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Those were the best six Saturdays of her young life. After that, her father was gone again, escorting a tour group to Europe. He never managed to stay with them for very long.
Shaking off the sad thoughts, she gathered up her planner and her purse as Clint turned on the overhead light.
“Must be working after all,” he said, giving her a wink.
He’d lied to her. The light never was broken. He’d just wanted her to look at the scenery. He’d manipulated her, and she didn’t like that, but if he hadn’t, she would have kept her face in her planner and missed the beauty of this country.
Clint got out of the truck. He walked her up the stairs of the cabin, his hand holding her elbow lightly. That was polite and gentlemanly of him. He opened the door with a large key and flicked on the light.
She glanced around the room and spotted a phone. “Can I make long-distance calls?”
“That phone only rings to the main office in case of emergency.”
“I can’t live without a phone. Thank goodness I have my cell.” She flipped open her phone. “Why can’t I get a signal?”
“It won’t work around here. Too many mountains surrounding us. But Em and Dex have a phone in the office you can use.” He gripped the door handle. “I’d better haul your luggage in.”
“Where’s the bell person?”
“I guess that’d be me. We all pitch in around here.”
Susan turned around and found herself forehead-to-nose, toe-to-toe with Clint Scully. He grabbed her elbows to steady her.
His eyes studied her face, and then his gaze traveled down to her breasts. She probably should have been offended, but in truth she was flattered. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her that way. He seemed to see right through her, reaching down to a part of her that hadn’t been touched in years. The same heat that had licked at her insides before flared again.
He cocked an eyebrow as if he was wondering what she’d do next.
She held her breath, wondering what he’d do.
It’d been a long time since she’d been with a man, and being so close to Clint reminded her of that fact.
She’d given up on men a while ago. They just couldn’t understand that her company came before they did.
Yet Clint was very, very tempting, and very different. If his scorching gaze was any indication, he was as attracted to her as she was to him.
He gave his hat a tug. “I’ll go get your luggage. Why don’t you relax?”
“Thanks, Clint.” She offered her hand, to shake his. “For everything.”
He raised her hand an inch from his lips. “My pleasure, Susan.”
Surely, he wouldn’t…No one did that anymore.
Clint did. A whisper of warm air and soft lips brushed the back of her hand, and she melted like polyester under a too-hot iron.
Clint Scully was one interesting man.
Trying to gather her thoughts, she listened to the dull sound of his boots fade as he walked down the stairs of the porch. Then she explored the cabin.
The walls were tongue-and-groove knotty pine, varnished to a shine. Lace curtains on the window gave it a homey touch. Brightly striped Hudson’s Bay blankets slashed bits of color around the cottage. It was open and airy with high ceilings and chunky log furniture with bright cushions in a Native American arrow design.
A huge stone fireplace took up most of one wall, and a pile of wood was stacked on a circular stand nearby. She looked for the switch that would make the fireplace spring to life.
“It’s the real thing,” Clint said, appearing next to her with her luggage. “I’ll show you how to start a fire if you’d like.”
“I think I can figure it out.”
She thought how nice it would be to sit before a real fire at night and read a book. She hadn’t had time to read a book in ages. That was something else she’d been missing.
“I’ll leave these here, then I’ll see about getting your dinner,” Clint said.
She walked him to the door and felt all warm and fuzzy when he tweaked his hat and disappeared into the dark night.
Susan Collins, CEO, hadn’t felt warm and fuzzy since mohair was in fashion.
Clint grabbed a frosty cold bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge in his travel trailer and set it on the countertop. In three steps, he was inside his bathroom checking his appearance in the mirror above the sink.
Clint bought the thirty-foot trailer from Ronnie Boggs, a down-on-his-luck cowboy who was quitting bull riding. He remembered pulling out his wallet and handing Ronnie more than double his asking price. Ronnie refused to take all that, but Clint wouldn’t take no for an answer and stuffed the money into the tough cowboy’s pocket.
Clint towed it from event to event wherever he was working. He liked the privacy and the quiet, and the fact that he could cook his own meals and relax in his own surroundings. Besides, if he stayed in a hotel, the riders would give him the business.
