Книга - Boot Scootin’ Secret Baby

Boot Scootin' Secret Baby
Natalie Patrick


Bundles of JoyBULL-RIDING EX?-HUSBAND…Alyssa Cartwright was still married to the sexiest cowboy on the rodeo circuit, though Jacob "Cub" Goodacre thought she'd had their marriage annulled. But while Cub assumed she was ending their marriage, Alyssa was giving birth to his child!MEETS THE SWEETEST LITTLE COWGIRL IN TOWN.Cub didn't know anything about being a daddy, especially not to the two-year-old beauty who'd laid claim to his oversize cowboy boots. But one smile from his newly discovered daughter was all he needed to become an instant family man. Now all he had to do was convince Alyssa that he was husband material!A dimpled, diaper-clad darling proves to be just what this couple needed!







“My boots!” (#u416317cc-a495-5767-b5a2-de1a8d09e891)Letter to Reader (#u1f89c6b7-b270-53c7-a55d-de17d80dfaf3)Title Page (#ua6d73481-41ce-51bd-af69-6e7abd316ea1)Letter to Reader (#u38f2a9a5-50e3-56da-bdb4-168acd08dd22)Prologue (#u78c565d1-df6f-5176-aee8-ec4c23ed19dd)Chapter One (#uf8754db3-d502-5255-825b-73710169a004)Chapter Two (#u01da41b0-f759-5db3-ab56-e6a40517b426)Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“My boots!”

Jaycie burst through the doorway, thundering to the rescue of her prized cowboy boots.

Cub gaped at the small girl. He looked as stunned as if he’d been kicked in the head by a bull.

Alyssa met his gaze. “Congratulations, Cub Goodacre, you’re a father.”

All but one corner of his mind went numb. He didn’t know the first thing about children. He was a cowboy, damn it. No way could he be a—

“A what?”

“A father,” she repeated.

“My boots!” The toddler strained pudgy fingers toward the boots in his white-knuckled grasp.

“You mean this is—”

“Mine!” the child demanded.

“Yours,” Alyssa declared.

Joy rose to mingle with a pain so fierce it registered as heat in Cub’s chest. Despite the sudden stirrings of parental emotion, something in him shuddered.

A life-scarred loner like him had no business being a father....


Dear Reader,

This month, Romance is chock-full of excitement. First, VIRGIN BRIDES continues with The Bride’s Second Thought, an emotionally compelling story by bestselling author Elizabeth August. When a virginal bride-to-be finds her fiancé with another woman, she flees to the mountains for refuge...only to be stranded with a gorgeous stranger who gives her second thoughts about a lot of things....

Next, Natalie Patrick offers up a delightful BUNDLES OF JOY with Boot Scootin‘Secret Baby. Bull rider Jacob “Cub” Goodacre returns to South Dakota for his rodeo hurrah, only to learn he’s still a married man...and father to a two-year-old heart tugger. BACHELOR GULCH, Sandra Steffen’s wonderful Western series, resumes with the story of an estranged couple who had wed for the sake of their child...but wonder if they can rekindle their love in Nick’s Long-Awaited Honeymoon.

Rising star Kristin Morgan delivers a tender, sexy tale about a woman whose biological clock is booming and the best friend who consents to being her Shotgun Groom. If you want a humorous—red-hot!—read, try Vivian Leiber’s The 6’2”, 200 lb. Challenge. The battle of the sexes doesn’t get any better! Finally, Lisa Kaye Laurel’s fairy-tale series, ROYAL WEDDINGS, draws to a close with The Irresistible Prince, where the woman hired to find the royal a wife realizes she is the perfect candidate!

In May, VIRGIN BRIDES resumes with Annette Broadrick, and future months feature titles by Suzanne Carey and Judy Christenberry, among others. So keep coming back to Romance, where you’re sure to find the classic tales you love, told in fresh, exciting ways.

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3




Boot Scootin’ Secret Baby

Natalie Patrick







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


NATALIE PATRICK believes in romance and has firsthand experience to back up that belief. She met her husband in January and married him in April of that same year—they would have eloped sooner, but friends persuaded them to have a real wedding. Ten years and two children later, she knows she’s found her real romantic hero.

Amid the clutter in her work space, she swears that her headstone will probably read: “She left this world a brighter place but not necessarily a cleaner one.” She certainly hopes her books brighten her readers’ days.







Dear Reader,

Ah, the terrible twos. I remember them well—from my children’s toddlerhood, not my own. Me? I’m sure I was every inch an angel, unlike little boot scootin’ Jaycie Goodacre. Cub and Alyssa really have their hands full with that one, and I wish, as an experienced mom, I could give them some sage advice.

But honestly, I don’t recall either of my children being any more “terrible” at two than at one or at three or what have you. Maybe I’m seeing things through a sentimental haze—or maybe by comparison to their current preteen years, I have come to appreciate the open curiosity, the unbridled enthusiasm, the strident quest for self-determination...and the long afternoon naps of my children’s toddler days.

So, I think in the end the only advice I would give Alyssa and Cub is to love their child and each other and to savor these times—because before they know it, Jaycie will be asking for the keys to Daddy’s brand-new pickup truck!







Prologue

To Jacob “Cub” Goodacre

Whereabouts: Unknown

Dear Cub,

Come home.

Didn’t you swear to me that when you’d won enough money bull riding to buy a ranch and settle down, you’d be back? Almost three years have passed since then, Cub. Your riding has made you darned near a legend. So, when will you come home?

I need to see you again. I need to look you in the eye and say the thousand and one things that I’ve stored in my heart since that horrible argument. A thousand things that can be distilled to only two—I love you, Cub Goodacre, and goodbye.

For so long I wanted you to come back so we could try to work things out. I can no longer hope for that. I’ve moved on with my life.

Though I realize I will always love you in that wild, intense way that so suits a reckless cowboy like you, I have to let go of the dream that we could ever become equal partners in a relationship. I want nothing less than that and you want—well, you want what you want.

You wanted someone to shelter and protect, someone to take care of. I wanted the chance to become my own person, a person respected for her hard work, intelligence and generous heart.

I am that person today. I’m a new woman about to begin a whole new life, to take another chance at making it on my own. And in a funny way—funny in that way that could almost break your heart—you. Cub, did help me to become this confident woman, ready to take on the world.

My one regret is that you don’t even know about the source of my inspiration, our two-year-old daughter, Jayne Cartwright Goodacre, or Jaycie as we all call her.

No. I take that back. I refuse to go into this new and exciting phase of my life with any regrets holding me back, tying me to you. That’s why I wish you would come back, for closure and so I can let you know about the precious life our brief love created.

Yes, I tried at first to contact you, to let you know about your child. I tried desperately. But you had taken to the rodeo circuit like fire through a dry patch. I had always just missed you and you just kept moving on. I knew when I did finally manage to get through to you and you returned my letters unopened that you were trying to pay me back. If you had just opened one of those letters you might have forgiven me and we might...

