A vision of Madisonblond, golden with pain-filled eyesarose before him. God, shed looked great this morning in that white silk suit with her golden hair swept sleekly back from her thin face.
Steve signaled Jeff, his number-one bartender, for a beer. After a beer, or maybe two, he wanted a woman, preferably a brainless, buxom brunette with a bad-girl body she knew what to do with. Next he wanted to take all his phones off the hook, read his book about ancient Greek wars and get a good nights sleep, preferably alone, so hed be fresh for his meeting with the governor tomorrow morning. If that was ruthless, he had his reasonsreason.
Madison.
Not that Steve was in a rush to pick up a bimbo. Truth to tell, such women bored the hell out of him. After all, he was supposed to be the intellectual in his family. The smart triplet. He dreaded the preliminary flirtations and idiotic maneuvers necessary to bed such a woman.
Hey, smart triplet, idiocy and boredom equal self-preservation.
Still wearing his jeans, work boots and sweat-stained Stetson, he leaned back in the tall, dark booth while he grimly eyed the pretty women clustered around little tables and booths. When a beautiful young brunette at the bar, who was braless in a tank top, smiled at him, he frowned until he saw Jeff flying toward his table with a frosty mug of Corona.
Here you go, boss. Three slices of lime just the way you like it.
Thanks.
Steve squeezed the limes and then took a slow swig of beer. The familiar knots in his muscles meant he was exhausted from a long day at his ranch, followed by his stint of playing stand-in cook after Jeff had called him. After signing papers at his lawyers office, where hed seen Madison, Steve had spent the morning arguing with construction crews about the delays in the restoration of his historical ranch house. At noon his meeting with his architect and contractor had been tense, to say the least.
In less than six months he would be hosting the big, prestigious, annual Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet because this year the governor had chosen to honor Ryan Fortune, who just happened to be Steves good friend, distant cousin and mentor.
His damn house had to be ready. What could he do to make James, his laid-back, good-ol-boy contractor, who liked to hunt and fish at least once a week and every sunny weekend, understand that?
Then there was Dixon. Dixon was turning into a helluva pest. Steve had wasted the afternoon in the hot sun watching men survey the pastures of his legendary ranch, the Loma Vista, because Dixon, his neighbor to the east, was disputing the one-hundred-year-old fence line between the properties.
Dixon had wanted to buy the ranch himself. Hed given Steve trouble about the title ever since Steve had bought the place from old Mel Foster.
Not that Steve wanted to rehash his day. Hell, he wanted to forget it. Hed intended to celebrate an anniversary of sorts and a victory and then to party with the lady of his choice.
The Shiny Pony Bar and Grill was now his, all his. As of this morning, no more meetings with Larry Cabot, his former partner and former best friend. Betraying best friend, he reminded himself. No more Madison Beck, either. He was done once and for all with her, even if she was his ex-fiancée, whom hed loved. Hell, shed broken his heart exactly one year ago to the day.
Would he ever forget standing at the altar, waiting for her, all eyes drilling him while Here Comes the Bride was played for the fifth time?
Steve forced a deep breath. Finally he could close the book on the sorry chapter of his life in which Cabot and Madison had starred.
Steve had told everybody who would listen that he resented her for jilting him for Cabot, his former college buddy, whod been born with more money than God, as had four generations of Cabots before him.
So why did he ache every time he even thought about Madison? Because she was lovely and so vulnerable, he still worried about her. Because she needed to be told and shown constantly that she was beautiful and loved. Cabot was too arrogant to tend to anyones needs other than his own.
Steve had wanted to take care of her for the rest of their lives. Her parents had died when she was eight, leaving her to grow up poor and abandoned. Underneath her glamorous facade, shed been a scared little girl in need of love. Hed been determined to make her feel safe. As it had turned out, money represented real security to her.
Cabot and he had owned a couple of restaurants with bars downtown. Steve had bought out Cabots interest in this place while selling him his own interest in the Lonesome Saloon, which, unfortunately, was just across the street. From time to time, he would probably run into Cabot. Only, now they wouldnt have to speak or work together. He probably wouldnt see much of Madison anymore.
Even as his heart ached, Steves mouth twisted. Cheers, he growled in a low voice as his callused hand tightened on the handle of his mug.
Goodbye, Madison. With a supreme effort he lifted his mug and willed her to stop haunting him.
