Cowboys Are for Loving
Автор
Marie Ferrarella
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1
“No, absolutely not. I am not letting some strange woman into my life.” Kent Cutler’s voice, usually so low-keyed, was raised, filling every corner of the spacious living room.
Jake Cutler glared at his middle child. With five children, you would have thought that at least one of them wouldn’t have been born stubborn to the bone. But even as a child, Kent had had his own mind. At eight, he had already staked his claim by carving his initials on the baseboard by the living-room fireplace and taken the first step toward the rest of his life.
Jake huffed his annoyance. “If you ask me, you could do with a woman in your life, strange or otherwise.” Glancing at his wife, Zoe, Jake saw her reproving look, but pretended not to. “Hell, boy, I’m beginning to worry about you and your horse.”
The remark didn’t bother Kent. His hide had grown thick over the years, by necessity. He’d endured much worse from his siblings and given back as good as he’d gotten. But this was his father, so he shrugged off the dig.
“Well, don’t be. The horse is spoken for.” His temper drew a coarse, dark line beneath his easy humor. “And as for me, I should have been spoken to, about this crazy idea.”
Not, he added silently, that it would have done any good. There was no way in hell he would have ever agreed to let some woman dog his tracks, camera in hand, no matter how diplomatically his father had broached the ridiculous idea.
Because it meant so much to Zoe, Jake attempted to hang on to the frayed ends of his own temper. “You are being spoken to about it.”
Brows the color of wheat browned by the sun drew together over an almost flawless nose, an unintended gift from his father’s side of the family. Kent looked darkly at his father. “One day before she’s supposed to arrive is cutting it a little short, don’t you think?”
The timing had been intentional, Jake silently admitted. A man knew his own children. Knew, too, all their bad habits. Temper gave way, temporarily, to a smug smile. “Gives you less time to stew about it,” Jake told his son.
The expression on Kent’s chiseled face was deceptively mild. Both parents recognized the storm brewing beneath.
“I don’t have to stew about it. The answer’s still no.” Kent saw his father open his mouth to retort. He leaned over the shortest of the Cutler men, bringing his face directly before Jake’s. “No,” Kent repeated with emphasis.
Flaring tempers and dueling temperaments were nothing new to Zoe. She’d put up with displays of both for most of her married life. She’d even entered the fray a time or two herself, although this time all she wanted was to see the flag of truce run up the flagpole.
With a gentling hand on her son’s arm, Zoe intervened, hoping to make him come around. “Kent, she’s the daughter of an old family friend—”
There was little Kent would deny his mother, but his privacy—his space—was very precious to him. If he were to give it up, it would not be to acquiesce to the whims of some woman he’d never met and, as far as he was concerned, didn’t care to meet.
“Fine.” With a sweep of his hand, Kent indicated his father. “Let Dad show her around the Shady Lady. He’s got the time for it. Me, I’m too busy.”
Jake spoke up before Zoe had a chance to. He didn’t like being put in a position where he had to go back on a promise. A man’s word still counted for something in Jake’s world. And Kent, like it or not, belonged to that world.
“She doesn’t want to be ‘shown around.’” His friend had made that quite clear. “She wants to see what a working ranch is like, firsthand. She wants to take pictures of you sweating.”
That was probably how she had put it, too, Kent thought in disgust. “See the cowboy sweat.” Typical urban thinking. Ranch life was something that fell under the heading of entertainment to people who drank their water from a fancy bottle instead of from a tap.
Kent leveled a gaze at his father. “Seems to me the girl needs help.”
This needed a woman’s touch, Zoe thought. Much as she loved Jake, he had a tendency to be heavyhanded, pounding something into the ground with a rock where a light tap would do. She moved in front of Jake, as if to physically block his next words.
“Yes, she does. She needs your help, Kent,” Zoe insisted, and made a personal appeal. “Brian Gainsborough used to be the dearest friend your father had in the world. He was best man at our wedding.” As naturally as breathing, Zoe slipped her hand into her husband’s. “When he called out of the blue, asking if we’d help his daughter and put her up while she’s out here in Montana, doing a magazine series on ranching, we saw no harm in saying that we would.”
“There isn’t any harm in it,” Kent agreed amiably. He heard his father sigh with relief. In the next breath, Kent snatched victory back. “But the ‘we’ includes you and Dad, not me.” Putting on his tan, sweat-worn hat, he pulled it low over his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment with a branding iron, several skittish head of cattle and a couple of new hands who need some training.”
With an air of finality, Kent turned and headed for the front door.
It was Jake’s turn to raise his voice, calling after his son, “This isn’t settled yet.”
“Yes,” Kent tossed over his shoulder, never breaking stride, “it is.”
And, in his innocence, he really thought it was. This wasn’t the first time he’d bucked his father and he didn’t intend on being railroaded into agreeing to go along with this.