But that time has passed. I don’t want your forgiveness anymore. I don’t need it.

On the day of Jaycie’s birth, I only had to look in her eyes to know it was time to stop living for a man who simply wasn’t there for us and start living for myself, my daughter and our future.

What will I tell our daughter when she is old enough to ask about her father? I think this, Cub—that her father was a good man with a great capacity to love but a very narrow definition of what that meant. A man who did not understand that one partner could not grow tall and strong if always in the protective shade of the other partner. He thought he could save me from my own mistakes—and that was the biggest mistake of all.

What will I tell myself each evening when I kiss our baby good-night and climb in bed alone? That I am strong and smart and do not need you or anyone to smooth my path for me. I can make my own way and be a proud example for our child.

Alyssa Cartwright scrawled her name across the bottom of the page, then laid her pen aside and slumped back in her chair.

She blinked to clear the dampness from her eyes. She would not cry. This was a time for celebration, not tears. Tomorrow marked her very own independence day.

Slowly, she turned the pale yellow paper over to admire the other side, her first PR job for her new partnership with Crowder and Cartwright, Western Management Company. Yes, it had been a publicity flyer for her parents’ famous kick-off party for the Summit City Rodeo Days. But then, how better to prove her skill than by satisfying the people who doubted her capabilities most?

Both Yip and Dolly Cartwright had agreed that this was the very best flyer, bar none, ever done to announce their enormous barbecue. Of course they felt that way; not because their daughter had done the work, but because she had used their granddaughter, their pride and joy, as the model.

Alyssa swept one fingertip over the adorable picture of her baby, stroking the big black hat on Jaycie’s head. Her finger skimmed over the bandanna that fell over the baby’s bare chest and round belly, then brushed over the white diaper with cowboy-gun pins holding it up. Then she reached the boots. Cub’s boots.

He’d left those boots behind the day he, for all intents and purposes, walked out of their marriage. Alyssa traced the outline of the boots right down to the nick in the heel, the nick he’d asked her to have repaired. Asked? Make that told—just like he told her everything.

“I went in with Price Wellman and bought us a ranch,” he told her the day they’d arrived back from their short honeymoon. Then he’d said, “I’ve rented us a house to stay in until the deal goes through and we can build our own ranch house.”

Two months later, he told her, “Price got busted up bad in a bull-riding wreck. He can’t throw in with us on the ranch.”

What Alyssa had seen as an opportunity for her to contribute to the marriage and to Cub’s dream he had seen as another time to tell her how he saw things. “No wife of mine will have a job in town, especially not waitressing for love-starved cowboys. A good bull rider makes good money, darlin’. I know I promised I’d quit if you’d marry me, but looks like I got to take on one more season, maybe two. Then we can buy us a ranch outright and be set.”

She’d tried to tell him a thing or two, like the fact that she suspected she might be pregnant, but he didn’t give her that chance. She’d never stood a chance, for that matter, when Cub took her in his arms. They’d made wild passionate love that night and in the morning, he’d left a note telling her to get the boots repaired and saying he’d call later.

She wasn’t there to take his call, or any of his calls until he tracked her down at her parents’ home.

Alyssa shut her eyes to blot out the memory of the horrible argument they’d had then, of the terrible threat she’d made to nullify their marriage, the threat that led Cub to tell her one last thing.

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you and the good of our future. If you can’t see that, then I guess I’ve let you down. I guess you have a right to want to be rid of me. You do what you have to do. You get your rich, famous daddy to pull strings and get a paper that says our marriage isn’t real. I’ll abide by the law of it, even if I never accept it in my heart. And I will promise you this—I’m coming home to you, Alyssa Goodacre, coming home a success, worthy of a woman like you, or I ain’t comin’ home at all.”

The words rang just as clear in her mind as they had when he first spoke them, and cut just as deep. Alyssa swallowed hard and turned her attention to the picture again. Cub hadn’t come home and though she doubted he would ever show his face in Summit City again, some part of her hoped—

Well, why else would she use his boots on his daughter in an advertisement every rodeo rider haunting this part of the circuit would see? Why else would she pen her farewell to him on the back of one of those flyers?

She plucked the paper up from the writing desk and went out onto the balcony just off her bedroom.

The stars twinkled above in the black velvet of the South Dakota sky. The brisk wind thrashed at her hair. She drew in the crisp scent of late summer and gazed out at the bustling preparations still in full swing for her parents’ barbecue tomorrow evening.

Tonight, she thought, she still lived at home, still felt like the gangly child who could never learn the riding and roping tricks that were her parents’ stock-in-trade. Tonight she was still the girl who had one time disobeyed her father’s edict “Love any boy but a cowboy, marry any man but a rodeo man,” and had paid the price with her heart, her future and her self-esteem.

But come tomorrow that would all be behind her. Tomorrow, she would set herself on the path that would lead to success and financial independence. In a few months she’d have the money to move with her child into their own home. Nothing was going to stop her from building a terrific future. Especially not the past.

She lifted the paper; it cracked in the wind once, tore away from her fingers and went sailing into the night. She watched it somersault away, then whispered one last time the words she hoped her husband would someday hear, so she could finally close this chapter in her life. “Come home.”


Chapter One

Y‘all Come!

Summit County Rodeo Days Kickoff Celebration

Bar-B-Que

Yahoo Buckaroo Western Ranch and Rodeo

Museum

Home of legendary rodeo show people, Yip and

Dolly Cartwright

Cub Goodacre narrowed his eyes at the flyer taped in the grimy front window of the Summit City Feed and Grain. His gaze skimmed past the particulars of the event—he knew how to get to the ranch, knew the glorified “goat roast” raged from early afternoon until the big fireworks shebang just after dark. He also knew that the invitation, extended to any and all with a love of the rodeo and ten dollars to spare for a ticket, did not include him.

A fist seemed to grip at his heart and slowly it began to twist, tightening its searing hold with every beat For almost three years, he’d stayed clear of the Summit City Rodeo Days and the painful memories it evoked. Now fate and his long-left-empty dreams had dragged him right back here to the scene of his proudest triumph and greatest devastation.

He blew out a long puff of warm air through his nostrils. His gaze dropped to the caption below the photo in the center of the yellow paper.

“You bet your boots, I’ll be there, pardner!”

“Not me, kid,” he muttered to the pint-size cowboy wanna-be peeking from under a black hat. “So just keep your boo—”

He froze smack-dab in the middle of turning his back on his past and the invitation to ride hell-for-leather back into it.

My boots. His lips moved but no sound came. He leaned down to get a better look at the black leather and snakeskin boots they’d let some diaper desperado use as a plaything.

His boots. No doubt about it. He could tell they were his by the jagged notch in the right heel. He’d left those damaged boots behind the last time he’d left Summit City.

