Daddy's Little Cowgirl Read online

  “MISS FORRESTER! That cowboy’s back.”

  Ann whirled, nearly slamming her briefcase into the youngster who’d made the announcement. The keys she’d been holding dropped to the ground in front of her classroom door, the one she’d been about to unlock. Another student bent to pick them up.

  “The cowboy?” Her throat was so tight, the question came out in a squeak.

  Jason swaggered into the group of children who were clustered around her door. “Bet he’s got the hots for you, Miss Forrester.”

  She glared at Jason. “I thought you had a dentist’s appointment today.”

  He shrugged, his grin not in the least contrite for either his lie of yesterday or his comment of the moment.

  Marcy McCullough, one of Ann’s fellow teachers joined the gathering. “The kids are right. That cowboy is out on the playing field. Digging holes, as near as I can tell. You’re going to have to take care of it.”

  “Me?” She nearly choked. “What holes? Can’t Mr. Dunlap—”

  “He’s at some training institute in Santa Barbara today. It’s your turn in the barrel as assistant principal.”

  “Oh, swell. Can’t someone else talk to him? I haven’t even opened up my classroom yet.” And the very last person she wanted to see this morning was Reed Drummond. One restless night with images of him interfering with her sleep was more than enough.

  Looking vaguely amused, Marcy said, “I’m sure you’re the best one to handle the situation. I’ll watch your class while you find out what’s going on.”

  She gnashed her teeth. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” In no mood for fun and games, Ann snatched the keys from the student who had picked them up and unlocked the door. She marched inside, dropped her briefcase on the desk and strode back outside. The small crowd of students parted for her. “Anybody who messes around while Mrs. McCullough is in charge can figure on a week’s worth of detention. Got that, kids?”

  “Oooo—eee,” Jason chortled. “The new principal’s one mean lady. You’re scaring us, Miss Forrester.”

  If Jason wasn’t so darn cute, in an arrogant adolescent way, Ann would have belted him. Except she’d never really think of striking a child. And she had a much taller, though equally arrogant male on her mind.

  A man who wasn’t wearing a shirt, she discovered when she reached the football field. Half the pubescent girls in the school had made the same discovery. They were lingering coyly in clusters of threes and fours around the perimeter of the mowed field. Drooling, Ann suspected, while Reed worked in the empty field of wild grass beyond the developed area—off—limits to the students.

  “All right, girls. The first bell’s going to ring any minute. On your way…”

  “Aw, Miss Forrester…” several girls complained in unison.

  Ignoring them, she angled through the tall grass directly toward Reed Drummond. Even though it was early morning and the air cool, his back glistened with sweat, accenting the flex of muscle and sinew as he worked. He didn’t have a horse today. Instead an old pickup truck with a gun rack across the back window was parked in the field nearby.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  Slowly, he lifted his head. A smile teased at the corners of his lips as he touched his fingertips to brim of his Stetson. “Good mornin’ to you, too, sugar.”

  A giddy feeling as though she’d gotten too much sun swept over her. Lord, he had a nice chest. Not too much hair, just a few soft swirls that clung damply to his chest and arrowed downward to—ward—

  She shook the thought from her mind. “I asked what you’re up to.”

  “I’m building a fence.” He leaned lazily on what she now realized was a posthole digger, not a shovel.

  “On school property?” she asked, astounded.

  “Nope. This here is Rocking D land. The mile post on the highway and that old oak down in the gully mark the boundary.”

  She followed his gaze toward a gnarled tree about five hundred feet away. “This is your property?” Mr. Dunlap had said the school adjoined Drummond’s land but she hadn’t realized quite how close a neighbor he was. Much too close in her view.

  “Yep. Sure is. I don’t figure my stock is likely to stampede again any time soon but I thought better safe than sorry. I had a few old posts and some wire lying around. Oughta be enough to keep my steer from wandering into the school yard. Wouldn’t want any of the kids to get hurt.”

