A cowboy out of options

That’s how Rory McAlister feels when he leaves Colorado for the concrete jungle of New York City. He needs this money for a very good reason—only somebody should have warned him donning designer duds meant butting heads with Elizabeth Harrington-Smyth. The bossy ad exec is determined to turn Rory into the original Rhinestone Cowboy. Over his dead body!

With her job hanging by a thread, Elizabeth’s got to deliver the goods for Devlin Designs—or else. She asked Rory because of his rugged, authentic—and, frankly, gorgeous—looks. But could she have chosen an ornerier model? At least Rory will be heading back to his ranch and out of Elizabeth’s life soon. Because New York is no place for a cowboy…and a Colorado ranch is no place for a big-city girl. Even if these two opposites are falling for each other!

“Just remember that cowboy charm I’ve seen you use so often.”

“Cowboy charm?” Rory flashed her a grin that could sell whiskey to a teetotaler.

“Give Brooke that look that mesmerizes a woman, and makes her think you’re going to grab her, toss her on your horse and ride off into the sunset.”

“Do I do that for you?”

His warm, husky voice rippled through Elizabeth. He leaned forward in his chair. His strong gaze peered into her. He had the slightest smile on his face.

Oh, yeah, that was the look.

Horse and sunset here I come.

Dear Reader,

People frequently ask how I get my ideas. Often something in life piques my curiosity, and I go into “what if” mode. That’s what happened with Big City Cowboy.

While in Estes Park for a wedding, my family and I went horseback riding. Our guide caught my attention, but not only because of his phenomenal looks. As he helped my middle son, a gentleman approached the cowboy about modeling. Afterwards, he said people often asked him to model and couldn’t understand why he didn’t jump at the opportunity.

My writer’s imagination zoomed into overdrive. What if this cowboy was desperate and had to model? What would be important enough to make him leave the ranch and venture into the big city? The answer popped into my head—his mom. I added a feisty, career-driven woman who needed this private cowboy to be a household name, and Rory and Elizabeth’s story came to life.

I never imagined at that wedding I’d achieve a lifelong dream—my first published novel. I hope you have as much fun reading Rory and Elizabeth’s story as I had writing it. I’d love to hear from you. Visit me at www.juliebenson.net.

Julie

Julie Benson

Big City Cowboy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An avid daydreamer since childhood, Julie always loved creating stories. After graduating from the University of Texas at Dallas with a degree in sociology, she worked as a case manager before having her children: three boys—and many years later, she started pursuing a writing career to challenge her mind and save her sanity. Now she writes full-time in Dallas, where she lives with her husband, their sons, two lovable black dogs, two guinea pigs, a turtle and a fish. When she finds a little quiet time, which isn’t often, she enjoys making jewelry and reading a good book.

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To Kevin. Thanks for sticking with me through the ups and downs of life, and for believing in me and this dream. You’re definitely a keeper.

To Dr. Angela Krause and David Goddard. Thanks for the wedding invitation and for introducing me to Estes Park. This story never would have happened without you two.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

Estes Park, Colorado

“There is no way I’m getting on a horse.”

Elizabeth Harrington-Smyth pulled into the Twin Creeks Ranch parking lot, vowing she’d never attend another wedding, not even her own should she ever make time to date. So far, being her cousin Janice’s bridesmaid hadn’t been the greatest experience. And don’t get her started on the problems with the whole destination wedding idea that was the trend now.

“Estes Park is so beautiful, and what better way to see the scenery than going horseback riding?” Since moving to Denver three years ago, Janice had gone all outdoorswoman. Today she really fit the part, wearing jeans, a denim shirt and a red bandanna tied around her ebony ponytail.

Elizabeth shuddered. “Looking at the mountains as I sat in the hotel bar was good enough for me.”

“I think this will be a great bridesmaid outing,” chirped Laura, obedient bridesmaid number one. Her Katie Couric perkiness had overwhelmed Elizabeth within five minutes of meeting Janice’s coworker.

“I was hoping we’d get time to go riding. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try,” chimed in Claire, perfect bridesmaid number two, as they spilled out of Janice’s Camry. In addition to being a morning person, Claire had the irritating characteristics of being tall, slender and possessing a disgustingly high metabolism.

“I let you out of the hike yesterday because you were queasy and tired from the altitude, but I want us to have a good time together,” Janice insisted. “It’s girl bonding.”

“The wedding party activities are half the fun of being a bridesmaid,” Claire said.

According to whom? Clearly, Elizabeth and the rest of the bridal party had different definitions of fun.

Dust swirled around her, making her sneeze. It seemed as if they were surrounded by bales of hay. At least she’d taken a Claritin this morning, so she wouldn’t look like a red-eyed monster due to raging allergies.

“My idea of a good time is having a massage, facial and pedicure at the hotel, not riding on a smelly horse.” Elizabeth waved a fly away from her face. “The outdoors is pretty to look at, but I’m not keen on actually being in it. I’ll wait here by this fence—”

“It’s a corral, Elizabeth,” Janice corrected.

“Then I’ll wait here by the corral. The rest of you go ahead and enjoy.”

“I’ve never ridden a horse, but I’m willing to be adventurous, Elizabeth,” Laura coaxed.

“You’re here, so you might as well come with us,” Claire added.

