Daddy's Little Cowgirl Read online

  “Nope.” He set the horse into an easy lope across the field. “Most times, when the ladies I know say no they really mean yes, or maybe. Thought I ought to give you the same chance, you being a high—class teacher ‘n’ all. Purdy as a little palomino filly I once had and just as sweet, I reckon. Wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

  The man was incorrigible. In spite of that, Ann found herself smiling and wishing she could rest her cheek against the blue chambray fabric that covered his broad back. In the heat of the day, it would feel warm. And solid.

  And she shouldn’t even be considering such a thing.

  They approached Mr. Dunlap, and the cowboy gave her his hand, helping her to slide off the horse. Ann looked up to thank him but he spoke before she had a chance.

  “Of course, that filly I mentioned could be darn stubborn when she set her mind to it. A passionate little thing she was when she got riled.” His bronze eyes twinkled with mischief as he spoke low and slow, his voice rusty and unfairly intimate. “She surely could keep a man on his toes, if you know what I mean. Reckon you could, too, sugar.”

  Heat flamed her cheeks and the sharp thrill of excitement sped through her. She’d never had a man say anything so outrageous to her. Never. And she hated the way her heart lurched in her chest and the frisson of secret pleasure that swept through her midsection. That was no way for a woman to act. Particularly in front of her principal—even if he hadn’t heard the cowboy’s suggestive remarks.

  “Miss Forrester, are you all right?” Harry Dunlap asked between wheezing breaths.

  “I’m fine. Really.” Except for a mild case of heart palpitations, which she was sure would quickly pass. Though somewhere downstream she might have an erotic dream or two, this reckless cowboy playing a major role. She suspected he’d provide the hottest, most titillating—

  ”When you went running out to those beasts, we were all so frightened.”

  “As you can see, this gentleman rescued me. No harm done.”

  “Well, we certainly are grateful. The children…” Tilting his head, Mr. Dunlap studied the cowboy. “Don’t I know you, young man?”

  “You’ve got a good memory, Mr. Dunlap. But then, I spent a hell of a lot of time in your office, didn’t I?”

  “Well, my sakes. Reed Drummond, isn’t it?”

  “One and the same.” He touched the brim of his hat with a two—finger salute. “Nice seeing y’all again. Miss Forrester.” With a nod, he wheeled the horse around and galloped off toward where his cattle were grazing peacefully. A shaggy black—andwhite dog patrolled the perimeter of the herd, his tail wagging like a semaphore.

  Mr. Dunlap pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his sweaty brow. “Oh, my, I’m not entirely pleased to see that young man back in town.”

  “Back?” she asked. “From where?”

  “I heard he’s been in Texas. A rolling stone, I suspect.”

  “Oh.” That would explain his slow, cowboy drawl, she realized, her gaze following him. She noted how well he sat his horse, as if they had been molded together as one. He’d ride a woman the same way, she imagined. And the shock of that thought nearly made her knees buckle.

  “He was a hellion as a youngster. Got into nothing but trouble all through junior high and high school. Never did graduate that I know of. Bad blood, I’d say. His father used to spend more Saturday nights in the jail than the police chief did. A fighting, brawling drunk, I heard.”

  “If his father was an alcoholic, maybe Reed had good reason for acting out” Unable to help herself, Ann had leapt to the cowboy’s defense. Just as she would have if he’d been one of her students, she told herself. Except her feelings for him were far different than those she had for the adolescents in her classroom. Far different and quite unsettling.

  They turned to walk back toward the school grounds. Mr. Dunlap was still a little breathless, and Ann kept their pace slow.

  “I’m worried, now that that Drummond boy is back,” Mr. Dunlap said. “His property adjoins the school’s. If he can’t keep his cattle in hand any better than he just demonstrated, we could be in for trouble.”