He set his jaw and clamped his hands on his hips. The cool fabric of his faded jeans chafed his legs as his senses pricked up. He inhaled the crisp fall air and glared at the boots until he almost expected to burn a hole in the paper.

This picture could be the work of only one person—the only person he’d trusted with his favorite boots, the same person he’d trusted with his heart. She’d kept both of them.

Her image flashed like heat lightning scoring through his thoughts. Despite the years and the world of hurt between them, he still pictured her as she looked on their first date. Her strawberry-blond hair, pulled back in a single thick braid, fell from the crown of her head to square between her shoulder blades. He could even see the faint freckles sprinkled over her blushing cheeks and the sincerity and adoration shining in her hazel eyes.

How quickly that adoration had hardened to accusation, he realized in one flickering moment. He hadn’t seen her face during their last, hateful argument, but he didn’t have to. He’d heard the depth of her disappointment with him, the anger he’d hoped to avoid by leaving as he did, coming full force through the telephone lines.

His blood pounded in his veins like the thundering hooves of a bull gone loco. Cub forced his gaze back to the taunting advertisement. His cheek ticked as he struggled to control any outward show of the wild rush of emotions spinning in his chest, fighting to kick free.

This poster, this picture, this personal hell of his were all the work of one woman—Alyssa Cartwright.

The fancy logo at the center bottom of the paper confirmed it. Crowder and Cartwright Western Management Company, with a local address.

This had to mean she still lived in Summit City—probably still lived under her parents’ roof, and under their thumb. And that meant she would probably show up at the rodeo.

I promise you this—I’m coming home to you, Alyssa Goodacre, coming home a success, worthy of a woman like you, or I ain’t comin‘ home at all. His own words jeered him from his callow past. He’d become a success by most men’s measure of the term, and now he’d finally come back to Alyssa’s home, but there was one thing he couldn’t claim. His time alone and a cruel trick of fate had taught him this: he was not now, nor could he likely ever be, worthy of the only woman he would ever ask to share his name. A man like him could only let her down and hurt her.

He hadn’t come back to Summit City to prove something to Alyssa, though that dream had died hard. He’d come here now to prove something to himself.

Cub thought of the two rides he had remaining before he walked away from the rodeo forever—provided he could still walk by then. He shifted his weight to his right hip, then winced at the lingering pain from his last punishing ride. Two rides, win or lose, stood between him and walking away from bull riding like a man. If he didn’t make those rides, he’d feel like a total failure. He’d failed as a son, as a protector, a champion, and a husband; he would not fail at the one thing he did right and that meant making those two rides.

Two rides. And Alyssa was going to be in the stands watching his next one.

How the hell was he supposed to concentrate with that on his mind and all these feelings he’d thought he’d buried churning up in his gut?

He couldn’t.

So, he had just ten days to either get that gal out of his system or buffalo her into avoiding the rodeo on the night he rode. That meant that one way or another he had to see his ex-wife—and he’d prefer to do it on his own terms. But how?

“Cub?”

The sound of his name shot through his cluttered thoughts, making him flinch. Jerking his head around, he found a young girl standing beside him on the sidewalk.

She smiled, cocking her head so that her stark yellow hair swung down to brush over her equally artificial-looking cleavage.

He racked his brain to think how he could know this pretty young thing. He’d had his wild days, for sure. His “every good ride deserves another” philosophy defined many a post-rodeo celebration. However, from the moment he’d laid eyes on Alyssa to this day he’d never done more than collect his winnings and drive on to the next rodeo—or back to see her, when they’d dated.

The brilliant sun warmed the broad back of his dark shirt. He searched his memory for any trace of this girl’s face but only one woman’s face had ever been etched in his being. Carved with a knife that cut so deep the scars would never heal, he thought, fighting down his gut response.

He forced his attention back to the breathless blonde. From the looks of her now, this girl couldn’t have been more than a teen in his own carousing days. And that was one line Cub didn’t cross.

On his own since he was sixteen, he knew how easily a young person, hungry for love and acceptance, might latch onto someone older, longing to connect for a week, a day, even an hour, just to pretend he belonged, that someone gave a damn about him. But the people hanging on the fringe of the rodeo cared only for themselves and the next good time; he had learned that the hard way himself with an older version of this gal.

He half winced at the anxious girl waiting so close that he could hear the rasp of her shirt against his sleeve with every heave of her breasts. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall meeting—”

“Oh, you don’t know me.” Her words rushed out like a brook undammed. “I’m a real big fan of yours. I recognized you by your hat.”

He touched his thumb and forefinger to the brim of his trademark hat. He’d spent his first prize money to have one like it custom-made in Austin, Texas—cattleman’s crown, Aussie brim—the kind that dipped down in front to always shade his eyes. He still had them made there, always in a deep smoked brown with a thin braided leather band, its ends hanging off the back just enough to whip in the air when he rode a killer bull.

“I was so excited when I heard you’d be riding here, especially since you haven’t ridden here in a while,” the girl gushed on. “But I knew you’d show up here to ride Diablo’s Heartbreak.”

At the mention of the bull he’d been dueling all season, Cub’s lips twitched into what passed for him as a smile. “Sounds like you are a fan.”

“How could I not be? I mean it’s so exciting how you and Diablo’s Heartbreak have been battling it out. One ride you show him who’s boss and the next he tosses you right on—”

“My assessment differs somewhat, ma’am. But I get your point.” He nodded his head, his jaw tight at the reminder that he had yet to really best the beast. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got unfinished business to attend to.”

“Oh.” She blinked as though she’d expected more. “Um, well, um, could you...could you sign this?”

He half expected her to offer her breast for his signature but when he glanced down he saw a flyer, just like the one in the window, and a pen thrust out toward him. He took the page and carefully lettered his name in his blocky penmanship that some cowboy once said looked like it had been spelled out with western cattle brands instead of written by a man.

“There.” He handed the flyer back to the woman, who clearly was not pleased.

Well, that was his lot in life—letting women down. He hadn’t been able to save his own mother from a life with an abusive no-account husband. He hadn’t saved his first lover from her self-destructive ways as a rodeo groupie. He’d meant to do better by Alyssa, thinking he’d spend his life sheltering and protecting her from the unpleasantness of the world, and he’d ended up letting her down, too.

The sun glared off the yellow paper as the woman dangled the flyer between them again. “I was thinking you could put the name of your hotel—”

He pointed at the flyer still snapping in the breeze. “Where did you get that?”

“They have stacks of them in the feed store.” She pointed with her thumb. “But, I thought maybe—”

“I know what you thought, darlin’ and I’m flattered,” he lied. In truth, he’d hardly heard a word she’d said and he didn’t give a damn anyway. Let her find some other cowboy’s buckle to polish. Or better yet... “Why don’t you find some local rancher to take care of you, darlin’, and not waste your time chasin’ after cowboys who won’t be here for you tomorrow?”