Whenever he was at the Gold Buckle Ranch, which was every summer and whenever else his pal Jake Dixon needed him, he parked it in his usual spot, deep in the woods behind the cabins. His favorite thing to do was to crank out the awning, sit in a lawn chair under it and listen to the brook as it sluiced over the rocks.
As Clint walked over to the boxes filled with jeans, shirts and work gear from his sponsors, he reminded himself to fire up his laptop and transfer funds. He’d heard on the stock contractors’ grapevine that a couple of rank bulls might be going on auction with a starting bid of seventy-five thousand each. He’d been waiting and watching for those bulls and would pay any amount for them. They’d make a good addition to his stock.
He grabbed a new shirt from one of the cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Pulling it out of the plastic wrap, he slid off the little white clips and shook out the shirt. Slipping it on, he could still see the fold marks. He puffed out his chest, and the creases faded. Well, he couldn’t do that all night. He’d just have to hope for dim lighting.
He swung by the mess hall and collected a picnic basket loaded with food for Susan’s dinner, and soon he was heading back to the Homesteader Cabin to see her again.
Ahh, Susan. She was so tense, so coiled up, she appeared to be about to spring. There was a sadness about her—he could see it in her deep purple eyes. Maybe he could distract her for a while.
He had a feeling that Susan Collins would dig her own subway back to New York when she looked out the window tomorrow morning and saw a couple hundred kids engaged in various activities. She didn’t seem the kid type, but then again, he’d just met her. And he wanted to get to know her better.
Clint walked down the dimly lit path from the campgrounds that led to the cabins, a wine bottle gripped in one hand, the picnic basket that Cookie had given him for Susan swaying in the other.
He took the steps of the Homesteader Cabin two at a time and gave a light knock on the door.
“Who is it?” Her voice was slurred, sleepy.
“It’s Clint. I brought your dinner.”
“Just a minute.”
She opened the door and Clint immediately liked what he saw. She’d changed into a dark pink golf shirt. On the pocket was bright embroidery in primary colors—her company logo, a halo of stars surrounding “Winners Wear.” Printed underneath that, in bright orange, was her motto—For Those Who Try Their Best. Khaki pants clung to a great pair of hips. On her feet were fuzzy pink socks. Her auburn hair was in a ponytail high on her head, and a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses were barely hanging on to the tip of her nose.
She held up the latest issue of Pro Bull Rider Magazine. “It was on the coffee table. Interesting sport, bull riding.”
He set the picnic basket and wine down on the kitchen table. “You’ll have to see it in person sometime.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”
“I guarantee you’ll love it.”
“Care to wager that bottle of Chardonnay against that?”
He opened the picnic basket and pulled out several items wrapped in waxed paper. “You know, we’ve had a few bull riding events at Madison Square Garden.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding. Now, grab a chair and let’s see what Cookie made for us.” He opened one of the bigger packages. “Roast beef sandwiches.”
He kept unwrapping and found pickles, a container of macaroni salad, two apples, potato chips and a couple of cans of cranberry-grape juice.
“Cookie thinks of everything,” Clint said.
“What’s his real name?”
“I don’t know, actually. Every cook is called Cookie. It’s a throwback to the chuck-wagon and trail-drive days.” He held up the bottle of Chardonnay. “Some wine?”
“Why not?”
Clint opened the wine and found a couple of glasses in the cabinet next to the sink. Filling them halfway, he handed one to Susan. “Here’s to your stay at the Gold Buckle Ranch.”
“Thank you.” They clinked glasses. “You like it here, don’t you, Clint?”
“I do. I love the kids. They have a lot of heart and what we cowboys call try. The volunteers that come every year are special people, and the Dixons are the epitome of try. I see that you have the word in your logo.”
“Emily liked my logo, too. That’s why I’m here, I guess. But I can’t take all the credit. My mother and I came up with our motto, theme, mission statement, whatever you want to call it when we were making nurses’ uniforms in our kitchen. Trying our best is what got us through some tough years.”
“And now you’re the CEO of your own company.” He shook his head. “That took a ton of ‘try.’”
