The Cowgirl's Man

3

IT TOOK CLAY more than two weeks to make it back to Hard Knox because he and Eve agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let Niki Keene know they were out to get her, so to speak. To cover their tracks, Eve arranged a tour for her star asset: stops at all the other eleven finalists’ hometowns for meetings with the contestants, photos to see how they looked with Clay, and interviews to make sure they could “talk.”

She reasoned that if they created a big enough public hullabaloo, Niki would feel obligated to cooperate even before they got there.

Hell, Clay thought philosophically, it was worth a shot.

As a result, he hit Hard Knox on a Saturday afternoon in late July, this time amidst much fanfare and ballyhoo. A reception committee met him at the edge of town and led him to the park where he’d skulked on the Fourth of July. There the mayor waited. Almost before Clay could climb out of his pickup truck, the park began to fill with curious and eager citizens of all ages.

Escorted to the bandstand by the rotund chief of police, he was met by the beaming mayor. Behind her, a couple of photographers hovered, fingering the cameras draped around their necks. One would be in Eve’s hire and the other was doubtless from the local newspaper.

The mayor nodded happily. “Rosie Mitchell,” she said, grabbing his hand and shaking it with both of hers. “Welcome to our fair city, Mr. Russell.”

“Call me Clay.” He looked around for Niki and spotted her sisters almost at once but the reluctant contestant herself was not in evidence. “Uhh… I don’t seem to see—”

“That’ll wait.” Rosie hauled him to the edge of the platform and held up her hands for attention. “Folks, I’d like y’all to meet Clay Russell, World Champion All-Around Cowboy. Let’s give him a big ol’ Hard Knox welcome!”

At her urging, everyone applauded, some politely but most with enthusiasm. Clay acknowledged their welcome with a smile and a friendly wave but his thoughts were elsewhere, with a certain blue-eyed black-haired malcontent.

When the applause died away, he tried again. “Mayor Mitchell, I don’t see our contestant anywhere. I hope Ms. Keene—”

“Yes, yes, we’ll talk about that,” Rosie said. “But first—”

One of the men loitering nearby rushed forward, carrying a large gilt key.

“The key to the city,” Rosie said expansively, offering it to Clay with a flourish. “We’re mighty proud to welcome you to Hard Knox and hope you’ll stay around long enough to appreciate lots of good old-fashioned Texas hospitality.”

Somewhat taken aback, Clay accepted the key to the accompaniment of more applause. About eighteen inches long and made of balsa wood, it glittered with brilliant metallic gold paint. A bright blue ribbon streamed from the shaft.

“I’m overwhelmed,” he said. “Thank you all for this nice welcome. Now if I can just meet our contestant—”

“You can meet everyone!” Rosie waved expansively to the crowd. She added in a joking tone, “Now don’t y’all push and shove, folks.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I’m sure you’ll all get to shake the hand of our honored guest—maybe even get yourself an autograph.”

And that’s what happened for the next hour and forty-five minutes. Not once did Niki Keene show her beautiful face, nor did her sisters join the line of autograph seekers. In fact, after a while they wandered off.

This did not portend well for the success of his mission but he wouldn’t let that little quibble get him down. It was in his own best interest to get Nikki to compete, so compete she would.

OVER AT the nearly empty Sorry Bastard Saloon, Niki strove in vain to ignore what she knew was going on outside. She wanted nothing to do with the duplicitous Mr. Russell but neither did she want to be rude. Maybe if she simply stayed away, he’d take the hint.

But she couldn’t forget the words he’d said on the Fourth of July: nothing I want here.

Definitely an insult.

Cleavon, working behind the bar, waved her over. Rosie was definitely the more popular member of that duo but Niki had always been fond of her other boss, too.

Tall and thin, he’d wrapped the white bar apron around his skinny body a couple of times. As always, his long brown hair was pulled back into a wispy ponytail that drooped at the nape of his neck.

Flopping a towel on the bar, he leaned forward. “Why don’cha just go on over to th’ park?” he urged plaintively. “It’s gonna look real funny, you not bein’ there with that big rodeo cowboy comin’ all this way to see you.”

Niki felt her spine stiffen. “Don’t start on me, Cleavon,” she begged. “Please.”

He sighed. “I won’t, but you showin’ up would sure save Rosie’s bacon. She’s out there makin’ a fool of herself and hopin’ against hope you’ll do this one little bitty thing for the town.”

Niki rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said when you talked me into taking that Cowboy Dream Girl title. Cleavon, I’m twenty-seven years old which is too old for all that beauty contest nonsense. I’m afraid I’ve done just about all the little bitty things I can for this town.”

With a wave, she moved away to wash down tables that didn’t need it. She’d taken only a couple of steps when the door opened and her sisters walked in. With a groan, she bowed to the inevitable and went to meet them.

“What’ll it be?” she asked cheerfully, just as if they were regular customers. “Cleavon’s got a special on the Sorry Burger, if you’re hungry.”

Dani and Toni exchanged exasperated glances and Dani said, “All we want is you, Nik—out there acting nice.”

“This is as nice as I get these days.” Niki spun away.

Toni jumped in front of her. “Rosie’s dyin’ out there, trying to act as if everything’s all right. She was so sure you’d change your mind.”

“Just because I always have before, after being brow-beaten and bullied for a couple of weeks? I’m sorry but I can’t do that again.”