One day at a time. One night at a time. That had been his mantra ever since his screwed-up wedding day. His triplet brothers, Miles and Clyde, who ribbed him about everything, still hadnt dared to even breathe Madisons name in his presence or mention the wedding. Jack, his older brother, whom Steve had idolized as a child, had suffered too much heartbreak himself to ever embarrass Steve about his.
Steve glanced toward the long-haired brunette at the bar in the tight red tank top. The skinny blond kid who was standing beside her kept edging his drink closer to hers. If Steve wanted her, hed better get a move on.
To hell with her.
No woman will ever turn me into a chump like that again, he vowed aloud, addressing the brunette, who smiled at him and batted her lashes even as she leaned against the kid, nudging his bulging bicep with her breast.
To hell with her. The last thing Steve would ever do was pick a fight with a paying customer over a woman.
Steve glanced awaystraight into the haunted eyes of a smoldering golden-haired, golden-skinned babe, who at first glance seemed an exact replica of Madison.
Run!
She stared straight into his eyes and held them and him perfectly still for an endless moment.
His pulse quickened.
No blondes, you fool.
He told himself that smart guys learned from their mistakes.
Smart or not, his blood coursed through him like a molten rush. Blondes, not to mention Madison clones, were no-nos, and the little voices in his head began shouting all the familiar warnings.
The blonde crossed her long legs and then uncrossed them, very very slowly. Her black spandex skirt was so short, he got a glimpse of matching black lace panties.
Mesmerized, Steve let his gaze crawl up her legs. When she oozed forward on her bar stool, her glossy red smile widened. He could not stop staring at herat her lips, at her body. He kept hoping against hope shed shift her position on that damn stool and uncross and cross those gorgeous legs again. He wanted more of those thighs and black lace.
Her companion was a stunning black girl with big hair and skin the color of caramel. A tight red sheath hugged her slim body. Gold bangles gleamed at her throat and ears. When she caught him watching the blonde, she winked sassily and shot him a toothy grin. Then a cowboy came up to her and asked her to dance. She melted into the tall mans arms, leaving the coast clear for Steve. When she began to undulate on the dance floor, everybody in the bar except Steve watched her.
Her companion was a stunning black girl with big hair and skin the color of caramel. A tight red sheath hugged her slim body. Gold bangles gleamed at her throat and ears. When she caught him watching the blonde, she winked sassily and shot him a toothy grin. Then a cowboy came up to her and asked her to dance. She melted into the tall mans arms, leaving the coast clear for Steve. When she began to undulate on the dance floor, everybody in the bar except Steve watched her.
Through narrowed dark eyes, Steve refocused on the blonde. She was slender, rather than voluptuous, classy looking in spite of her skimpy outfit.
In the right clothes, say a white silk suit like the one Madison had worn this morning, she would fit on his arm anywhere. He could even take her home to meet Mom in Manhattan and the brothers.
Squash that thought.
Her creamy, honey-colored skinthanks to low-cut black spandex, he could see a lot of that, tooand her rippling yellow hair looked so soft he wanted to wrap her body around his and carry her out to the back alley and take her against a wall caveman style. He wanted to smother his face in her hair and then rip that little nothing of a skirt off and yank down her panties. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to taste hernow. He wanted her mouth on his body, kissing him everywhere. He wanted her so badly, he knew he should run.
Why her? Her narrow face wasnt conventionally pretty. Her mouth was too large, her slender nose too long, her cheekbones too high and pronounced. She was too tall probably and too slim for him, as well. But her big sad eyes that tilted upward at the corners lured him in some unfathomable way.
The voices in his head had given up. As he shoved his Stetson back, Steves gaze drifted from the blondes mouth to her small, firm breasts, down her waist, down her hips and then lower, skimming the length of her long, tanned legs again. She wore black cowboy boots embroidered with red roses. He knew boots. Hers were custom-made.
She broke the gaze, releasing him. Then she puckered her wet, shiny mouth and slowly bent forward so that her breasts, small as they were, bulged enticingly as she blew out the birthday candle on the tiny chocolate cupcake he hadnt noticed before in the middle of the little round table.
Hell, was that a tiny tattoo above her left breast?
It sure as hell was. He hated tattoos. So would Mom. So would his triplet brothers.
Forget Mom and Clyde and Miles.