The way her eyes brightened and the way she smiled, he could tell she was proud of herself. She should be. But there was still that haunting sadness in her eyes.
They ate and talked about nothing in particular and everything in general until he noticed that she was trying to stifle a yawn.
He was just about to leave when Mrs. D came up the steps of the Homesteader Cabin.
“I saw your light on, Susan, and I wanted to stop by and welcome you to the Gold Buckle Ranch,” Emily said. “Evening, Clint. Did you see to our guest?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I knew you would.” She flashed him a teasing smile.
“Emily, do come in.” Susan stood, looking for her sample books. “Would you like to talk about the merchandise now?”
“Heavens no, sweetie. It’s late and you must be exhausted. I just wanted to welcome you and make sure you have everything you need.”
Mrs. Dixon enveloped Susan in a big bear hug. Susan closed her eyes and looked uncomfortable at first, but Emily didn’t let go. Eventually, Susan’s tense expression turned into a big grin.
And Clint realized that Susan seemed to need just such a hug.
Emily was about Susan’s height, and was one of those women who perpetually smiled. She wore her brown hair short, tucked behind her ears, and she seemed like a bundle of controlled energy.
Emily took a couple of steps into the Homesteader Cabin. “Maybe I will come in for a minute. It’s been a stressful day—nothing big—just a bunch of little things.”
“Anything I can help you with?” Clint asked.
Emily made her way to the living room and sat down on the couch, clearly exhausted. “I don’t think so, Clint, but thanks, anyway. My biggest problem is that my arts and crafts teacher had to leave tonight. She was going to chaperone on the trail ride, too. Her daughter is having a baby, and it’s coming earlier than they thought.”
“I hope you find someone,” Susan said.
“Me, too. I’d hate to cancel the arts and crafts program next week when the Gold Buckle Gang program begins. The kids just love making things and taking them home as presents.”
“How about someone from town?” Clint asked.
“I’ve already put out feelers, but so far, there have been no calls, and I’m running out of time. Beth wanted to help—” She turned to Susan. “Beth’s my daughter-in-law, Jake’s wife. But she’s due to deliver her baby in a couple of weeks, and the doctor wants her to stay off her feet.”
Susan knew she should offer to help, but she’d be leaving in a couple of days herself. Besides, she truly didn’t know if she could handle working with the kids in such close proximity.
She’d kept her charity work at a distance by donating money and by organizing and running fund-raisers. She did everything she could for handicapped children in Elaine’s memory. But she had never worked with children on a one-on-one basis. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to face that pain.
“Well, this is my problem,” Emily said to Susan. “I didn’t mean to burden you with it on your first night. You’re here to relax and enjoy our spa. It should be operational soon. You’re staying with us a week. Right, Susan?”
Susan bit back a smile at the spa reference. She now knew that it was a hot tub on a deck somewhere. “Don’t worry about the spa. And, Emily, I’m sorry, but I’m only staying for a couple of days.”
As he listened to the women chatting, an idea struck Clint—one that guaranteed him more time with Susan. Clint snapped his fingers. “Susan, why don’t you take over the class. You’ll be great. The kids will love you. Stay the week.”
Emily smiled. “Oh, Susan, that would be wonderful! I don’t think the classes would take up too much of your time. Just Monday through Friday—two hour-long classes a day.”
Susan’s mouth went dry, and she felt an uncomfortable lump in her stomach. She had to convince Emily that she wasn’t staying for an entire week. That she’d planned on leaving the day after tomorrow.
“I don’t know if I’d be that great with the kids,” Susan finally said.
“Sure you would.” Clint winked at her. “And I really love your company’s motto—For Those Who Try Their Best.” He raised an eyebrow, pointing to the logo on her shirt. He gave her the thumbs-up sign.
Oh, he was sneaky! She could see through him like cheap gauze. He had thrown her own motto back at her.
“Oh…Emily. Okay. I’ll do it,” she heard herself say. “For the whole week.”
“You are a darling!” Emily gathered her into another big hug. “Thank you so much.”
Thanks to Clint and his cute dimple and turquoise eyes, she’d just volunteered. To be a teacher. She didn’t know how to teach. She didn’t know anything about arts and crafts. She’d made a key chain out of braided boondoggle once, if that counted.