  “That’s…wonderful.” It would have taken years to get any sort of fencing included in the school district capital budget Reed had simply found a few old posts lying around and gone to work. “Very thoughtful of you.”

  “That’s me. I’m a real thoughtful guy.”

  “Yes, well…ah…” Normally she wasn’t tonguetied. But standing here talking with Reed, the green hills behind him like a glorious backdrop for his sculpted masculinity, Ann was having a whole lot of trouble thinking at all, much less putting an entire coherent sentence together. “I wonder if you could possibly put on your shirt.” Or, as an alternative, let me run my hands over your chest.

  “Does seeing me without a shirt bother you, sweetlin’?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “No, of course not. It’s just that we have a lot of impressionable young girls—”

  “And you find me impressive.”

  “No. I find you impossible.”

  He flashed a raffish grin that was meant to unsettle her. It did exactly that.

  “Not me, sugar. I’m easy.” Still smiling, he picked up his shirt from where he had tossed it casually on the ground and tugged it on. “Ask anybody.”

  She didn’t need to ask. Reed Drummond was the kind of man who had a girl in every port—or in every rodeo town. He reeked with the knowledge that women swooned at his feet with the least provocation. And provocative was his middle name. In capital letters.

  Ann Forrester wasn’t going to fall for his slick line. Not in this lifetime.

  As soon as she could after school, she was going to take that damn miniature back to Dora. She wanted all reminders of this man out of her life.

  The bell rang for first period and she turned to go back to her classroom.

  “You all have a nice day, you hear, sugar Ann?” Reed called after her.

  She nearly stopped in her tracks. Only with the fortitude built upon years of self—discipline was she able to keep walking. He knew her name. And he’d given it a sugar coating like no man she’d ever known.

  HE WAS OUT THERE all morning. In the break between sixth—grade remedial math and eighth—grade algebra, Ann spotted him. Working. His shirt damp with perspiration. The row of fence posts extending one by one.

  By lunch he’d gathered a group of admirers around him, Tom Sawyer—style. The boys had been given shovels; the girls simply stood and watched in giggling admiration. His shirt had come off again.

  In the teachers’ room, it was obvious every female faculty member had noted—in precise detail—the circumference of Reed Drummond’s biceps. They would have started a dollar—a—bet pool, but no one was courageous enough to volunteer to measure the man.

  Ann had noticed other qualities, too. The tightness of his buns. The way he took off his hat from time to time and ploughed his fingers through thick, wavy hair. Achingly soft hair, from the way it tended to fall across his forehead.

  She also observed how some of the boys were so hungry for male attention—Jason Hilary, in particular—that they had latched on to the cowboy. Shadowing him. She hadn’t yet decided if that was a good idea or a bad one.

  She did know she was grateful when the day ended. Tension of the magnitude she’d been experiencing did not make for a good learning environment. Gritting her teeth, she wondered how long it would take Reed to complete his fencing project.

  A SOLID STRING of tourist cars edged along the main street of Mar del Oro, the drivers searching for an angled parking spot at the curb. With the warmth of California springtime, vacationers filled the coasta
l community, swarming through the craft shops and art galleries that lined the street. It would be worse when summer came.

  Like most locals, Ann knew about back alleys and hidden parking spots reserved for business owners. She whipped her sporty Mustang into an unmarked slot behind Dora Peterson’s van. Though Ann lived a quiet, circumscribed life, she rebelled at the thought of driving a boring car.

  Tucking the Dream Man box under her arm, Ann entered Dora’s Miniature World through the back door. Whole armies of lead figures were on display, from Napoleon’s soldiers in full, colorful regalia to the blue and gray fighting the war between the states one more time, and British soldiers of World War I all set to do battle against the Huns. And in the other corner of the shop, pewter figures from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings looked ready to snarl and growl, dragons defending their lairs.

  The miniatures were authentic, true works of art. Ann, steeped in teaching math to uninterested junior high school students, marveled at the artistic ability of the creators.