  “Maybe the school board ought to pay to put up a fence,” Ann suggested. There were a lot of things the school board ought to be doing—like buying more and better books and additional computers, and hiring several more teachers in order to reduce class size. But they never managed to find enough dollars in their budget to make life easier for the teachers who worked in the trenches. Finding funds for a new car every year for the district superintendent didn’t seem to be a problem, however. “Besides, Reed didn’t exactly stampede the cows himself. A car spooked them.”

  “You assume a man like Drummond would respect our boundaries. I doubt he’s changed much. He was always wild. He ran with a pack of boys back then. One night they broke out every single window at the elementary school. Of course he denied being involved. But we knew the truth. I tell you, people like Reed Drummond don’t change.”

  A shiver slid down Ann’s spine. If she had an Achilles’ heel, it was for the kind of bad boy who’d tempted her in high school. That slip had cost her dearly. She’d spent years rebuilding her self—esteem. Deep in her heart, she still carried a sense of guilt for having been so gullible. And for having lost so much.

  Not that Reed Drummond posed any real threat to her. In spite of his flagrant flirtation, he wouldn’t really have any interest in a thirty—something who hadn’t had a date in more years than she cared to remember. No doubt he could have any woman he wanted with a simple snap of his fingers.

  She’d just as soon not count herself among his conquests. In fact, she’d make sure she wasn’t.

  SMOOTH FLANKS. A mane of golden—brown hair the color of the hills blushed by a late summer sunset. Eyes that held the hint of spring grass after the rains. A stubborn chin and lips so ripe, the urge to kiss them was a living, crawling thing in his belly.

  Reed gave Fiero another stroke with the grooming brush but his mind was on the pretty little filly he’d met, not his favorite cow pony.

  “Maybe if they’d had teachers who looked like Miss Forrester when I was in school I might’ve hung around longer.” He grinned, remembering the principal had very clearly called her Miss. She hadn’t been wearing any rings, either, on those soft hands of hers. Soft, smooth legs, too. Holding her across his lap, it had taken all his self—restraint not to slip his hand farther under her dress and squeeze the inviting swell of her butt. Gently. Over and over again until she was groaning and wanting more.

  “What do you think, Fiero? Should I sign up for a little remedial instruction with that pretty little lady? Or should I plan to teach her a thing or two instead?” Muscles tightened and heat stirred in his groin as he took the thought to its ultimate conclusion.

  Ah, hell. He’d been without a woman too long or he wouldn’t even be thinking like that. Why would a classy lady like Miss Forrester want anything to do with a high—school dropout who owned a ranch that was mortgaged to the hilt? A guy who’d saddled himself with raising somebody else’s baby?

  Still, any woman who was passionate enoughor crazy enough—to stand her ground in front of a stampeding herd of cattle ought be one hot mama in the sack. With the right man, that is.

  Leaving Fiero in his stall, Reed tossed the grooming brush on the workbench. He rotated his shoulders as he walked out of the barn into the twilight that was settling over the rolling hills. From his vantage point, he watched the evening fog slip into the valleys of the coastal range and press against the hilltops like gray memories of the past.

  The mutt followed him outside and parked himself on Reed’s right foot. Idly, he stroked the dog’s head.

  Until his father died, he hadn’t even considered coming home. Now it made sense. Little Bets needed a home. All things considered, this wasn’t a bad place to grow up.

  Glancing at the ranch house with its peeling paint and out—of—kilter porch, he clenched his fists. He was damn well going to prov
e he wasn’t his father’s son. He’d turn this run—down excuse for a cattle ranch into a paying proposition or break his back trying. If not for himself, he’d do it for Bets. This would be her legacy. He’d make it a proud one.

  He lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his sweat—dampened hair.

  ‘Course, a man had a right to some curiosity now and again about a woman he met. He’d check around town when he had a chance. Somebody ought to know Miss Forrester’s first name.

  Not that calling her Sugar wouldn’t suit him just fine.

  He wasn’t going to pursue the woman, though. For a man like Reed, Miss Forrester would mean nothing but trouble. He had plenty of that on his own.

  Including a potential lawsuit if he didn’t make sure his cows stayed in their own backyard.