Emily walked to the door. “I’ll rearrange my schedule to give us some time to plan. Are you also willing to chaperone on the overnight campout and trail ride, too? If not, I understand. I’m already taking too much advantage of you.”
She looked at Clint. “I-I’ll do it.”
What was she doing? The words were just coming out of her mouth. Maybe she was just overtired. She’d never acted like this.
“Susan, do you know how to ride?” Emily asked.
“Not really, but I took some lessons when I was twelve.”
“Clint will refresh your memory. All of our horses are very gentle. And I promise that classes will only be for an hour or two each day. That’ll leave you plenty of time for yourself.”
Emily put an arm around Susan. “I can’t thank you enough for volunteering. Now, you get some sleep. You’ve had a long day, and Clint will be here early to take you to breakfast at the dining hall and give you a riding lesson. Good night—to both of you.”
With a wave, Emily was gone from the cabin.
Susan headed for the couch and sat down. She’d never backed down on a promise, and she didn’t intend to start now.
Clint sat opposite her on the coffee table. “That was a really nice thing you did, volunteering to help Mrs. D.”
“I think you were the one who volunteered me, Clint Scully. My volunteering would have made more sense if I knew something about arts and crafts and riding.” She smiled to take some of the sting out of her voice.
“I believe you’ll be a wonderful teacher.” He stood and tweaked his hat.
She just loved it when he did that. And how could she be mad at him when his eyes sparkled like that?
She’d be mad enough later when she thought about it. Mad at herself. Clint had outwitted her, and it had been a long time since she’d had the rug pulled out from under her.
Maybe she really did want to stay.
Chapter Three
How could she even think such a thing?
Stay here? She’d been counting on doing business, with a relaxing spa weekend on the side—not playing teacher at a kids’ camp. But here she was—trapped. And it was her own fault for volunteering.
“Susan, I’ll help you with your classes anytime. Day or night,” Clint said.
Now, that was a loaded statement. Clint was a flirt, and she was very rusty in the flirting department.
Standing, she walked to the door. Clint got the message and sauntered over to her. “I’ll be sure to call on you if I need you,” Susan said, then waited a few beats. “Day or night.”
He grinned. Tweaked his hat. “See you in the morning.”
She could hear the thud of his boots as he walked onto the porch and down the stairs. She locked the door behind him, then sat down on the couch.
She had to think of something besides Clint. The cowboy was getting under her skin, making her stomach flutter and her heart do little flips in her chest. For heaven’s sake, she was a businesswoman, not a freshman in high school.
Don’t think about him. Think about your class.
She’d just promised Emily that she’d teach arts and crafts, but she didn’t have a clue as to how to begin. Or even how to relate to the campers.
She’d never been a child herself.
But she never broke her word, not where kids were concerned. She’d been just about to tell Emily that she was only good at writing checks, when the “I’ll do it” had come rocketing out of her mouth—not once, but twice.
So she’d try to make her arts and crafts program a success. She would develop it like a business project with a workable plan, realistic goals; set some milestones and plot it all out.
With that decided, she walked over to the refrigerator, suddenly dying for a hearty gulp of leftover Chardonnay.
Her reflection in the window caught her by surprise. It was so dark outside. No streetlights, no marquees, no car lights or skyscrapers lit for night. No TV. No radio. Just darkness and silence. With this kind of peace and quiet, she’d die of boredom within fifteen minutes.
Unless she had a certain cowboy to amuse her.
Reaching in her purse, she took out her cell phone to call Bev at home and check on things at Winners Wear, but then she remembered the time difference. Bev was probably fast asleep. Checking her cell, she saw there was still no signal. With a sigh, she tossed the cell phone back into her purse.
She paced. She sipped some wine. She paced some more. Sipped. Paced. Sipped. Paced. Sipped.
Finally, she decided that she should try to get some sleep. Maybe in the light of day, she’d find her lost mind.
She checked to make sure the door was locked, then for a little extra security, she pushed a heavy chair against the door. She missed her myriad locks, dead bolts and chains.