Her black-lashed eyes lifted to his again, and her mouth curved when she realized he was still watching her.
She was something all right. And she knew it. She was good at this. She probably trolled somewhere different every night.
The cowboy to his right was giving her the eye, too. Jealousy washed Steve in a hot green wave. In that black spandex miniskirt and the low-cut black blouse with hunky coral jewelry at her throat and wrists, she was the hottest woman in the bar. If he didnt go after her, some other guy sure as hell would.
Steves hand on his mug froze. Her enormous light-colored eyes were too sweet and sad for words.
She looked lostjust like Madison had this morning. Just like his brother Jack used to after Anns death. Suddenly Steve wanted very badly to know why she was hurting. Even though he didnt want to be involved, he felt connected, which meant he should run. He removed his Stetson, placed it on the table and ran his hands through his short dark-brown hair. Then he took a long pull from his mug.
He wanted her. Only her. Maybe because he couldnt have Madison. The situation scared the hell out of him. Still, he said the predictable sort of prayer all horny bastards say in bars after a beer or two when they see a pretty woman they want.
Please, make her a nymphomaniac. At least for tonight.
He hoped the Man Upstairs was listening. Tightening his grip on his beer, he shoved back from his table and arose awkwardly.
Time to make his move.
As he swaggered toward her, his boots thudding heavily on the rough wooden boards, he felt like an actor in a bad play. Ever since his fatal wedding day, crowds gave him claustrophobia. The closer he got to her, the more the other people in the bar seemed to stare.
He wasnt even halfway across the room when the walls started pressing closer and his breathing grew labored. He was gulping for air when another cowboy on the way to the bar shoved him, jarring him back to reality.
The voices in his head began to scream. No blondes, dummy. No blondes.
Sorry, the cowboy said with a sheepish grin.
Sure, Steve grunted as his throat squeezed shut.
Jeff signaled him.
No way could he talk to the blonde now.
Beyond Jeff, he saw an exit sign. Blindly he veered toward it, stumbled over a chair leg and sent two chairs flying. When he righted them, his legs felt heavier. Every step was impossibly difficult. He felt as if he was slogging through knee-deep mud.
Hell.
Wait! Your hat! a velvet voice cried behind him.
He turned and saw the black girl in the red sheath waving his Stetson at him.
To hell with his hat! Hed buy another one.
Then the blonde snatched it out of her friends hand and slowly put it on. It was way too big for her, but she looked cuter than hell when she peeped at him from underneath the brim with her huge, lost eyes.
Her mouth curved in a sweet, sad smile that made him want to save her from whatever the hell was bothering her.
Run!
Two
A my felt flushed. Was it the Flirtita, a fruity variation of a Margarita, that she was drinking that was making her feel light-headed and bolder than usual? Or was it the wild drumbeat of the music pulsing inside her like a second heartbeat?
Wait! Rasa yelled.
Amy couldnt believe Rasa. She was too much. When the tall, dark cowboy didnt answer the impossible girl or turn around, Rasa strolled back to Amys table with his hat, her pretty mouth petulant.
Hes leaving! I cant believe your hot-to-trot cowboy is galloping for the hills! Youd better get up and take him his hat, baby.
Amy jumped up and then forced herself to sit back down.
She wanted to run after him.
The evening was definitely out of control, and that scared Amy, who was into controlnormally.
I dont know what got into me. Coming herewith youtonight of all nights. And flirting with him. What am I doing here?
Amy slapped her own cheek so hard it stung. She had to get a grip, if not on Rasa, on herself.
Its your birthday. Youre thirty. Youre having a Margarita.
A Flirtita, Amy corrected. Specialty of the house. And its strong. Too strong.
Or maybe it just seemed strong because she hadnt had any alcohol for eight years.
Maybe Ill try one. When Rasa held up her hand to signal a waiter, Amy grabbed her wrist and lowered it.
Oh, no, you dont.
So, whats wrong with flirting a little when a guys that cute?
I could tell you whats wrong. If you had my memories, youd understand.
You might as well be dead if you dont live a little, Rasa said, waving his hat at him again.
Dead.
The charged word echoed in Amys bruised heart and soul as she shakily sipped her Flirtita and tried to pretend all she felt was a haughty nonchalance. She wasnt about to tell Rasa, whom she barely knew, about her visit to the cemetery, which was partly why she felt so crazy and out of control tonight.