around to face Doug. "Janie works part time in real estate, doesn't

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she?" When Doug nodded, he continued. "Do you suppose she could convince Cori Latham to put her house up for sale?" He curled his lips into a quirking grin. "Aw, Tuck, give her a chance. You've just run into a string of bad luck with her." "You can say that again. This town was a whole lot more peaceable two weeks ago. "And she's been here three months now. Count yourself lucky you've only been under the gun for two weeks." Remembering the car phone she'd suggested a few days ago, Tucker thought of a better alternative and grinned. "I don't suppose we could assign a squad car to keep her under surveillance. I sure wouldn't mind knowing where that woman was at all times." He watched the Chief shake his head in response. "I didn't think so. Too bad. You'd be doing the whole community a service to keep tabs on her." "No can do," the Chief replied. "Course if you want to tail her when you're off duty-" "Watch what you're saying, Chief," Tucker joshed. "The less I see of her the better." "All right, men. Conversation's over," Chief Mason gruffly announced, seeing that the other officers had no intention of dropping the subject. "And some of you owe Doug and me a beer." Tucker's head shot up, and he called out across the room. "You were betting on me?" "The others bet you'd hightail it out of that office the minute you confronted Ms. Latham, but Doug and I, knowing you to be a man of valor, bet you'd stay." "Appreciate the support," Tucker grumbled. He rifled through his desk drawers, rose and walked out of the room. Floyd approached the Chief. "How'd you two know that Tucker would stick it out?" "Comes from knowing him all his life," the Chief answered while Doug nodded agreement. "But the man's not out of the woods by any means. He's in deep trouble." "Trouble, sir?" "Trouble, Floyd. He's smitten. Never thought I'd see the day." "But he doesn't even like her," Floyd insisted. "You don't say," the Chief glibly replied. "Tucker's had plenty of women friends, Chief." "This one's different. Mark my words." Return to Table of Contents

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