Tall, Dark, and Lonesome Read online

  Niki panicked as she remembered she had both feet firmly planted on Wyoming soil, the one place in which she had to maintain perfect control. Your feet might be planted firmly, but everything else is a bit shaky. What are you doing, Niki? You’re flirting in the rain. It might not mean anything in New York, but in Cutter’s Creek it does. At least it does if you do it, so cut it out. Keep it light. Otherwise, this cowboy’ll gobble you up for dinner.

  “I don’t care for the strong, silent cowboy type. No offense. However, considering my present circumstances, I’d date an ax murderer if I thought he’d give me a recipe. So are you going to help me or not?”

  “Sure,” Zach said, stepping back immediately and nodding toward the wagon. “Let’s get out of the rain.” And we’ll both pretend this sticky little moment didn’t happen.

  First he showed her how to stake the special awning attached to the back of the wagon. Then he set up the camp stove beneath it, and explained how to control the gas flame. For the life of her, Niki couldn’t understand why she forgot to breathe every time he looked her way to see if she understood his instructions. But she did forget. Of course, Zach didn’t just happen to flick a glance her way and then look away. No, he made instant eye contact and stopped her heart as he held the contact a few seconds longer than necessary. When he shucked his gray rain slicker and climbed the drop steps into the wagon to give her the guided tour of the amenities, Niki took several deep breaths and wondered why she felt as if she’d just been thrown to the lions.

  As soon as she followed him inside, Zach knew the guided tour was a mistake. The closeness inside the wagon conspired to make him more conscious of her than when they’d been standing toe-to-toe in the rain. He found himself wondering what shade of brown her hair would be when it dried, and whether she ever wore it loose. If she’d been wearing perfume, the fragrance was gone, replaced by the crisp scent of rain and meadow grasses.

  She didn’t say a word when he leaned across to flip open one of the built-in cabinets, accidentally pressing against her, and he didn’t think he could have said anything if he’d tried. The electric hum that pulsed through his veins at the contact startled him. Their wet T-shirts were little more than second skins, and the shock of feeling her softness against him robbed him of words.

  By the time he’d managed to list the food stocked in the wagon, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Every time he moved, he touched her, but he’d be damned if he was going to apologize for the size of the wagon! Abruptly, Zach slammed the cabinet and moved away.

  “If you need it, just look for it. Chances are it’s in here somewhere.” He stepped down to the ground and added, “Use the water in the big barrels strapped to the sides of the wagon.”

  The intimacy of the wagon had been torture on Niki’s nerves. Trying to pretend nonchalance when she could almost feel the beating of his heart against hers had been impossible, and she exhaled a sigh of relief when he left. The rain had stopped, Niki noted as she watched him through the oval opening in the canvas. He struggled with the knot he’d tied in the reins. Obviously, the intimacy had affected him too. Good. She was secretly glad to see a chink in his armor.

  As she leaned out of the wagon he looked up and asked, “Any questions?”

  “Only two.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Who does the dishes?”

  Zach pointed at her. “Next question.”

  “You do work for the ranch, don’t you? I mean, you’re not a cattle rustler?”

  Zach, who was leading his horse, did a double take. “A what?”

  “A cattle rustler. One who rustles cows and chuck wagons.” Shrugging her shoulders, Niki said, “I thought I ought to ask.”

  “I work for the ranch,” he assured her, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  “What do you do?”

  “Whatever needs to be done. Like going back for the buffet table we left on the ground.” He walked his horse a few more feet and then mounted in a swift, practiced motion. Once he was in the saddle, he looked back at her and said, “I’d hurry up with those sandwiches if I were you. First shift’s going to be here any time now.”

  “What about the coffee?”

  “I’ll be back.”

  That’s what worries me, Niki admitted silently. Inside the wagon she found a bucket-sized jar of peanut butter, a quart of grape jelly, and two loaves of whole wheat bread. Rain pattered against the canvas while she smeared peanut butter and jelly on slice after slice of bread and reminded herself to keep her distance from Zach. That was one man she had no business encouraging. She tried to tell herself that part of her attraction to him was the cowboy mystique that she and every other young girl had been spoon-fed from infancy.