  Busy with a customer, Dora waved from behind the counter. She and Ann had been in school together, and Dora had taken over the shop when her father had suffered a heart attack. She’d varied the merchandise, buying from outside sources as well as from the craftspeople in Mar del Oro and developing an extensive mail—order business. From all Ann could tell, Dora was a grand success.

  Though mistakes in shipping did happen, Ann reminded herself.

  Dora finally disengaged herself from her customer. “Hi, hon. Back for another Dream Man?”

  “Not exactly.” Ann placed the box on the counter. “I’m afraid there was a mix up in shipping.”

  Dora raised her eyebrows. A tall woman with sharp features, she’d never be considered pretty. But her heart was pure gold. “What’s wrong?”

  “I ordered a medieval knight. What I got was a cowboy.” One with a striking resemblance to a cowboy who’d been inserting himself into her dreams lately.

  “Cowboys aren’t all bad,” Dora commented with a grin. She lifted the lid on the box. “Say, what were you doing in San Luis Obispo last Wednesday?”

  “Wednesday? Couldn’t have been me. That was a school day, and I had dinner with my folks that evening.” As usual.

  “Funny,” she said, eyeing Ann curiously. “I could have sworn it was you. I gave you a shout but you didn’t turn around. Thought it was strange for you to be over there during the middle of the week.”

  “I deny everything. Teachers aren’t allowed to play hooky.” She laughed but her thoughts were on a tall cowboy who was sexy enough to lure any woman into skipping class. “You don’t happen to know if, ah, the artist who made the cowboy figure uses local models, do you?” Ann’s question sounded as subtle as a sledgehammer slamming down on the glass countertop.

  “I don’t think she uses models at all. It’d be unusual for this kind of work.” She glanced at the miniature. “Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, no reason. I just met this man—”

  Dora’s brows shot up again.

  “No, nothing like that. I mean, there are some similarities. Nothing important. I thought, well, maybe—” Maybe she was being a fool. And not for the first time, she thought, shifting her hair back behind her shoulder.

  Shooting a glance toward a couple of new arrivals, Dora said, “The artist just shipped me some new inventory. I haven’t even opened the boxes yet. Maybe there’s a knight in the batch. We can exchange—”

  “That would be perfect. Sorry to be such a pest.”

  “Not to worry.” She reached across the counter and took Ann’s hand. “And as soon as I’m not so busy, I’ll be dying to hear more about this man you met”

  “There’s nothing to—” But Dora wasn’t listening. She’d gone off to help the customers, and before she had finished with them, a new group had come in the door. In between she retrieved several Dream Man boxes from the back room.

  Ann checked through them, finding the medieval knight she’d wanted all along. That’s when a gentleman who’d mistaken her for a store clerk asked a question. Since Ann knew the merchandise reasonably well, she put down her Dream Man box beside the others and showed the visitor to the cabinet featuring a diorama of Custer’s Last Stand.

  Leaving the elderly gentleman in Dora’s capable hands, she escaped the store with her rightful Dream Man box.

  Only then did she realize she’d left her briefcase at school, including all the papers she’d intended to correct that evening. By the time she returned to school, she was anxious and testy, ready for a fight, barely clinging to her usual calm demeanor.

  Jason Hilary and his friends became her target the moment she saw them with cans of spray paint in their hands.

  “Don’t you try to run away,” she shouted, piling out of her car and running after the boys. “I see you, Jason Hilary. Take one more step and you’re dead meat.”

  “Aw, man…” He came to a halt while the rest of the boys sprinted away.

  “Hand it over,” she ordered.

  “I didn’t do nuthin’,” he complained.

  “Yeah, sure. A real saint.” She snatched the can of black enamel from him.

  Under his breath he muttered words no woman ought to hear or be subjected to.

  “Jason, you’re too smart to get yourself involved in something as stupid as painting on the walls. If you’d just settle down, your future—”

  “Like, who the hell cares, Miss Forrester? Like, who gives a damn about what I do?”

