Love With a Perfect Cowboy Read online

  Vendors pushed food carts or set up kiosks, selling everything from burritos to barbecue to hot dogs to funnel cakes, peppering the air with a cacophony of scents—­roasting meats, garlic, onions, molasses, mustard, lard. Beverages were everywhere; water stations to prevent dehydration, beer kiosks for those so inclined, ice chests loaded with soft drinks, five-­gallon jug dispensers of tea and lemonade.

  Long picnic tables, covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, had been set up under a large canvas canopy. Cases of motor oil and gas cans were stored in a protective wooden hut. Brightly colored advertising banners fluttered in the breeze. In the wake of passing vehicles, sand swirled in gritty eddies.

  The Sul Ross students she’d hired were moving through the throng with cameras and a boom mike, filming everything.

  Yes, an impressive turnout, so far so good. Everything was running smoothly.

  Satisfied, she unclipped her cell phone from her belt and texted Luke. Let’s get this party started.

  Several hundred yards away, Luke stood on a small stage that had been erected the night before. He checked his phone, grinned at her, and picked up the bullhorn beside him. After welcoming the competitors, and thanking the event volunteers, he explained how the races were going to work and then he kicked off the first event.

  The morning passed in a flurry of activities as buggies jumped dunes, quads sped over the basin of desert flats, utility ATVs had winch tug-­of-­war challenges, and riders tried to see who could shoot up the highest rooster tails of sand. There were trophies for every event and prizes donated by local merchants.

  Melody spent her time troubleshooting and making sure everything stayed on schedule. They took an hour break at noon for Ricardo’s catered lunch that the entry fees had paid for. At one, they were ready to start the drawing for the side-­by-­side team races.

  She was anxious about this event. Would the Fant-­Nielson feud erupt as she feared, or would it, as Luke seemed confident, go off without a hitch?

  Luke went up onto the stage and used the bullhorn to urge everyone involved in the side-­by-­side races to gather around for the drawing.

  A circular lottery cage on a spindle filled with Ping-­Pong balls, and used to call bingo at the senior citizens center every Friday night, had been brought up onstage. There was also an oversized whiteboard on a stand with the names of the contestants written on it. Drivers were listed on one side, passengers on the other. Luke himself was entered in this event.

  “To make things interesting,” Luke said, “for this race, the two-­person teams in the side-­by-­side races will be selected by random lottery. You have no say in who your team member will be and you’re stuck with whomever the Ping-­Pong ball pairs you with.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Although the rules had been printed on the entry forms, some ­people had not bothered to read them.

  “Hey cuz,” Pete Nielson, one of Luke’s first cousins, hollered. “What if you can’t stand the person you’re paired with, like a Fant?”

  Melody’s muscles tensed and she knotted her hands into fists. How was he going to handle this?

  “Glad you asked that,” Luke said. “If you don’t like your partner, you can always disqualify yourself from the race.”

  “After I just souped up my new side by side? Not on your life.” Pete widened his stance.

  “Then if you draw a Fant as a teammate, I suggest you get along with him or her if you care about showing off that beaut of a machine.”

  “In hell.” Pete scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Any other questions?” Luke asked.

  There were a few minor questions about the rules, but no other Fant or Nielson protested the drawing.

  Melody blew out her breath. If that was the only ripple of dissent they had all day it would be a miracle.

  “Let the drawing begin.” Luke beckoned to Eloise, who climbed up onstage with him to man the lottery cage.

  She spun the cage, withdrew a ball, passed it to Luke.

  He announced the pairing, neither was a Nielson, Fant, or Greenwood.

  Melody pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. There were twelve drivers in total and Pete Nielson was one of them. Eleven more chances for disaster. How many potential brawls were in the offing? She ran her gaze over the passenger list, and that’s when she saw it for the first time.

  There. On the bottom. Number twenty-­four.

  Melody Spencer.