  Unfortunately, Niki couldn’t convince herself. New York had its share of urban cowboys with expensive alligator boots, ten-gallon hats, and tight, button-fly jeans. She’d never been remotely attracted to them, which meant her attraction to Zach had nothing to do with cowboy mystique.

  Quirky hormones. That was her problem. Her brain and her libido couldn’t seem to agree on the right time and the right place, much less the right man. They never had and, she suspected, they never would.

  She was here to gather material for her syndicated column “Heartbeat.” Nothing else. Especially if the else was Cowboy Zach from Cutter’s Creek. What was his last name? Had she forgotten it already? She didn’t remember his perfect profile from high school, which meant he had to be a newcomer. He must have moved to Cutter’s Creek sometime during the past eight years.

  Why anyone would want to move to a small town like Cutter’s Creek, full of narrow-minded, mean-spirited people, was beyond Niki’s imagination. She’d spent the last year of high school dreaming of nothing but getting out … getting away from the hushed conversations and painfully understanding stares. Niki smiled grimly to herself as she cut the sandwiches into triangles. There’s nothing like a painful past to shape a better future. She had no intention of allowing herself to become involved with a hometown cowboy, despite quirky hormones.

  The clouds were lifting when Zach tied a rope to the plank and pulled it back to the wagon. Now he completely understood John Carey’s rush to get away from the chuck wagon and back to the cattle. Niki Devlin could easily drive a man crazy. She could scramble a man’s brains faster than most people could scramble eggs. It was that damned open way of hers. That “Hi, welcome to my life.” It suckered a man in and made him forget that promises weren’t forever.

  She might be beautiful, but he was already rewriting his personal dictionary. Trouble would be spelled Niki Devlin. She wasn’t anything like he’d expected after reading her slice-of-life columns. Authors were never what readers expected. And what he’d expected was someone completely different from the tone of her column. “Heartbeat” was funny, offbeat, poignant, precise, warm, and quite often there was an edge beneath the words. “Heartbeat” was the undeniable child of Niki Devlin’s mind.

  When the travel agent had called about putting her on the cattle drive to generate some publicity, Zach had never heard of Niki Devlin. The travel agent had assured him the column was carried in all the big papers. Well, the Cheyenne paper didn’t carry the column. None of the Wyoming newspapers carried “Heartbeat.” That seemed a little strange. He’d finally bought the Denver paper at the newsstand and done a little research at the library.

  The column appeared three times a week, and the standard photograph of the author had been replaced by a logo. Grudgingly, he admitted that even though she might not be able to cook, she certainly could write. He hoped the woman was not as addictive as the column she wrote—but after his initial reaction to her, he was afraid she might be. She already had him acting out of character. He was the steady, serious Weston. His father was the charmer, always on the prowl.

  As he approached the wagon, Zach knew he faced seven long days in the company of Niki Devlin. And even longer nights. Why did he find a five-foot-six-inch drowned rat so appeal
ing? He had no business thinking about a woman right now. Even a cattle-drive romance was out of the question. Not that she was willing. Niki had put up a No Trespassing sign in big, bold letters.

  I don’t care for the strong, silent cowboy type. No offense.

  No offense? He couldn’t afford to take offense. If he did, he’d have to show her how wrong she could be. It was an interesting fantasy, but he didn’t have the luxury of indulging himself. He needed this time away from the ranch to think. He had to give the nomination committee an answer about the state senate seat in less than a month.

  The entire party assumed he was agreeable. Hell, the nomination committee acted as though next year’s election had come and gone and he’d won by a landslide. There was danger in that, in letting himself believe he could have what he wanted, in believing the newspapers. For the last month, he hadn’t been able to pick up the Sunday paper without seeing another editorial piece on whether he was going to toss his hat into the political ring and follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.

  Zach needed some peace and quiet. The spring and fall cattle round-ups were always a time for him to clear his head. This drive shouldn’t have been any different. There’d been women on the trail before. There’d be women in the future. Niki Devlin shouldn’t affect his peace and quiet. All he had to do was treat her like any other paying guest and forget the incredible softness of her body pressed to his. Forget that for an unexpected moment their bodies had fit together like hand and glove.