Her mouth gaped open in outrage. A sharp gasp expressed her fury with his suggestion.

He shrugged. “Well, do what you will. Like I said, I got unfinished business. Afternoon, ma’am.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode straight into the Feed and Grain to get himself one of the flyers that was going to be the undoing of Miss Alyssa Cartwright.

Ka-pow!

Gold, glittering sparks shimmered in the dusky sky. Alyssa tipped her head up, her lips rounded to join the crowd in one collective “Ooooh.”

It had been a great day, a perfect beginning to a terrific new life. She’d given out dozens of business cards and set up meetings with several potential clients. Through it all, she’d been charming, confident and professional, and had still gotten in some quality time with her daughter, who was now on the grandstand with her grandparents enjoying the show.

She shook back her hair, pleased with her new haircut and the way the glossy layers made her feel sassy and sexy for the first time since—

No. She’d promised herself she wasn’t going to think about Cub. This whole day had just gone too well for her to start dwelling on past failures, past mistakes.

A shrieking whistle pierced her stomach-clenching thoughts.

High, high up into the ever-darkening sky a rocket soared, casting a radiant yellow light on the upturned heads of the gathered guests. Across that sea of awestruck faces, someone was not focused on the sizzling light show overhead. Before the fiery blossom fizzled and sent spirals of white vapor plummeting downward, Alyssa caught a glimpse of movement. That one glimpse chilled her to her soul.

A hat, smoked brown, with a cattleman’s crown and Aussie brim—she’d swear she saw it. Her pulse thudded in her ears like a string of firecrackers exploding inside a metal drum. She strained to peer into the dimness, into the murmuring mass of people, but saw nothing. Had she imagined it?

She twisted one finger in her hair but the new cut refused to wind around and only lapped at her circling knuckle. With one deep breath, she squared her shoulders. Exhaling slowly, she patted her hands down her beige linen shortsuit as if needing a physical reminder that this was the new Alyssa Cartwright and she was totally in control.

Pheee-ueew! Another rocket whizzed skyward.

You’re imagining things, she told herself then trained her gaze on the brilliant red fireworks display. She gritted her teeth to keep from scanning the newly lit crowd once more in search of something logic told her she would not find. She tried to breathe steadily but the very air she dragged into her lungs felt the consistency of muddy water—and about as appealing. She tried to swallow. She tried to keep her eyes on the sky. Tried and failed.

“Aaahhh.” The crowd welcomed the next spate of flickering colors.

Alyssa turned and searched desperately for Cub Goodacre’s trademark hat with the anticipation of a shipwrecked sailor waiting for the shark’s fin to appear.

There. She saw it and then the outline of the wearer. It was Cub—and he was headed straight for her. In fact, he looked as if he would reach her any—

The light above faded, putting the whole scene in a blue-black shroud again.

Her pulse hammering, Alyssa turned on the heel of her ballerina flat. She had to get out of here. Yes, she had wanted him to come back, but not like this, just showing up. She needed more time. She needed to prepare herself. She needed to get out of there before he got to her.

“Excuse me,” she repeated again and again as she picked her way toward the house and safety.

Pop. Pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop.

Alyssa nearly leapt out of her skin with every earsplitting snap but she forged ahead. On the steps of the huge white house that looked a tacky tribute to Tara, Graceland, God and country, she relaxed enough to take one last glance back at the crowd.

No hat. No circling shark. She blinked.

A fountain of red and blue sparks shot upward, illuminating the view from the ground up.

No Cub Goodacre.

She exhaled and in doing so realized she’d held her breath so long and so hard, her chest actually ached to release it. How could she have let her mind play tricks on her like that?

Fear of failure, clear and simple, she decided. She had had her first taste of success today, known that this time she wasn’t going to crash and burn like she had in her last attempt to stand on her own. Then what should leap up and try to scare her into behaving like the old Alyssa? Only the image of her greatest failure as a daughter, a wife, and an independent woman—Cub Goodacre.

The very idea was laughable, really. Cub, here. On her parents’ ranch after three years without so much as a “Fare thee well or go to hell.”

She forced a chuckle through her dry throat, shook her head and turned to go inside.

Pshhheeeuw! Boom. Bang. Bang. A blaze of colors bloomed like enormous flaming parachutes opening against the star-strewn sky, bathing the scene below in a red and yellow glow.

Pppt...Pppt...Pppt...

“Hello, Alyssa.”

Pow!

“Cub!”

Alyssa shut her eyes, half hoping the mirage would fade.

Red shone against her lids with another burst above her. Even so, she could still see the image of a man in faded jeans so perfectly snug they could have grown over his lean thighs and tight calves instead of being bought from a rack. She saw in tantalizing detail the denim shirt, tailored to fit against the rock-hard torso tapering upward to shoulders so broad they made a woman lose herself in sweet dreams of safety and security—and lovemaking as wild as any bull ride.

She could even see the scar that trailed along his jaw to just under his chin. An old rodeo injury had given him that little souvenir, the damage leaving his voice perpetually husky, so that even when he asked someone to pass the sugar, it sounded like an indecent proposal.

She laid her palm across the open V above her breasts. Her skin felt damp. Her head swirled. No mere mirage could make her feel this way.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. He loomed real and dangerously sexy before her. Cub Goodacre was here in the flesh.

Glistening golden and tinged with red light, he stood on her doorstep. He pulled his hat from his head and pushed his long, blunt fingers through his closely cropped black hair. “Looks like a perfect night for a few fireworks, wouldn’t you say?”

After three years, he’d hardly changed at all. His body still looked as hard and exquisite as any marble statue, his face rough-hewn as any jagged piece of South Dakota Badlands. The glittering sparks reflected in the depths of his ice-blue eyes, made them seem bottomless and cold—yet lit by some distant incandescent fire.

She didn’t need to look long into those eyes to know that he was angry. Good, she thought, she was angry, too. She had three years of anger and disappointment and pain in her. If he expected to let her have it for what she’d done to him, well, he’d get as good as he gave—and then some.

This wasn’t the old Alyssa he was dealing with now. This was Alyssa the strong independent thinker. Alyssa the savvy, charming businesswoman. Alyssa the mother.

Her stomach lurched. Jaycie. She whipped her head around to make sure the baby remained in Yip Cartwright’s capable grasp before she turned to Cub again. The best defense is a good offense, she told herself, going on attack.

“You have some nerve showing up here, Goodacre.” She planted her hands on her hips, hoping her moist palms would not stain her linen outfit and give her nervousness away. “I’d ask you what you wanted but that might give you the impression I give a damn.”

He had no answer for that. Clearly, he hadn’t reckoned on meeting up with anything but the docile, doting girl she had once been. He studied her from beneath the sharp angles of his dark eyebrows.