  She felt like she’d been slapped in the face. He was right, of course. His parents, the whole system, had failed him. From his perspective there wasn’t a soul in the world who gave a diddly damn about him.

  Except her. She cared so much it hurt. The pain of his disillusionment lodged in her throat as painfully as if she’d swallowed one of those boulders that rolled down from the hills, blocking traffic and creating general chaos.

  She had to do something for this boy before he was totally lost. But how could she? Few teachers, particularly female teachers, could reach such a troubled youngster. He needed someone stronger. Someone who’d been there. Someone who had survived.

  In her mind’s eye she suddenly pictured Reed Drummond. From what she’d gathered, he’d been around the same block Jason was traveling. A painful path. Surely he must have learned something that he could pass on to this young boy. Something helpful.

  “I care about you, Jason.” She cupped the boy’s chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. The promise she was about to make terrified her, but she didn’t see she had any choice. Jason’s entire future was at risk. He was at a crossroads. She knew that from years of experience with children she’d rooted for and lost. She was damn well not going to lose Jason in the same way, if there was any chance to reclaim him. “And I think I know someone else who cares, too.”

  “Like who?” His gaze narrowed as though he couldn’t believe anyone would give a fig about him, much less two people.

  “Promise me you’ll be at school tomorrow.”

  He shrugged. “I was thinking about taking off. This place sucks.”

  “You can’t leave. Where would you go?”

  “My mom’s in L.A. She’d take me back.”

  Right, just where Jason needed to be, with his drug—addicted mother who let her boyfriends beat the hell out of her son. “Los Angeles is two hundred miles away,” she said, trying to discourage the boy. “You don’t have any money. How are you going to—”

  “I can hitchhike. Guys do.”

  “And some of them get killed,” she reminded him. “Look, Jason, give me a chance. Maybe there’s something I can do to help. A day or two. That’s all I’m asking.”

  He glanced away. “I haven’t done my homework yet.”

  Ann suppressed a smile. She’d won—for now. “Then I guess you’d better get your butt on home. I’m pretty tough when it comes to homework.”

  His rakish grin reminded Ann of the smile of another man, a reckless cowboy she�
��d have to turn into an instant mentor for a troubled boy.

  Not for minute did she think she’d given herself an easy assignment.

  Chapter Three

  He heard her car drive up to the ranch house. From inside the barn, he watched as her tight skirt hiked up to her thighs when she got out. She looked around. Tentative. Interested.

  The mountain coming to Mohammed.

  Reed hadn’t thought she would be this easy.

  The mutt woofed and trotted out to meet her. As casually as if they were old friends, she knelt to pet the mangy dog. His tail wagged fiercely.

  In spite of her showing up at his place, Ann Forrester had innocence written all over her. She used it as a shield to hide her passionate nature. Or maybe she wasn’t aware of the appetites Reed sensed lurking right below the surface. Now that would be a honest—to—God shame, if she didn’t know what she was missing.

  A man could do a lot with a woman who looked at him the way Ann had that morning, those grassgreen eyes speaking volumes about curiosity. And hunger. If she wasn’t exactly willing right off, with a little coaxing it wouldn’t take long. And she was here. So close he could feel the vibrations of her through the air.

  He stepped out of the shadows into the long rays of the setting sun.

  “Somethin’ I can do for you, sugar?”

  She let out a tiny gasp of surprise, the kind of sound a woman makes when a man first enters her—just before she moans at the sweet, hot pleasurable friction of him filling her all the way.

  “Yes, yes, there is.” She stood, and the mutt nuzzled her hand. “I, ah, hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.” She looked uncertain now. Nervous.

  “Just doing chores.” He hooked his thumbs in his jeans, studying her. Letting her get a good look at him. Letting her decide. For now.

  “I won’t take much of your time.” In a nervous gesture he’d seen her use before, she flicked her long hair back, revealing more of her smooth, kissable neck.