“But this guy is cute.” Dani joined the offense. “I mean, really cute. At least come out to meet him and let the photographers take a couple of pictures. ”

“What part of no way, never, forget it don’t you people understand?” Niki wrung her hands together. “This is making me crazy! My own sisters…” She let her voice trail off mournfully.

Dani, seemingly undeterred, fixed Niki with a level gaze. “Okay, we tried. If you really don’t want to do this, I don’t suppose we should give you any more flack about it.”

“But on the other hand…” Toni tried to turn the tide.

“No, really,” Dani said sanctimoniously. “I guess Niki’s happy in her own little rut. Far be it from us to try to shake her out of it.”

Toni frowned. “I wouldn’t say she’s in a rut, exactly.”

Dani’s brows soared. “No? She works at the ranch and here and that’s it. She doesn’t date—”

“I certainly do,” Niki said huffily.

“When’s the last time you had a date?”

“I…I don’t know. When’s the last time you had sex? Oh—!” Niki clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was way out of line.”

“This morning about six.” Dani’s expression was challenging. “And I liked it!”

“I’m sorry,” Niki said again, miserably. What had possessed her to say such a thing? Sex wasn’t a topic often on her mind….

“I repeat, when’s the last time you went out on a date?”

“Who was it with?” Toni chimed in, apparently catching on.

“I don’t remember. There, are you satisfied?”

“Not hardly.” Dani pursed her lips. “I just felt it necessary to support my contention that you’re in a rut. You need something to shake you out of it—not for the good of the town but for your own good.”

“I am not in a rut.” Niki recognized the defensive edge in her tone and hoped her sisters didn’t. “I’m happy with my life.”

“Really? Hiding out here at the Sorry Bastard or back at the ranch, a big fish in a little pond? No husband, no kids—hell, Nik, you don’t even have a dog of your own!”

“Dani!” Niki stopped short, surprised by the laughter bubbling in her throat. “Oh, all right,” she grumbled. “You’ve made your point.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

“Yes, I’ll think about it. Now go away and let me do my job.”

She watched them leave, feeling the weight of melancholy settle upon her shoulders. If her life was as dull as they made it sound, was she then equally dull? Maybe if she wasn’t reasonably pretty, she wouldn’t have any friends at all.

Talk about a depressing thought….

NIKI’S SISTERS eventually reappeared and were last in line to meet the guest of honor. Ignoring the crowd of men and boys still clustered around Clay in a loose but attentive semicircle, the dark-haired one stuck out her hand and said, “I’m Dani Keene Burke.”

The one with lighter hair added, “Toni Barnett. We’re Niki Keene’s sisters and we thought we…” She looked uncomfortable. “…uh…we owed you an explanation.”

Mayor Rosie heaved a gusty sigh of relief. “Thank heaven y’all showed up,” she said. “I’ve been dreading havin’ to do this alone.”

Clay, who knew exactly what they were talking about, smiled warmly. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. “Will your sister, Niki, be joining us soon? We’ve kept the photographers waiting as it is.” He gestured toward the two men sitting on the back edge of the bandstand, talking quietly.

“That’s just it.” Dani looked pained. “I’m afraid…she won’t be coming.”

Clay raised his brows. “Because…?”

“Because…” Dani looked at Toni who looked at Rosie who looked distressed.

Finally the mayor did her reluctant duty. “Niki says she doesn’t want to be in the contest,” she admitted faintly.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish. She didn’t actually even enter—somebody else did it without checking with her first,” Rosie explained uneasily. “She wasn’t real happy when we surprised her with the news at our big Fourth of July bash but we were kinda hopin’ she’d change her mind.”

“Being a finalist in a big national contest isn’t exactly an insult,” he pointed out.

“We all told her that,” Toni said. “We want her to do it—everybody in town wants her to do it.” The other two nodded agreement. “It’s just that she’s stubborn. The more we push her, the harder she digs in her heels. Now we’re at the point where I don’t think anything could change her mind.”

Clay smiled. “Well,” he drawled, “maybe I can just come up with a way if I think on it real hard….”

THE FRONT DOOR to the Sorry Bastard flew open and in walked the sexiest man Niki Keene had ever seen in the flesh. He was followed by half—the younger half—of the males in this part of Texas. Two photographers trailed along behind.

Laughing, talking, the men pulled together several of the tables and hauled up chairs with much scraping of chair legs. Dylan Sawyer thumped a fist on the tabletop and shouted, “Beer all around, Niki! We got us a celebrity here we’re tryin’ to impress…my buddy Clay Russell.”

“Coming right up, Dylan.” Being careful to avoid looking at the “celebrity,” she hurried to the bar where Cleavon was already drawing beer into frosty mugs.

This might be harder than she’d expected. She’d been unable to stop thinking about Clay Russell after only one very low-key glimpse of him. Now he was back full force, confident and charismatic as if he’d just been fooling the last time.

He had been fooling, she realized, picking up the tray of beers. He’d been incognito, undercover—spying on her, in fact.

She distributed the beers, smiling and friendly while trying to keep her gaze averted from his. She didn’t want anything to do with this man. He was a threat to her…boring existence, if her sisters were to be believed.

But when push came to shove, she just couldn’t carry it off. Placing a cold mug of beer before him, she slowly raised her gaze until it met his amused one. “Goodness me,” she said in her best Texas-belle accent, “I sure never expected to see you again, Mr. Russell. The last time you dropped in, you said there was nothing around here you really wanted.”

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