Taking advantage of his hesitation, she decided to make a hasty retreat. Yes, she would have to see him sometime, and she would have to find a way to tell him about their child, but not here, not now. She lunged for the door but as her hand closed over the big brass door handle, Cub closed in on her.

The heat of his body pressed down over her. Her racing heart stilled as a shudder crept up her spine. The fervor of the crowd and the rumblings of the fireworks faded in her ears; her entire world narrowed to just this moment, just this man.

“Whoa there, Alyssa Cartwright.”

She tensed at the name, his veiled accusation of her betrayal in proclaiming their marriage a fraud. His callused palm closed over the soft skin of her hand, stopping her from opening the door.

“I didn’t come out here to be treated to a view of your backside.” Cub’s chest rose and fell. The scent of her hair, her skin, her nearness filled his lungs and his very being. He held it trapped inside him as he fought to keep his cool exterior. He clenched his jaw and lowered his voice to a rasping, bedroom growl. “Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy the view.”

It was no lie. The sight of Alyssa again startled his senses in ways he hadn’t thought possible. Her hair, her eyes, her willowy body aged into womanhood with a fullness and rounding like ripe fruit about to burst from its skin, all tempted him. He had no way to prepare himself for the reality of seeing her again, of being so close neither of them could move or even breathe without the other feeling it.

He had no way of preparing himself for the woman he now saw, full of grit and a grace under pressure he hadn’t suspected lurked beneath the blushing sweetness of her innocence. A woman who, it seemed, had no other response to him but scorn.

Something primal in him wanted to make her pay for that—not to hurt her, but to put things on equal footing between them.

“Listen, Goodacre.” She tossed back her hair, keeping her face forward. “One scream from me and you’re off this ranch on the next skyrocket.”

“Ain’t scared of that,” he murmured into the thick warmth of her hair. “I’ve ridden hotter things. Ridden ’em hard and fast, till I reckoned we’d both of us burn up from the heat and fury.”

He heard her pulling in a long, soft gasp and he smiled.

“Remember, Alyssa?”

Her spine went rigid. She turned her profile to him, her voice as dry as sparks when a knife scrapes flint, her words sharpened by her strangled emotion. “I remember, Cub. I also remember thinking I’d nearly drown in my own tears when I realized that for all its fire, that passion had only been a convenient lie.”

He should have seen that one coming, but he hadn’t. He knew she’d used his going back on the circuit to get herself an annulment—marriage under false pretenses, she said. But until this moment, he hadn’t understood that she thought that meant nothing they’d shared had been true or valid. The realization stuck low in his gut and sent searing pain through his entire body. A lie—that’s how she summed up what, for him, had been the pivotal experience of his life.

“I...I can’t have this discussion with you now,” she said.

The pleading in her tone, joined with the stark devastation he felt at learning how the woman who held his heart saw him, made him step back.

A liar. He’d been called worse but it had never sliced into his soul as Alyssa’s accusation did.

The lever of the door handle clicked quietly.

Somewhere behind them a band blared to accompany the frenzied finale to the fireworks show.

She pushed the door open. “Call the house tomorrow and maybe we can set up a time to talk.”

“No.”

“What?” For the first time, she turned to face him.

He forced his gaze to lock with hers. Don’t back down now, he told himself. He’d come here for a reason, to purge her from his system or at least ensure she wouldn’t be there to jinx his all-important next ride. Despite the pain just standing here caused him, he wasn’t about to go with that mission left unaccomplished. “We both know a busted-up bull rider like me ain’t good enough to be husband nor lover to a woman like you. No reason to pretend otherwise.”

Something flickered in the liquid pools of her hazel eyes. Her gaze denied his words but her lips did not.

He nodded and glanced down at his hat in his hand. “But I won’t be dismissed by you Alyssa. Not this time.”

“I never dismissed you.”

“No, you just had me annulled.”

Her straight white teeth sank into the glistening flesh of her lower lip. He kind of got the notion she wanted to say something, but didn’t have the courage.

Guess that meant she did need him, after all; she needed him to keep her from saying something her eyes told him she might regret. “You recall the last words you said to me, darlin’?”

She tilted her chin up but said nothing.

“You said, ‘If you can’t accept my help to support a ranch, then we aren’t partners. If we aren’t partners, then in my eyes we aren’t married and we never were. From this day out, you are not my husband, Cub Goodacre.”’

Alyssa’s gaze never faltered, though her voice did tremble as she said, “And do you recall your last words to me?”

“You know I do,” he forced the words hard through his teeth.

“You said you’d come home to me when you’d proved yourself worthy.” Moisture shimmered in her eyes but not a single tear fell, as if she willed them not to betray her. “If that’s why you’re here now, Cub, I have to tell you, too much has happened since you left. It’s too late.”

That’s exactly what he had wanted to hear. Why, then, did it rip at his heart so? His mind unable to settle on any one response, he pressed his fingers to the crown of his hat. The paper tucked inside crackled, drawing him back to his purpose and providing him something to focus on.

“I came because of this, Alyssa.” He reached inside the inner brim of his hat and withdrew the yellow paper he’d taken from the feed store. He pushed his hat down on his head, glad to have the brim dipped over his eyes again. He didn’t want to accidentally reveal anything to a woman who thought so little of him.

Slowly, he began to unfold the single page.

Alyssa’s peaches-and-cream face went pale. She studied the flyer as though she’d never seen it before—or maybe as if she had seen it and it somehow contained her greatest secret come back to haunt her.

He gave the flyer one firm shake, playing it up big for her sake. One corner of the page lifted and Cub shook it again to put the picture side to her instead of the blank side.

He shifted his hips, using the pain that movement caused to add substance to his voice when he thrust the photo of his boots in her face and said, “I came because when I saw this I realized that you have something that belongs to me.”


Chapter Two

He knows!

Heat flushed her face. The shuffling sounds of departing party-goers filled her ears. Shock stopped her breath cold in the back of her throat.

Her once fondest desire and now greatest fear had both become reality in one ruthless flash of paper. And it was all her own fault The picture she’d used to launch her new career had accomplished what three years of prayers and tears and searching could not.

Cub knew about their daughter. And now that he knew, everything she’d planned for her own future hung in jeopardy.

A thousand questions flew through her mind, none of them lingering long enough for her to form any clear conclusions. What did Cub want? He’d said no wife of his would work in town; she could only conclude that went double for the mother of his child. Would he fight her for custody now that she had chosen to pursue a career outside the home?

Her eyes darted to the creased picture of the precocious child with so many of Cub’s physical attributes and every ounce of his disposition.

Surely, Cub hadn’t come here to try to take her child. He wouldn’t do that. Her heartbeat slowed to a heavy, thudding knell. Would he?

She raised her chin and concentrated on looking self-confident. “I don’t think we should have this discussion without our lawyers present, Cub.”