They were talking about his privacy, something he valued right up there with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Happiness to Kent Cutler meant being left alone to go his own way, do what needed doing. It meant not being interfered with.
But Kent hadn’t counted on Brianne Gainsborough. Hadn’t counted on the fact that ever since she was a little girl, Brianne always had managed to get what she set out to get once she put her mind to it. Hadn’t counted on the fact that Brianne could talk faster than a high-priced auctioneer in a fever pitch. And Kent definitely hadn’t counted on the fact that she’d turn out to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, on or off the TV, an item he didn’t much have time for and even less use for.
No, he hadn’t counted on any of that.
Which was why, when Zoe Cutler sent one of the hands to bring her son to the main house, Kent responded in person rather than sending an excuse, mistakenly feeling invulnerable because he was wrapped up in his own confidence.
Slightly put off by having to put in an appearance while in the midst of his day’s work, and believing that this was only going to take a few minutes, he arrived at the house without bothering to change or even shake the dust off his clothes.
The first thing he heard when he opened the door was his father’s booming voice. The lady on the receiving end of his oration had her back toward the doorway and Kent. Taking stock of the enemy while still standing safely hidden in the hall, Kent was immediately aware of blond hair, falling straight as a waterfall to the woman’s waist.
A highly impractical hairdo, he thought, though he had to admit it was mildly pleasing to the eye.
“You don’t look a thing like your old man,” Jake was saying to the woman. A chuckle rumbled from deep within his forty-two-inch chest. “Who would have thought that ugly old son of a gun could have sired a filly as beautiful as you?”
Zoe rolled her eyes, shaking her head. After all these years, she was used to Jake’s outspokenness, but she knew it could put some people off. “You’ll have to forgive Jake, Brianne. He’s not accustomed to minding his manners.”
Kent heard a laugh in response that sounded like warm honey, thick and rich as it poured over him.
“Forgive him?” Brianne’s smile took in her entire countenance, as well as her audience. “I’m flattered. Jake obviously loves horses.” When she laid her hand on his arm, Brianne’s touch was familiar, as if she’d known Jake Cutler all her life. “That means I’ve just been paid a very high compliment. And I won’t tell Dad what you said if you don’t.” To seal the bargain, she winked at Jake. “But if you’re wondering, I’ve been told that I look like my mother.”
Jake nodded. Brian Gainsborough had a broad, amiable face that brought to mind an overly friendly Saint Bernard or Newfoundland puppy. “That would explain why you’re pretty as a picture. You should be in front of a camera, not behind it.”
“Oh, but I love being behind a camera.” She looked at the thirty-five millimeter on the coffee table, lying with the rest of her things that had been brought into the house. “I’ve always had a passion of photography. I’ve been snapping pictures since I was four years old.”
Great, Kent thought. Just what the doctor ordered, an obsessive woman.
The look on Zoe’s face was apologetic. “I’m afraid that Kent might need a little coaxing. A lot, actually,” she amended with a sigh. “This is a busy time of the year at the Shady Lady. There were a lot of calves born this spring—”
Zoe knew she was making excuses, but she was trying to find some way to soften the blow in the event that Kent couldn’t be won over. There were times when there was no persuading him, no matter what. If not for Morgan, Zoe would have said that Kent was the most stubborn of her children.
Zoe didn’t get far with her apology.
“Wonderful,” Brianne enthused. “I’ll make the calves the focus of this section of the series.”
When she saw the dismayed look on her hostess’s face, Brianne hesitated, wondering what she’d said wrong. And then she realized that Zoe wasn’t looking at her, but at the doorway behind her.
Turning, Brianne caught her first glimpse of Kent Cutler. She wasn’t disappointed.
The man seemed to be wearing half the ranch on his body and his clothes. And it looked damn attractive from where she was standing. What she saw beneath the layers of dirt and dust fit right in with the piece she was writing. Despite his less-than-pristine appearance, Kent cut a very romantic figure. A modern-day cowboy. The man was tall and rangy, with muscles that owed nothing to hours of pumping iron at any classy gym. They had obviously been built up over hours of honest, hard toil. His dark blond hair, long and curling at the ends, contrasted sharply with his deeply bronzed skin.
But Kent Cutler’s eyes were his most startling feature. They were so outstandingly blue they demanded immediate attention.
They certainly had hers.
“Kent,” Zoe’s voice was just a tad reproachful, the way it had sounded to Kent when he’d arrived late and dirty at the dinner table as a boy. “You’re dusty.”
Kent carelessly shrugged one shoulder, but kept his eyes trained on Brianne as if he expected her to strike suddenly, like a rattler.
“The cattle didn’t seem to mind,” he finally said evenly.