  There was a big ol’ pile of fence posts out back of the barn and a couple of rolls of wire. Couldn’t hurt to take a few precautions against another stampede, particularly in this day and age. He didn’t exactly have a lot of insurance. And he damn well wasn’t going to lose the ranch because of his father’s negligence. Not when Bets’s future was at stake.

  Suddenly he was eager to go inside, to make sure he was there when the housekeeper he’d brought from Texas was ready to put Bets down for the night. Reed always fed her her evening bottle. The one in the middle of the night, too, for that matter.

  He grinned. He was getting pretty damn good at changing diapers, too. When he had to.

  He went into the house, tossed his hat on the kitchen table and washed up. Lupe came into the room as he was finishing up.

  “You’re right on time, señor. Our little chiquita, she is getting hungry.”

  Reed took the baby and tucked her under his arm while Lupe got the bottle from the refrigerator. Bets nuzzled at his chest, rooting for some milk. “Hang on, sweet pea. You know I’m not equipped like your mom would have been. Your bottle’s comin’.”

  He jiggled her gently, noting she still wasn’t filling out the stretchy sleeper he’d bought when she was born, and the terry cloth flapped loosely like flippers on a seal. He’d had no idea how tiny a new baby could be.

  She gazed up at him with her big brown eyes. A bubble of spittle formed on her bow—shaped lips. It popped, like she was giving him a raspberry, and she grinned as if she’d just accomplished the most marvelous thing in the world, telling off her old man.

  He laughed, cuddling her closer. “Hey, there. How ‘bout a little respect, huh?”

  Taking the bottle Lupe had prepared, he went into the living room and sat down in the wooden rocking chair he’d bought at a flea market. A peace he’d never known existed settled over him as Bets took the bottle into her mouth, looking up at him with complete trust in her eyes.

  He swore he’d move heaven and earth to make sure she never lost her faith in him.

  JUGGLING HER KEYS and a briefcase full of papers to be graded, Ann walked up the steps to her house. It was nearly dark. She was hungry and tired. Worse, she’d been edgy all day since her encounter with that herd of wild—eyed cattle and the dark—eyed cowboy.

  Pretty little body, indeed!

  At five foot six she hardly considered herself petite—except possibly to a man who had to be at least six foot two, every inch of which was solid muscle.

  On the porch, she stooped to pick up a box that had been delivered. She tucked it under her arm, held open the screen with her hip and unlocked the front door.

  The small two—bedroom house she called home was her pride and joy. Polished cherrywood furniture blended with pieces upholstered in subdued federal blue, reflecting her conservative taste and giving the living room a feeling of serenity. The kitchen featured a table in the same pleasant wood. That’s where she dropped her armload.

  The first thing she needed was a nice cup of tea to ease the tension from both her mind and her body. Then dinner and back to work grading papers.

  She switched on the burner under the teakettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she studied the package that had arrived.

  She smiled. She’d all but forgotten she’d ordered a miniature from Dora’s Miniature World a week ago. Supporting local artists was a hobby of hers, although on a teacher’s salary she couldn’t do much. But over the years she had picked up a couple of nice watercolors and some small sculptures. Recently she’d been collecting a series of lead figurines that decorated her fireplace mantel.

  Using a paring knife, she slit the tape on the white cardboard carton and discovered it was packed full of packing material. She dug her hands into it and pulled out a smaller box, spraying the plastic popcorn pieces all over the kitchen table in the process. The gold—embossed label read Dream Man Collection.

  “Exactly what I need,” she murmured. A fourand—a—half—inch dream man to take her mind off of one who was six foot two.

  She lifted the lid and stared at the contents.

  Carefully packed in molded foam, the lead figure rested on its side. Gingerly she lifted it from the box. And stopped.

  This was definitely not the Dream Man she had ordered.

  Instead of the image of a medieval knight with shield and lance, a miniature mounted cowboy rested in her palm. Heavy. Exquisite but not at all fragile. Painted in amazing detail, he was wearing a blue chambray shirt, fringed chaps and pale blue denim pants. The sorrel he rode glistened as though the acrylic paint had actually turned to sweat on the animal’s chestnut neck and flanks.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s not possible.”