“Lawyers?” The paper crumpled in his fist and he lowered his outstretched arm. “Why the hell would we need lawyers to talk about you giving me my boots back?”

“Boots?”

She batted her lashes, trying to make all the pieces fit. Cub didn’t know diddly—at least not about their baby. He’d come here to lay claim to a pair of sorry old sod-kickers, not his one and only flesh-and-blood baby.

Cocking her hip, she cupped one hand to her ear to compound her sarcasm. “Excuse me? But did you say...boots?”

“Yeah, boots.” He shifted his feet, a quick grimace passing over his features when he did. “Don’t try to deny they’re mine, Alyssa. The proof is in the picture.”

He held the photocopied flyer up again.

Alyssa pretended to skim the page but her gaze quickly fixed past the picture to its real-life subject. Jaycie, riding high on her grandfather’s shoulders, giggled and waved a merry “bye-bye” to the thinning crowd. Meanwhile, every stride of Yip Cartwright’s long legs brought them closer to a confrontation with disaster.

She did not have a minute to lose. She would tell Cub that she’d never gotten the annulment, that she wanted now to proceed with a divorce. And, of course, she’d tell him about his daughter, even make arrangements for the two of them to meet. Then, somehow, she’d find the strength to deal with the consequences of that meeting. But not now, not under these strained circumstances.

“You’re right, Cub, those are your boots.” She edged sideways drawing his gaze like enemy gunfire, away from her approaching child. “I’m sorry I used them without your permission, but it isn’t exactly like I could have gotten your permission if I had wanted it, now could I?”

“Well...”

“I mean, it isn’t like you wouldn’t have just sent my letter back unopened, right?” She took another sidelong step, keenly aware that her father and her daughter were getting closer by the second. “You sent back every letter that ever reached you.”

He glared at her, huffing hard through his nostrils as his lean cheek ticked in tightly reined anger.

Good, she thought. She might not have known Cub well enough to make a life with him, but she did know this: if she made it clear enough that she did not want him here, he’d go.

“I can’t believe that after all this time, you’d come way out here to pick and quibble over some beat-up old boots, anyway, Cub.” The night breeze lifted the layers of her hair as she spun on her heel and marched down the side steps of the brick porch. “It’s just too ridiculous. Why don’t I walk you to your truck and we can set a better time to talk?”

He did not follow her lead.

Her neck cramped as she twisted her head to cast a frosty look over her shoulder. “You did drive out in a truck, didn’t you? I don’t recall seeing a twin suspension, four-hoof-drive bull parked out—”

“The only bull around here, Alyssa, darlin’, is what’s pouring out of those pretty little lips of yours.” He planted his big boots at the top of the stairs and folded his arms over the fresh cotton of his shirt.

“Me?” She cursed the squeak of surprise in her forced response but thanked her lucky stars that was all that her voice betrayed.

One more long look at Cub, from the set of his custom-made hat down the length of his bull rider’s body, filled her with far more than astonishment. “I don’t know whether to be flattered that you think I’m suddenly so sly that I’d dare to match wits with an old bull artist like yourself or just angry at the fact that you won’t respect my wishes and let me walk you—”

“I ain’t a dog that needs walking anywhere, Alyssa.” Cub’s shirt rustled as he shifted his expansive shoulders.

Jaycie’s laughter drifted above the clatter of lawn chairs and the murmuring crowd.

Alyssa faced Cub, taking a step backward in hopes of coaxing him to follow.

“What I think,” she said, taking yet another small step, “is that this is neither the time nor place for us to talk.”

His lips twitched but he said nothing.

“Let’s get this little one to bed, Ma,” Alyssa heard Yip tell her mother, Dolly.

Drastic situations called for drastic measures, she thought. If she truly was a new woman, strong enough to stand on her own without Cub Goodacre, then she surely could be strong enough to stand up to him. “I’m not trying to walk you like a dog, Cub, but if you don’t stop being so stubborn about leaving, I may just grab you by your collar and run you off my ranch.”

The thin scar along his deeply tanned jaw and neck shown pinkish red in the moonlight as he tipped his head to one side. He didn’t smile, but amusement tinged his tone when he ran one finger along the side of his thick neck and said in a gruff whisper, “Is that so?”

Despite her anxiety, she couldn’t help noticing how his dark skin contrasted against the crisp whiteness of his stiff collar. Or how his sandpaper-and-velvet voice massaged her prickling nerves like warm fingertips over aching muscles.

“That’s so.” The answer lacked the conviction she’d hoped for but it got her message across. She wasn’t the guileless child he’d once known. She was the woman in charge.

Just over Cub’s shoulder, Alyssa watched Yip pause to strike up a conversation with someone just a few feet from the porch. Nothing she had tried worked, and any second now her father would move right behind Cub. Perhaps sooner, her daughter would see her and call out. She had to find another way to get Cub to leave before that happened.

“And now I suggest, Cub, that you—” Somewhere in the crowd, she heard her name.

Shelby Crowder, her new business partner, held up one hand to her.

“Who’s that?”

It interested Alyssa that she still had enough innocent dreamer left in her to convince herself she heard jealousy in Cub’s quiet question.

“That’s my...” She paused to lick her lips. Even beneath the cover of his hat brim, she saw a glimmer of an old familiar emotion in his eyes. He was jealous.

A flash fire of feelings singed her cheeks.

Cub’s face told her he saw her response.

“Your what?” he asked in a husky bass.

Don’t blow this, she told herself. Tomorrow when she was calm and prepared, she’d straighten everything out, until then...

“That’s Shelby Crowder.” She turned to wave back at the handsome red-haired man in the impeccable designer western clothes. When she faced Cub again, she’d puffed her confidence up to meet the enormity of the situation.

Smiling broadly, she told the only lover she’d ever had, the father of her beloved child, the only man who could turn her to jelly with a glance, the one thing that would get him off the ranch in a huff and a hurry. “He’s the man I’m going to marry.”

Alyssa had fallen in love with another man.

Cub dipped his hands into the cool water pooled in the gold-veined sink in his hotel bathroom. Streams of clear liquid slid between his fingers to trickle back into the sink as he lifted his cupped palms.

He swallowed a gasp as the cold water stung his face and icy droplets splashed onto his bare chest. But when he raised his gaze to confront the man in the mirror, he knew that nothing could wash away the grim reality etched in his features. Alyssa would become some other man’s wife and he would wear the pain of losing her for the rest of his life.

He snapped the hand towel from the rack, closing his eyes against the blinding whiteness of the morning sun gleaming on the white-tiled room. As he scrubbed the rough terry cloth over his face, the picture of Shelby Crowder haunted him.

Successful, handsome, well-educated, the solid type—everything Cub was not. Oh, Cub was solid, he supposed, solid with rock-hard muscles and a head to match. As for higher education? He had a couple advanced degrees by now from the school of hard knocks. He’d never been handsome and a few falls facedown in the dirt and one real good slam into an iron gate hadn’t prettied him up any.