He entered the room slowly, like a mountain lion testing out terrain that had once been familiar but could prove dangerous nonetheless. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d even bothered to respond to his mother’s summons. Probably because he had a soft spot in his heart for her. They clashed, as did he and his father, but at bottom the bond between Kent and his parents was strong. He’d never directly offend either of them by ignoring them, although this was one of those times he surely wished he could.
“Why should they? You blend in perfectly.” Brianne snapped the photograph so quickly that it took Kent a second to realize that the flash before his eyes had come from her camera, and not her wide grin.
Instinct had him blocking his face with his hand, but it kicked in too late. The damage had already been done. When he lowered his hand, Brianne made her move and shot another frame.
“Do you have to do that?” He growled the question at her. The woman was faster on the draw than a nineteenth-century gunfighter.
“Yes.” Momentarily satisfied, Brianne set the camera back on the table. “It’s my job.”
He had the feeling she was talking to him the way she would to a slow-witted child. “To be annoying?” he challenged.
Instead of reacting by taking offense, or snapping back at him, as he would have expected any decent person to do, Brianne merely smiled in response. “No, to take photographs. The annoying part depends strictly on my subject.”
He didn’t care to be smiled at. Not when his temper felt as if it had been rubbed raw. “I’m not your subject, Ms.—”
“Gainsborough,” Brianne filled in quickly before either one of his parents could make the unnecessary introduction. If she was any judge of character, the dusty cowboy knew exactly who she was. “No, not entirely,” she allowed. “But in part, you are.”
He drew himself up, a soldier going one-on-one with the enemy, certain of the victorious outcome. “Oh no, I’m not.”
Zoe wet her lips. It seemed the older her son got, the more introverted and unreachable he became. It was all the fault of Brick Taylor’s daughter. Rosemary Taylor had turned her son against the whole sex. If it had been up to her, Zoe would have wrung the young girl’s neck before she’d have let her hurt Kent. He had never talked about it, but she knew all about the proposal and the flippant refusal that had met it.
Still, that was no excuse for his rudeness now. “Kent can be a little difficult at times.” Zoe slanted a look toward her son. It was, she knew, a vast understatement.
Jake saw the tiny lines of distress furrow between his wife’s eyebrows. He slipped a supportive arm around Zoe’s shoulders.
“All her fault,” he told Brianne, but there was affection in his voice. Anyone who knew them knew Jake Cutler worshipped the ground his wife walked on. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”
Zoe raised her chin. “Like you ever raised a hand to any of them.”
“Couldn’t.” He pretended to shrug helplessly. “They were all too fast, and besides, I was afraid of you.”
Love, never far away, came into Zoe’s dark blue eyes. “And well you should be, Jake Cutler.”
Zoe blinked, stifling a small gasp of surprise as the flash on Brianne’s camera went off again. Zoe looked at her, confused.
If this shot wasn’t a keeper, she wasn’t worth her weight in negatives, Brianne thought. “Sorry if I startled you,” she said to Zoe. “I just couldn’t resist. You make a very nice couple. And this is a story on the whole ranch, not just Kent. My father’s told me so much about the Shady Lady Ranch, I just had to see it for myself.”
“Hold it. None of it is going to be Kent,” Kent corrected Brianne tersely.
What did it take for this woman to get that through her thick head? He was speaking plain enough for an idiot to understand. Just what was her problem?
Brianne swung around to look at him. He hadn’t noticed before how large her eyes were. Large and luminous. And maybe a little hypnotic. They seemed to gleam like two blue topaz stones, bombarded by the sun.
They could be beacons, for all he cared, he told himself. A big-eyed look didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean she was going to get her way. He had a hell of a lot more important things to do than play wet nurse to some roaming photographer, even if she did come packaged in a neat, tempting bundle.
Outgoing and friendly, Brianne still enjoyed a good war of wills when the occasion arose. “But you are part of the ranch,” she pointed out.
“A very big part,” Jake put in. There was pride in every word. They might be stubborn to a fault, but not one of his kids had ever disappointed him when it really mattered. “Kent’s been running the ranch for us for the last three years, right after I had that bout of indigestion.”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “It was a heart attack,” she pronounced firmly, looking at Brianne. “Man didn’t know the meaning of the words ‘slow down.’ Always had to be on the go, always knew best.”
She loved him, warts and all, but Jake could be absolutely infuriating when he wanted to be. The thought of facing life without him had brought a positive chill to her heart, so Zoe had enlisted all her children’s help in convincing Jake that it was time to hand over the reins to Kent. She meant to keep the father of her children around for a good long time.
Jake grinned. He winked broadly at Brianne. “When we all know that it’s Zoe who knows best.”
They were so cute, Brianne thought. It warmed her to be in the midst of such blatant love.