  “I’m back, Cookie,” he shouted as he dropped to the ground to untie the plank,

  “It’s about time,” Niki called, and stuck her head out of the back of the wagon. “I thought I’d been deserted again. You people have a habit of doing that. And stop calling me Cookie.”

  “Chuck wagon’s a lonely job. That’s why everyone takes a turn,” Zach explained, reaching for a black iron bar that hung on the wagon.

  Relief flooded through Niki. “You mean I’m not stuck on this lumbering land whale?”

  Laughter burst from Zach. “No, but I warn you that after a few days in the saddle, people tend to fight over a seat in the wagon.”

  “Why didn’t somebody tell me?” Niki wondered suspiciously as she stepped down.

  Before he answered, Zach rested one end of the plank against the apron of the wagon and set the iron bar beneath the other end. “John was in a hurry this morning. I guess it slipped his mind.”

  The excuse was every bit as lame now as it had been earlier. Accordingly, Zach wasn’t surprised by Niki’s short huff of disbelief as she scooped water out of the barrels to rinse the plank.

  “Slipped his mind? Not likely,” Niki declared with a tilt of her head.

  “Not likely,” he agreed. Niki smiled, and Zach decided the sun coming out at that exact moment was only a coincidence.

  “So, you admit it. What have we got here?” Niki teased as she splashed water over the muddy surface of the plank. “An honest cowboy?”

  “Define honest.”

  “Oh-ho! Nervous cowboy.” She turned to study him and found very little to dislike, from the rakish slant of his Stetson to the way he filled out a pair of jeans that couldn’t have fit any better if he’d been shrink-wrapped. “What skeletons are hiding in your closet?”

  Zach opened his mouth, but the sound of an approaching horse drew his attention. John Carey thundered up, tipped his hat, and signed Zach Weston’s confession.

  “Hey, boss, better get some coffee brewing. The natives are getting restless. Moving all those cattle is hard work for city folk, and they need a jolt of java.”

  Niki looked from the younger man to Zach. Whereas the younger man’s face had the beginnings of character, Zach’s was a finished sculpture. The younger man’s face was an open book of joyful emotion, and at the moment Zach’s was wary. Niki figured Zach was a shade over thirty years old. Maybe thirty-two or thirty-three.

  The comparison was a mind trick that lasted only a few seconds and then the last piece fell into place. Boss. He said “boss.” Cowboy Zach was Boss Zach. Z. P. Weston.

  Spit! I called him an idiot. No. Calm down. You called Eli an idiot. You only insinuated that Zach was an idiot for putting you on the chuck wagon. It’s not the same thing. What’s he going to think about the way I acted? Don’t give him much time to think about it. Put him on the defensive instead.

  “Zach Weston, you sneaky son of a snake,” Niki said. “What was the next joke on your list? Sending me out for rattlesnake eggs?”

  TWO

  “Ma’am, rattlesnakes don’t lay eggs,” John Carey said helpfully before Zach could answer.

  “Thank you, John, but I believe the lady knows that,” When Niki’s confident expression confirmed it, Zach asked, “Is your research thorough or did you grow up in Wyoming, Ms. Devlin?”

  “Born and raised in Wyoming,” she admitted and almost winced at her mistake.

  John perked up. “You related to the Devlins in Cutter’s Creek?”

  “No, afraid not,” Niki lied smoothly, hoping he would drop the subject and praying he didn’t know her family well enough to see the resemblance. She was appalled at her lack of backbone, but she hated the knowing look in people’s eyes when they realized she was “fast” Nicolette Devlin, the only pregnant student in her junior class at Cutter High. With any luck, she could get through this whole trip without anyone being the wiser. She lifted her head and met Zach’s gaze squarely.

  Noting the firm set to her mouth and the determined tilt of her chin, Zach studied her, trying to think of a reasonable excuse for not fully introducing himself, an excuse that had nothing to do with the truth. For some insane reason, he wished John hadn’t arrived. He wanted more time as plain old Zach. But he couldn’t say any of those things. Instead he very formally said, “I suppose an apology is in order.”