Still, he’d always thought if he’d worked hard enough and achieved enough he could overcome those obstacles. He’d once believed that if he could earn enough to buy a little spread and take care of Alyssa comfortably he’d prove himself worthy of her love.

Today, because of his hard work and the fact that bull riding meant big money, he’d earned a tidy nest egg and then some. With bull riding’s corporate sponsorship, like tennis or NASCAR racing, these days a name rider drew six figures a year. And Cub wasn’t just a name rider, he was the name rider. He’d met that goal and then some.

And yet, Alyssa was marrying someone else and threatening to run him off her ranch, not even willing to speak to him without an appointment.

He threw the towel across the room.

Every muscle from his neck to his belly clenched as he fought back a wave of regret. Last night when she told him she was marrying again, he’d have given every damned dime he’d ever earned to go back to the last morning he’d woken up with that woman in his arms.

“And do what?” he asked the steam-blurred image in the mirror. The heel of his hand squawked against the glass as he swiped away a circle to see himself clearly.

He would still have left—to earn the money needed to buy a ranch. But this time, he’d wake his wife up to explain it all to her, to make her understand. He hadn’t done it the first time because he knew she’d be mad at him for breaking his promise. His life experiences had taught him that anger meant hatred, disgust, rejection. He hadn’t thought he could survive getting those things from Alyssa.

Besides, as the husband, wasn’t it his place to make the decisions? To do what he thought best for Alyssa? Her notion of getting a job in a local diner to pay the bills was an affront to his manhood—it was saying outright that he couldn’t take care of his own. He’d already been down that road in his life and he wasn’t going there again. So starting an argument about something he would take no argument over was just senseless.

And as soon as he’d left, her parents had rushed in to verify what she’d probably suspected all along—she’d made the biggest mistake of her life by putting her faith in him. Poor kid. His actions and the confirmation of her own parents had made her feel a total fool and a failure.

He dragged one knuckle over his freshly shaved cheek. They’d probably both be better off if he hopped in his truck and drove away right now, just forgot about Summit City Rodeo Days and the bull he’d come to do battle with.

He hadn’t protected her from unhappiness then, hadn’t been the man she needed him to be, beat-up as he was inside and out. He wasn’t any better now—worse, if you counted only the physical toll his profession had taken on him. No amount of money he made would change that fact.

But he wasn’t riding for money these days; he was riding for his own brand of honor—to go out on top and have something he didn’t walk away from when it didn’t want him anymore. And he was under contract to make those rides as part of a much publicized duel, five rides to see who was better, man or beast, scheduled almost a full year ago by a high-dollar sponsor. To walk away would mean financial ruin and public humiliation.

His future hung in the balance against those two rides. Alyssa Cartwright wasn’t going to take that away from him, too.

He dressed quickly and, just before he walked out the door, donned his trademark hat, pushing it down low over his eyes.

The hotel lobby bustled with rodeo people and the usual hangers-on. More than one lady with faded makeup from the night before and a look of rumpled satisfaction about her smiled at him. He nodded to them but did nothing to encourage any hopeful “buckle bunny” as they sometimes called the rodeo groupies. Despite that, one big-haired gal with gilded boots, leopard-skin fringe on her denim jacket and short skirt dashed up to him, her arms open wide.

He dodged left and what was surely meant as a big wet kiss on the lips glanced off his cheekbone.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he muttered, disguising a quick duck of his head as a nod.

“I can’t believe it. I kissed Cub Goodacre,” the woman cried to a gaggle of similarly dressed gals, who all hooted and high-fived her like teenaged boys in a locker room.

“It’s the hat.”

“What?” Cub jerked his head up only to find himself face-to-face with Alyssa’s fiancé.

“Your hat.” The man gestured with one finger toward his own bare head. “It’s a stroke of genius.”

“It is?” Obviously, he thought, narrowing one eye at the fellow who looked as if he’d just stepped out of some slick western-wear catalogue instead of off the range, Alyssa had snagged herself a loon.

“Of course it is, man.” He chuckled as if they were old pals sharing an inside joke. “Why, you walk into a room and everyone knows at a glance that Cub Goodacre has arrived. Heads turn, folks whisper.”

“Like to think that has something to do with my accomplishments, not my headgear.” He threw back his shoulders to give himself height. This man of Alyssa’s stood an inch or so over him and that didn’t make Cub like him one bit better.

“Your skill on the bulls is legendary, Cub...can I call you Cub?” He smiled.

Cub figured if a rattler could smile, that would be just about what it would look like.

“Great, Cub,” the man went on, seemingly taking Cub’s lack of any response as overture to everlasting friendship. “Now, as I said, your skills speak for themselves and that hat and the strong, silent cowpoke persona you’ve cultivated, well, they speak for your professional image.”

Cub didn’t like this fellow. Did not like him at all. “But let me ask you this, Cub, who speaks for you?”

“I speak for myself.” Cub flicked his hat up off his face with one sharp pop of his thumb and forefinger. “May not come out as gussied up and slick as your words, mister, but I’ve done fine so far.”

“Have you, Cub? Have you really?”

The false concern rang like a rusted cowbell in Cub’s ears.

“Do you realize,” the man rushed on, “that with your reputation and talent you are one hot property?”

How could Alyssa have fallen for this two-bit hustler? Something was not right about this. Still, Cub reminded himself, it wasn’t his place any longer to protect Alyssa from foolish choices. That was this fellow’s lookout now.

The man narrowed his eyes in presumed familiarity. “You know, my friend, if you would just capitalize more on your current celebrity, you could be a very wealthy man.”

Cub shook his head and started to walk on. “I do all right just as I am.”

The man stepped back to keep himself directly in Cub’s path.

“Oh, I’m well aware of your considerable winnings these past few years.”

“You are?” Cub stopped.

“Got the stats from the National Rodeo Riders Association and frankly, Cub, you are underutilizing your earning potential.”

“I am?” He didn’t want to listen but the weasel had him hooked.

“Let me tell you, with the proper management to get you endorsements, better sponsorship, maybe a spot in a country music video, next season, you could be pulling down at least twice what you made last year.”

“Next season?” Cub huffed out a humorless laugh at the notion. “I’m sorry, buddy, but—”

“Crowder.” He thrust his right hand out. “Shelby Crowder.”

Cub eyed the man’s offered hand. He didn’t want to accept the gesture but his lifelong cowboy way of doing things wouldn’t let him slight a man he held no founded grudge against. When his palm met Crowder’s he gripped it tighter than the reins on a ton of loco bucking bull.

To his credit, Crowder didn’t wince. He did ease out a little sigh of relief when Cub turned him loose, though. Then he dove right back into business. “Look, there’s no use beating around the bush, Cub. I’m fully aware of your past relationship with Alyssa and I want you to know...”