  LUKE GLANCED DOWN at the Ping-­Pong ball in his hand. There was no number on it indicating which ­people were to be paired up as he’d led the audience to believe. Instead, written in black Sharpie, just as there had been on all of the other balls plucked from the cage so far, Eloise had penned: “Foolhardy.”

  He’d managed to avoid pairing any of the feuding families together because he’d spent the better part of yesterday morning working out that strategy. There were two names remaining to pair with the final driver, other than himself. One of those names was Melody’s.

  He glanced out at the crowd, searching for her, and found her standing near the stage, arms akimbo, a stern expression on her face. Okay, he knew she was going to be ticked off that he’d entered her in the side-­by-­side rally without telling her, but it was all part of his plan.

  She caught his eye and slowly shook her head.

  He looked at the ball in his hand, glanced back to her.

  Don’t you dare, she mouthed silently.

  Luke grinned. “Deputy Calvin Greenwood, you’re paired with Eli Parker. Leaving me with Melody Spencer.”

  “Hard luck, cuz,” Pete called out. “Looks like you’re the one who got stuck with a Fant. Payback’s a bitch.”

  “You got me there, Pete.” He made a face like teaming with Melody was the worst thing ever. “Team race starts in fifteen minutes after the single rider heat.” He clambered down the steps of the stage.

  “Oh no, you didn’t pair us together,” Melody hissed, the minute his boots hit the earth in front of her.

  “Oh yes, I did.”

  “Luke.” She glowered.

  “Melody.” He beamed.

  “I did not enter this race.”

  He pulled an entry form from his back pocket. He always came prepared. “Oops, and yet here it is, all filled out. Remember, mayoral edict. Everyone on the board has to participate.”

  “I’m here. Running the show. That’s participation enough.”

  “Aww, come on. It’ll be fun.”

  A tendril of silky blond hair had fallen from her ponytail and he stared at it, mesmerized.

  “I’m not doing this.”

  “Um, you sure about that?” He nodded at the filmmaking students he’d asked to show up at this moment.

  “What?” She whirled around to face the camera.

  One of the students extended the boom mike toward them.

  Luke slung his arm around her shoulder, ignored the fact she went stiff as a broomstick. “This is the incomparable Melody Spencer, who set up this kickass event. And to show what a great sport she is, she’s even agreed to ride with me in the side-­by-­side races. Now that’s what I call teamwork.”

  The student cameraman gave him a thumbs-­up. “Got it.”

  “Come on.” Luke steered her toward his travel trailer. “Let’s get you geared up.”

  “You rigged the drawing,” she accused.

  “Of course I did.”

  “There was never any danger of Fants being paired with Nielsons.”

  “Except for you and me.”

  “That’s what all this was about? Getting me in an ATV with you?”

  “Consider it a covert operation. It’s a way for us to spend some time together without ruffling family feathers. The luck of the draw. Who can argue with that?”

  “The rigged draw.”

  “You should be proud I want to be with you.”

  “On the sly? Sounds like you think I’m something to be ashamed off.”

  �
�Never,” he said. “It’s the family and the way they behave that I’m ashamed of. You heard my cousin Pete. Besides, sneaking around can be pretty thrilling.”

  “I’m doing this under protest,” she grumbled.

  “Duly noted.”

  “Just as long as you understand that I fully intend to make you pay,” she said, “and you’re going to suffer big-­time.”

  “Darlin’,” he drawled, “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Everything you do is with grand style or you don’t do it at all.”

  MELODY WASN’T NEARLY as put out with him as she was letting on and that worried her. She should be livid. Instead, she was excited.

  And turned on.

  He rigged the lottery in order to spend time with her without either Fants or Nielsons getting their noses out of joint about it.

  Luke guided her up the steps of his travel trailer that he’d parked there that morning. He closed the door after them and when he turned around, some naughty demon inside her slipped her arms around his neck.

  “What are you doing?” he croaked.