  “Okay, fine,” Niki agreed instantly. “I’m sorry. Falling in the mud was totally unprofessional. And I’ll admit that I should have put Z. P. Weston and Zach together. But I’m not apologizing about the coffee being late. That was your job. You take the heat.”

  Niki grabbed one of the blue enamel coffeepots and started for the water barrels. Without looking, she knew that Zach’s face was frozen in stunned surprise and that John was probably scratching his head in confusion. She was a little surprised herself. She’d fully intended to put Zach on the spot, to torture him a bit and make him feel guilty about forgetting the most important part of his name, but she couldn’t when she saw the flicker of regret in his eyes.

  After growing up with three brothers, she knew that boyish look of regret as well as she knew her own face in the mirror. It was the look she’d seen in her youngest brother’s eyes when he found out about the tooth fairy. All the fun and magic had gone out of the quarters he’d stashed away so carefully. Zach looked that same way, and she didn’t know why. She shouldn’t even care. But dammit, she did. And she blamed Eli. Since he’d handed her a plane ticket two days ago, she hadn’t known which end was up. When Eli had an idea, the rest of the world got in gear or got out of the way. Any jumbled brain cells were definitely his fault. He was the one always encouraging her stupid sentimentality about people. Said it made good copy.

  She was a watcher of people, a collector of characters, and Niki hadn’t missed the change in Zach Weston. The moment John rode up, Cowboy Zach began to fade and was replaced with a somber member of polite society. It wasn’t just the comparison to John. “Cookie” had been replaced by Ms. Devlin, and just when she was getting used to being called Cookie. No, Zach was taking his role of host much too seriously, and she intended to do something about it. Niki finished filling the pot and handed it to Zach.

  As he took it, he said, “What I meant, Ms. Devlin, is that I owe you an apology. John and I both do.”

  “I don’t think so. My editor lives for this kind of stuff. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he planned it.” She smiled at John and said, “But a warning about the mud swa
mp would have been helpful.”

  “What happened?” John asked warily, looking at the gaping tear in her jeans and then at Zach.

  “I got stuck,” she admitted with a twinkle in her eye. “You should have been there. It was a classic.”

  While Niki explained about the mud, Zach filled the other coffeepot and set both of them on the stove to brew. Once again she’d caught him off guard. After the way she’d raised her chin defiantly, he’d expected Niki to tap her toe and insist on a proper apology for his behavior, but she obviously didn’t feel offended.

  Zach was quickly learning that what he knew about women didn’t apply to Niki Devlin. She played by her own set of oddball rules and had a breezy charm that was much too easy to like. His thoughts were interrupted by bright, sexy laughter that invited company. When he looked up, he found Niki laughing and John bent double over his saddle, gasping for air.

  “No, ma’am, please tell me you didn’t.”

  Chuckling, Niki slapped her thigh. “I swear. And he just let me sit on it for a while.”

  That sent them both off into fresh peals of laughter. Knowing they were talking about the braid, Zach had to smile. He pictured her in the mud with the “Oh” on her face when he’d told her she was sitting on her hair.

  John shifted in his saddle. “That’s got to be one for Bess. Don’t forget to tell her when you get home, Zach.”

  “Bess?” Niki asked. Suddenly she felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut by one of the mules, and her eyes flew to Zach’s left hand, searching for a wedding band. There wasn’t one, but the absence of a ring wasn’t evidence of a person’s matrimonial status. Not that she cared, she told herself.

  “John, you tell Bess,” Zach insisted. “You’ll tell it better anyway.”

  “Bess?” echoed Niki again, looking from one to the other hopefully.

  “Our original Cookie,” Zach answered. “She drove the chuck wagon until two years ago.”

  “Zach made her retire,” John said. “Since then all we get is camp-out food. Bess fixed real meals and apple pies and mouth-watering biscuits. The wagon was made specially for her, but the boss decided she’d be better off at home knitting booties or something.”