“Shelby? Cub?” Alyssa’s voice carried across the bustling lobby.

Both men paused and turned toward her. The sight put a rock in Cub’s belly. She was still as beautiful in the morning light as she had been three years ago. It wasn’t lost on Cub, though, that this morning her easy smile and the flush of her cheeks was for the man standing beside him, not for Cub. He stole a glance at Crowder from the corner of his eye.

Head bowed, the other man seemed far more intrigued by his pager than the woman approaching them. Weaselboy sure was taking this whole awkward situation lightly, Cub decided. If the roles were reversed and Crowder were the ex-husband, a stampede wouldn’t draw Cub’s eye from Alyssa. Something was not right about this at all.

He let his gaze swing from Crowder’s nonchalant attitude to the overly sweet, yet almost panicked expression on Alyssa’s face. Something felt definitely crooked about this relationship and Cub figured he knew a way to bring the truth to light.

“What in mercy’s sakes is going on here?” Whatever it was, Alyssa surmised in a heartbeat, it wasn’t likely to be good for her.

Last night, she’d sent Cub on his way before he could meet Shelby and discover her lie. She hadn’t even mentioned the wild story to Shelby because the whole thing was so embarrassing. Besides, she had intended to clear it all up when she spoke to Cub later today. Of course, she thought that would be much later today.

She stopped beside the two men waiting for her in the practical elegance of the hotel lobby.

Somehow, she’d always pictured Cub staying in cheap out-of-the-way motels, or perhaps even sleeping in his truck as he went from rodeo to rodeo. The lonely, desolate drifter stereotype certainly suited her image of him much better than thinking of him staying in the best hotels, the places swarming with buckle chasing beauties. She should have at least considered, she scolded herself, that a rider as successful as Cub would be at this hotel, where she and Shelby were meeting potential clients this morning.

“Have you two been chatting long?” she asked, gripping her spanking new briefcase over her western cut jacket. She hoped neither of them could hear that rapid thrumming of her heart hammering against the faux alligator case.

“Actually—” Cub very gently placed the point of his boot on top of her shoe, stopping the feverish tapping toe of her pump. “Your...friend, here, has been trying to sell me your management services.”

“My management services?” She blinked, struggling to imagine what Shelby had in mind, while her real attention drifted downward to the place where Cub’s foot touched hers. Such a simple thing and yet it sent a tingling heat surging upward through her body, making it difficult to concentrate on the conversation.

“Our management services,” Shelby corrected. “A client like Cub Goodacre could provide the kind of financial anchor we need for our business to stay the long course.”

“A client? Cub?” She clutched the case like a life preserver and gave a breathy laugh that didn’t fool a soul. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be interested in a small-potatoes management firm like ours. Would you, Cub?”

“Gee, I don’t know.” He stroked his chin, his eyes downcast as though he were truly considering it. “I was always partial to potatoes.”

Not funny, she warned with a glance, sensing he was up to something.

He lifted the toe of his boot from her pump, situating it so that the sides of their legs kept in contact.

Her entire body stiffened but she did not move away from the warmth of his nearness. “What I meant was, I don’t think we’re ready to handle Cub.”

His gaze met hers from under the shadow of his hat. He cocked one eyebrow and his mouth lifted on one side. “I don’t know, Alyssa, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have handling me.”

She wet her lips. Her fingers caressed the smooth, textured surfaced of her briefcase. “I’m...we’re not prepared for that, Cub. You’re just...too big.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

His husky growl rattled down her spine and created tremors low in her body.

The images and sense memories ambushed her from every direction. The musky scent of their shared bed. The golden light of the sunset streaming on their naked bodies that first time. The insatiable aching deep within her that only the hard, rhythmic power of this one man could ever slake.

A film of sweat dampened the back of her neck; her eyes could not quite focus on anything but Cub’s face, Cub’s incredible body. She swallowed and brushed her hair back with one limp hand.

“It’s...it’s not...bad,” she murmured. “Not bad. But—”

“Are you kidding? It’s terrific!” Shelby reached out to slap Cub on the back, but one cutting glare from under that hat brim made the taller man pause mid-gesture and settle for a light jab in the air. “It’s terrific. Does this mean you’ll consider signing with Crowder and Cartwright?”

“Hell, no.” It came more as a chuckle than a curse or an outright rejection.

“No?” Shelby ran one hand back through the waves of his dark red hair. “But can’t you see the advantages of—”

“Don’t push this, Shelby,” Alyssa whispered, hissing out every s through clenched teeth. “The man said no and that’s it.”

The look on Cub’s face told her that her new assertiveness took him by surprise. And she felt surprise in return that he did not seem put off by the change in her.

Buoyed by the moment of quiet personal triumph, she angled her chin up and straightened her arm to put her briefcase at her side. “We have clients to meet, Shelby.”

“Yeah, I suppose we do,” Shelby muttered. Giving Cub a terse nod, he added, “Nice to meet you, Goodacre. If you should have a change of heart—”

“Alyssa will be the first to know,” Cub finished for him.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she told Cub, hoping the air of aloofness would keep him from seeking her out before she was ready to deal with him.

“Guess you will, ” he replied. “Providing I ain’t too big to talk to you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and contemplated some scathing remark but the sharp, steady beeping of Shelby’s pager intruded.

“Good gosh, Alyssa, this is it.” Shelby spun on his heel and almost ran straight over her in his rush to get to the hotel door.

“Are you sure?” she asked, stopping his flight with an upheld hand. “Remember last time, it was just a desperate plea for Chinese food.”

“Oh, I’m sure all right. I mean she is eight days overdue already and—” He checked the beeper clipped to his belt, then put his hands on Alyssa’s shoulders to gently move her aside. “I can’t have this discussion now, Alyssa. I have to go.”

“But what about our meetings?” she asked her partner’s back.

“You can handle the meetings. I have complete faith in your abilities.” He reached for the silver bar handle on the swinging door.

“But what if I mess up?” Panic strangled her voice.

“You won’t.”

“But what if—”

“You won’t. You’ll do fine.” He shoved open the door and glanced back, a great, big, goofy grin on his handsome face. “I’m the one should be worried, partner. After all, it’s my wife about to have our first baby.”

A whoosh of air and Shelby was gone.

Alyssa’s fingers wound around the briefcase handle until her nails dug into her palm and her knuckles throbbed. What was she supposed to do now? Could she really get out there and pitch the business all by herself?

A wave of nausea hit her, her stomach churned like boiling oil and her skin grew cool and clammy. She did not want all this responsibility to rest on her shoulders just yet. She wasn’t ready and if she failed...

A big hand clamped down on her shoulder, disrupting her misgivings and misery.

Cub. He’d heard the whole exchange. Just when she thought things could not get any more complicated or any more difficulties crop up between her and her dream of independence, the man gently turned her to face him.





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