  “I told you I was going to make you pay,” she said, and planted her lips on his.

  His arms went around her waist. “Punish me, baby, punish me.”

  Needfully, she trailed her fingertips over the nape of his neck and leaned in to kiss the throbbing pulse at the hollow of his throat. His taut muscles softened beneath her mouth and a tight groan escaped his clenched teeth.

  Her hand crept from his neck down to his chest, which was heaving like a freight engine with each breath. A simple but lingering touch, running her fingers over his cotton shirt to feel the ripped abs beneath.

  Outside, engines revved, ­people called to each other. Inside, the small air conditioner hummed, cooling their heated skin.

  She wriggled into him, grinding her pelvis against his. His quick intake of air, rough and ragged in the tight confines, shot her desire into the stratosphere.

  The air smelled electrically of testosterone and estrogen. The trailer wobbled on its jacks. She did not completely understand the spell he had woven over her, but she could think of nothing else except melding with him again.

  He tugged the back of her ponytail, pulling her head up and nibbling at her chin. The rasp of his teeth against her skin rocketed a searing blast through her nerve endings and she moaned loudly.

  Rascal!

  “Torture me, will you?” he growled, and his lips found hers. As they kissed, he raised a hand to touch her breast.

  Her nipple hardened underneath his palm.

  His thumb brushed against the hard nub. She leaped into his arms, snaking her legs around his waist and deepening the kiss.

  Luke’s arms cradled her buttocks and he dipped his head to gently suckle at her nipple through the material of her T-­shirt. She gasped and clutched him tighter.

  “We’ve got to stop.” He wrenched his mouth from her nipple. “The race is about to start and we’re not geared up.”

  “I don’t know about you,” she teased. “But I’m plenty geared up.”

  “Me too,” he said huskily, “but we’ve got a race to run.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He was right. She did. Making a success of this event was important to her.

  “Later,” he murmured. “We can talk about this. Right now, we have five minutes to get dressed and get out to the starting line.”

  Sighing, Melody let go of him and he eased her to the floor. “All right, tell me what to do.”

  “Put those things on.” He pointed to a helmet, boots, and other ATV riding equipment.

  “Do I really need all this gear?” she asked.

  “Yep. You do. Safety first.” He handed her a blue jersey made of thermoplastic rubber and Lycra, and then reached for a matching one of his own.

  She wrestled into the jersey, happy to have it hide the indiscreet wet spot on her T-­shirt right at nipple level. Just remembering the feel of his mouth had her nipple hardening again.

  “Quadrant protector.” He handed her a plastic guard that went over her head, rested on her shoulders, and covered her chest. “Gotta protect the girls.”

  He donned his chest protector while she slipped hers on.

  “Pants next.” He tossed her a pair of pants that was the same matching blue color as the jersey. “You can put them on over your shorts.”

  Simultaneously, they tugged up their pants.

  “Now for the protective goggles,” he said. “Here, I’ll help you put them on.”

  Before she could tell him that she was perfectly capable of putting on her own goggles, thank you very much, Luke was slipping them down over her face and adjusting the strap around her ears.

  Immediately, her body grew soft and moist, receptive. Damn her. Damn him. Why did he have such a devastating effect on her? Your fault. You’re the one who kissed him. You had him staying at arm’s length and you’re the one who broke the barrier.

  “How’s that?” he asked, his fingers lingering on her head.

  She squirmed away. “Too tight.”

  “It’s supposed to fit tightly,” he said. “To keep out the sand.”

  “I feel like a scuba diver.”

  “We finish with the boots. They’re hard to get into, so have a seat and I’ll slip them on for you.”

  “If they’re so hard, how do you get into yours?”

  “Years of practice.” He patted the sofa where their equipment had been laid out.

  “I feel so helpless.”

  “You don’t always have to be in charge. Let go and let someone else do something for you for once. Sit.”

  Not knowing what else to do, she plopped down.