  With fingers that shook, she removed the dusty brown Stetson from the molded foam and placed it on the cowboy’s head. It fit perfectly, so low on his forehead she could barely see his polished—bronze eyes.

  “No,” she said again, more loudly. Her empty stomach knotted and her mouth went dry. “This is definitely the wrong dream man for me.”

  Chapter Two

  She set the miniature down on the table with great care and backed away, eyeing it in dismay.

  There’d been some sort of mix—up. That was it. The postal system had been known to make mistakes, right? Of course they did. She’d even received a Christmas card in April once—mailed two holiday seasons earlier.

  Feeling relieved that she’d applied some logic to an illogical situation, she shifted her hair behind her shoulder and drew a deep breath. Dora probably sold dozens of these lead figures. It was simply a bizarre coincidence that Ann had met Reed Drummond today. It didn’t mean a thing that the miniature resembled the flesh—and—blood man.

  In amazing detail.

  She swallowed hard, her heart doing erratic things in her chest.

  What she needed to do was get the miniature back to Dora. Exchange it. It was absolutely, positively all wrong for her. It would look entirely out of place on her mantel.

  Her stomach went tight as the image of the live cowboy popped into her mind—looking perfect in her bed.

  The phone rang, startling Ann almost out of her skin.

  Picking up the wall phone, she said, “Hel—lo.” Her voice cracked.

  “Ann, dear, are you all right?”

  She cleared her throat. “I’m fine, Mother.”

  “I called earlier and you weren’t home.”

  “I worked late.”

  “You do that too much, dear. You need to get out more. Have a little fun.”

  Ann repressed the sigh that threatened to escape. “Yes, Mother.” In spite of herself, her gaze caressed the cowboy miniature. What a woman could do with a full—size man like that! And what he’d very likely do with her.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’ll be joining us for dinner Wednesday night”

  With a jerk of her head, she glanced away from the cowboy. Neither of her parents would approve of Reed Drummond—or even a miniature of such a character placed on her mantel. They’d be more appalled at the prospect of him alive and in her bed. “Of course, Mother. That’s our night out together.”

  For as long as Ann could rememb
er, the Forrester family had gone out for Wednesday—night dinner. In a tourist town you picked the least busy evening of the week to eat out It had become a ritual, one Ann found both comfortable and somehow boring. In contrast, her mother seemed to thrive on being queen bee for one night a week. Ann could hardly blame her. As the wife of the local bank president—now emeritus—her life had been pretty well constricted.

  Her parents had wanted Ann’s existence to be equally circumspect. In a rare act of foolish rebellion, she’d failed them once. And paid a terrible price.

  “That’s good, dear. Your father has invited the new bank manager to join us.”

  “Fine,” she responded, barely listening to her mother. Instead she was thinking how totally uncircumspect it would be if she had an affair with a cowboy like Reed Drummond. The mere thought brought a shiver of forbidden excitement, and she closed her eyes against the sensation. “Mom, I’m really tired. I’ve got to fix myself something to eat.”

  “Of course, dear.” Her mother rattled on for a minute or two more about the Mozart concert they were planning to attend in San Luis Obispo, the nearest town of any size, about forty minutes away.

  When Ann was finally allowed to hang up, she did so with a deep sense of relief. She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the cowboy figurine. He’d probably much prefer Texas two—stepping over a sonata any day of the week. Of course, sonatas were difficult to dance to, and Ann hadn’t been dancing in a very long time.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Springing to her feet, she grabbed for the phone. Forget eating. She’d call Dora right now—

  Except it was well past the store’s closing time. Even if she was a good friend, Ann could hardly intrude on Dora’s private time simply because there had been a mix—up in the shipments. It wasn’t a major crisis. Tomorrow after school would be soon enough to return the miniature and pick up a proper dream man of her own.