A tiny sliver of envy pricked her. Kent Cutler and his siblings were lucky people, to have grown up to see this kind of affection expressed in their everyday lives. She loved her father dearly and he was a wonderful man, but for the most part, he’d been absent from her life. Always somewhere else, always busy building up the business that now bore his name.
For Brianne it had been a lonely childhood. Her mother had died when she was very young, so Brianne had enjoyed the company of some very highly paid, very intelligent, kindly nannies. Their kindness notwithstanding, it definitely wasn’t the same thing that the Cutler crew had enjoyed.
Too bad all that affection hadn’t rubbed off Kent’s rough edges, she mused. But that just made the challenge more interesting, and she’d never met a man she couldn’t talk her way around, one way or another.
“Yes,” Zoe was saying to her. “I do know best. Which is why Kent’s handling things around here. Jake and I are rather like the queen of England. Figureheads,” she explained after a beat when Jake just looked at her.
“You can be queen of England,” Jake told his wife with a snort, then jerked a thumb at himself. “Me, I’m the king.”
“There is no king of England,” Zoe told him smugly. “Just a prince.” The answer gave Jake pause.
Kent shifted. He’d wasted enough time. There was only so much daylight available and he meant to make the most of it He inclined his head toward his parents, like a vassal giving them their due.
“If your royal highnesses don’t mind, I’m going back to my place to get a couple of things and then get back to work.”
“You don’t live here?” Brianne looked around the large, sprawling ranch house. At first glance, there seemed to be enough room to house the entire clan and then some.
Kent didn’t even bother looking over his shoulder. His goal was the door and he meant to reach it. Quickly. “No, I don’t.”
He would have left the explanation—and the lady—hanging right there. But his mother added, “He lives in a house just a mile and a half from here. Our son Will designed it. He’s the architect. You’ll be staying here with Jake and me, of course, but maybe you’d like to see Kent’s place.”
That stopped him in his tracks. He turned slowly around. Just what had gotten into his mother? She usually left him to his own devices. This was a hell of a time to start meddling in his life.
“No, she wouldn’t,” Kent announced.
And that, he figured, walking out, was that.
Except that it wasn’t.
By the time Kent had crossed the threshold and was outside the house, Brianne and the infernal camera that swung like some kind of grotesque appendage at her side had already caught up to him.
“Yes, ‘she’ would,” she contradicted cheerfully. “It’s part of your life, isn’t it?”
He glared at her. “So’s washing. You going to watch me take a shower, too?”
Her grin broadened. “The piece isn’t going to be that in-depth.”
Although sales, Brianne was certain, would go through the roof if there were a photo of Kent in the altogether included in the article. There was no doubt in her mind that the body beneath the worn jeans and dirty workshirt was lean and hard. The kind of stuff that fantasies were made of.
She had tenacity, he’d give her that. But he had more, Kent thought, looking down into her determined eyes. She wore an amused expression, he noticed. Just what was there that struck her so funny?
Was she amusing herself, the sophisticated city girl, checking out the country bumpkins?
“The piece isn’t going to be at all,” he informed Brianne.
Oh yes, it is. I’ve faced down more stubborn men than you, Kent Cutler, Brianne thought.
“You can’t be that camera-shy,” she insisted incredulously.
She sounded as if she knew the workings of his mind better than he did. Kent had had just about his fill. “Being camera-shy has nothing to do with it—”
“Then you think I’ll get in the way.” She didn’t give him time to piece together his thoughts, or his rebuttal. “I won’t, I promise. You won’t even know I’m there.”
Almost involuntarily, his eyes swept over her. Brianne Gainsborough smelled like lilacs and looked like blond sin on toast. Even blindfolded and hog-tied, there was no way he wouldn’t know she was there.
His eyes darkened ominously. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”
She threw him by laughing and saying, “All of it.” And then she made matters more difficult by smiling up at him as if they were the best of friends, instead of on opposite sides of a very private fence. “Be a sport, Kent. Two weeks, that’s all I ask.” She held up two fingers. “Two weeks out of your life. I’ll be gone before you know it.” Her smiled deepened a little, just enough to give it breadth and substance. “This series is very important to me.”
It was, he realized. He could see it in those damn blue eyes of hers. His own narrowed. The struggle with his better instincts told him he was about to make a very large mistake. He tried to compensate. “What’s in it for me if I say yes?”
The smile widened. She could smell capitulation. Brianne was a magnanimous victor. “What do you want there to be in it for you?”
Kent had no answer, because he hadn’t expected the question. Foolishly, he thought his own would make the woman back off.
“I’ll let you know,” was all he muttered.
Yes!
Triumphant, Brianne surprised him for the second time in ten minutes. This time the instrument of surprise wasn’t a camera. It was formed by two arms and two lips as Brianne threw the former around his neck and pressed the latter against his mouth. Quickly, fleetingly and completely on impulse.
Just the way a mule kicked.