  He knelt beside her, patted the front of his left thigh. “Put your foot up here.”

  Feeling like a perverse Cinderella, she rested her foot on his thigh.

  He slipped off her sandal and dropped it to the floor, then produced a clean, thick sock from inside one of the boots and rolled it onto her foot. His calloused fingers felt so good against her skin, manly and strong. She closed her eyes, struggling to fight off the desire mounting inside her.

  “Other foot.”

  She opened her eyes and switched feet, savoring the feel of denim and rock-­hard muscular thigh against her bare foot.

  He covered that foot with a sock too.

  Next, he reached around behind him and came up with a pair of white motorcycle boots.

  “Where did you get this equipment? Don’t tell me you bought it all for me?”

  “The gear belonged to Carly, but she gave up riding ATVs after she had Haley.”

  “Smart woman.”

  “Luckily, she wears a size eight too.” He eased her foot into the stiff material that reminded her of ski boots and snapped down the buckles. “How does that feel?”

  She wriggled her toes. “Fine. I won’t be walking in them anyway, right? It’s just to protect my feet while we’re riding.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You seem pretty adept at dressing women in motocross gear. How many women have you taken out in your side by side?”

  “You’re the first.”

  “I find that hard to believe. If you don’t take ­people riding with you, why the two-­seater? Most of the other riders are driving single ATVs.”

  “Because my machine is the bomb. You’ll see. We’ll smoke those other riders. Besides, I never said that I didn’t take ­people with me, just no dates.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Guess I was waiting for someone special to share my hobby with.”

  Oh crap. What was that look about? They were going to have to have a long talk after this.

  “I’m scared. I’ve never ridden in one of those contraptions before,” she admitted.

  “You’ll do fine.” He put on his own boots, then stood and offered her a hand. “Just the helmet is all you have left and we’re ready to get after it.”

  “Okay.”

  He
settled a white helmet on her head and did up the chinstrap. “There you go. You look badass, woman.”

  “Mmm, if you say so. Since I’m not sure what badass looks like, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  They left the trailer, got into the side by side parked outside the trailer, and made it over to the starting line just in the nick of time.

  The flagman (who was actually Pat Yamaguchi) held the black and white checked flag aloft.

  “You buckled in tight?” he asked.

  “Bug-­in-­the-­rug snug,” she said.

  Pat dropped the flag.

  The twelve side-­by-­side ATVs leaped into action.

  “Hang on tight.” Luke goosed the engine.

  Melody squealed and clutched the grab bar in a death grip. They sped over the hard-­pack, cactus-­strewn desert ground of the sand flats, barreling for the dunes rising straight ahead.

  She shot a glance at Luke. His hands were on the wheel and he had a huge grin on his face. He looked like a kid ripping the ribbons off his birthday present.

  He hit the first dune doing a good thirty miles an hour, the ATV’s paddle tires churning up the sand. Vehicles raced around them, weaving in and out of the dunes. It was dizzying the way the side by side whipped and shimmed.

  They scaled the top of the dune, and Melody’s cousin Calvin and his passenger came out of nowhere, their red and black ATV jumping in front of them, quick and lithe as a long-­legged spider.

  “Take that, Nielson,” Calvin hollered, and sped off.

  Luke floored the accelerator and took off after him. “I’m not about to let a Greenwood or a Fant win this race.”

  “How in the hell did I let you talk me into this?” Melody groaned as he spun the ATV in a wide circle. “Oh wait, I didn’t. I was drafted.”

  “Fun, huh?” Luke yelled over the roar of the engine.

  Actually, it was fun. Once she got past the terrified part and let herself enjoy the thrill of a fast, bumpy ride in the middle of the desert.

  The wind whipped her hair into her face, but the goggles protected her eyes from the sting of sand blowing over them. Luke was an expert driver, delivering excitement, but without doing anything too foolhardy. The man had control. She had to give him that.