Back in the bedroom, she changed into a pair of sweatpants and a long white T-shirt, and eyed the puffy comforter on the bed. Slipping inside the covers, she sighed as the delicious warmth enfolded her. The bed was perfect. Now for some sleep.
She turned the light off and couldn’t believe how dark and quiet it actually was.
There was no glare from the streetlights. No angry blare of car horns or revving motors. No shouting.
How did people live like this?
Staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide open, she tried to will herself to sleep, but Clint Scully kept intruding on her thoughts.
Cowboy. Handsome. Turquoise eyes. Boots. Sideways smile. Little dimple on the side of his mouth. Excellent butt.
She smiled and snuggled deeper into the bed when she heard a fluttering noise and felt the slightest breeze against her face.
“What?”
She thought that maybe the noise was a squirrel on the roof of the cottage. Did squirrels come out at night? What if it was a mountain lion or something with lots of sharp teeth? After all, this was the wilderness.
Something fluttered. And then again. Whatever it was, it was in her room.
Holding her breath, she flicked on the light and picked up her purse for protection.
A black bird flew by.
No. A bat!
She screamed. It flew by her face. She screamed again. Then again for good measure.
She sprang out of bed and tried to remember what she knew about bats.
Absolutely nothing.
She swung at the thing with her purse, ducking and dodging. The bat flew into the living room. On shaky legs, she turned on every light that she could find.
She screamed and swung again as it flew by her. She heard a series of knocks at the door—or perhaps it was her heart pounding against her chest.
“Susan? It’s Clint. Susan, are you all right?”
What a stupid question. “No, I’m not all right. There’s a bat in here!”
The door rattled. “I can’t get in.”
On wobbly legs, she managed to run over and unlock the door so Clint could squeeze in.
“Where is it?”
“Over by the fireplace.”
Clint squinted. “That little thing?”
“It’s a bat! Do something!”
“I will.”
He moved her away from the door. The bat flew out. He closed the door. “Gone.”
Her head became a little woozy and she couldn’t stop herself from swaying forward.
Then the shock of something cold and wet splashed on her face brought her around.
She gasped. “W-what are you doing?”
“There was a glass of water on the table, and I—”
“I know what you did, but that was wine.”
Clint grinned. His eyes didn’t move to meet hers, but were riveted to her chest.
She looked down. The wine had made the fabric of the white T-shirt cling to her breasts.
She rolled her eyes and plucked the material away from her body.
“Thank you for getting rid of the bat. Good night.”
She stood up to reach for a blanket, but her knees wouldn’t hold her yet. Just before they gave out completely, Clint caught her.
She let him hold her, enjoying how his hands roamed over her back and how warm his chest felt against her wet breasts. How his hard body felt against her.
Suddenly nervous, she stepped back, grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around herself. Disappointment dimmed his eyes.
“How did you happen to be here?” she asked.
“I walked Mrs. D home and was just going back to my trailer when I heard you scream. Actually, I think they heard you up in Canada.”
She laughed. “Thanks, Clint. I’m glad you were here. I’ll be okay now.”
“Do you want me to stay with you? I’ll take the couch.”
Actually, she did want him to stay, but she just couldn’t deal with knowing that Clint was in her cabin. She’d never sleep.
“No, thanks. I’m just going to sleep with all the lights on. It’ll make it feel more like home.”
He grinned. “Suit yourself.”
He walked to the door, opened it, locked it again, and the cowboy disappeared into the dark Wyoming night.
The next morning, Susan awoke with the sun shining through the lace curtains. She swore she could see her breath in the frigid cabin.
She pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then she searched the bedroom for a thermostat so she could turn up the heat, but there was none to be found.
From habit, she slipped on her watch and checked the time. Eight o’clock. She hadn’t slept this long in years. If she’d been home, she would have already put in about two hours at work.
She’d slept so soundly. Maybe there was something to this “clean mountain air” thing after all.
She tightened the comforter around herself, yanked on her fuzzy pink socks and walked into the living room.
She found the thermostat next to the fireplace, set it at seventy degrees and sat on the sofa, tucking her feet under her to warm them. It felt like December in New York instead of July in Wyoming.