“I’m afraid my Jimmy Choos aren’t meant for horseback riding.” Now that was an excuse any woman could understand and respect.

“Didn’t I tell you to wear sensible shoes that you didn’t mind getting dirty?” Janice asked.

Elizabeth stared at her cute leopard-print flats and her blood pressure rose. “All you said was wear sensible shoes, which I am. These are flats. I’d never have worn Jimmy Choos if you’d mentioned getting dirty.”

“Sorry. I guess I must’ve forgotten the getting dirty part.” Janice flashed her an I’m-the-bride-forgive-me smile. “There are so many details to planning a large destination wedding. I’m surprised I haven’t forgotten more things. You’ll have to make the best of the situation now.”

The cool March breeze blew a strong odor of horse manure Elizabeth’s way. “Too late. It smells terrible out here. Flies are everywhere, and the quiet is driving me crazy. Everyone moves too slowly! I almost mowed over two people when I walked down to the hotel lobby to get coffee this morning.”

“Exactly why you should join us,” Claire insisted. “You need to slow down and learn to appreciate nature’s gifts.”

“I’m in advertising. I determine what people appreciate, not the other way around. And who says I don’t appreciate nature?”

“You have to go, Elizabeth,” her cousin whined. “I want all of us to go. This means so much to me.”

Elizabeth bristled. “Isn’t it enough that I took off work for your wedding when I’ve got a major ad campaign due? Between all the activities, the spotty internet service and a slight case of altitude sickness, I haven’t gotten half the work done here that I need to.”

Her job was hanging by a thread. Devlin Designs wanted to launch a new jeans campaign and she had the perfect one all mapped out, but couldn’t find the right spokesman. On top of that, the contract for the remainder of Devlin’s business was up for renewal soon. No spokesman, no new campaign, no contract renewals—and then she’d be out of a job.

“What an honor, you taking off work to come to my wedding,” Janice snapped.

Laura and Claire slid a few feet away, obviously wanting to avoid the awkward conversation.

In addition to the wedding, Elizabeth had hoped to spend a little time with her parents, who were flying in, as well. But when she’d checked her voice mail after arriving in Denver she’d learned they weren’t coming.

“I’m sorry, Janice, really. I’m out of sorts. Did Mom and Dad tell you they’ve headed off to some mountain in Germany on an archeological dig? I haven’t seen them in forever, and though I shouldn’t be, I’m pretty disappointed.”

“No. How could they do that at the last minute? Don’t they know we’ll have to pay for their dinners whether they’re here or not?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “They said a bone flute and an erotic figurine had been discovered there. If these pieces are authentic, it’ll be the best example Upper Paleolithic art ever. They insisted they absolutely couldn’t pass this up.”

“They say that about every dig.”

“You think I’d be used to their last-minute cancellations by now.” Elizabeth smiled weakly. This kind of parental disinterest and disappointment had filled her life for as long as she could remember. “Then there’s work. My job’s on the line with this campaign.”

“Come on, Elizabeth. You’re not going to lose your job. They’d have to hire three people to replace you,” Janice said.

“We’re on the verge of losing a client that represents over half of our business.” Her cousin didn’t realize how precarious the advertising business was.

Elizabeth was good at what she did. She knew this crazy ad world well. No one had given her the management supervisor job; she’d earned it. She’d started at the bottom and from there studied the market, worked hard, learned from her superiors and was the ultimate team player. She gave two hundred percent without being asked, and had eventually secured her current position. Unfortunately, sometimes hard work counted for squat.

“If we lose this account the company will have no choice but to lay off a lot of people, including me, since it was my account.”

“Work is all that matters to you.” Janice crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re a workaholic. You always have been. You’re just like your parents.”

Ouch. “I am not, and that’s a low blow.”

“You need to get some balance in your life,” Janice continued, shifting into sympathetic mode. “You’re all work and no play. You need to date. Have fun.”

Elizabeth winced, knowing where the conversation was headed. Why did every married or engaged person feel they possessed a sacred duty to impart relationship advice to single relatives and friends? “Work is so crazy right now I don’t have much time for anything, especially dating.”

“Is it a time issue, or is it because no guy meets enough requirements on your ridiculous checklist?”

“It’s not silly. I have to know what qualities I want in a partner, and what things are deal breakers.”

“You’ll be surprised how fast you’ll throw out that list when you find the right guy.”

Elizabeth had begun to think the right guy for her didn’t exist. Or if he did, she worried she wouldn’t find him without a map and a guide.

She grabbed a deep, calming breath. “Can we start over? I know I haven’t been the most fun lately. We’ve had one round of layoffs already at work, and with this client halfway out the door, I’m way past stressed out.”

“It’s really that bad?” Janice asked, genuinely concerned.

She nodded.

“I’m sorry my wedding turned out to be poor timing for you.” Janice reached out and clasped her hand. “I appreciate you being here, considering what’s going on with you. Is the altitude sickness getting any better?”

Biting her lip to hold back her emotions over her cousin’s unexpected empathy, Elizabeth nodded. “I’m tired and a bit queasy, but I can handle it, as long as it doesn’t get worse.”

“Look at that gorgeous cowboy walking our way,” Claire said, popping up beside them. “Not that your wedding isn’t reason enough, but this guy makes the entire trip worthwhile.”

Janice squeezed Elizabeth’s hand and let go. “Yum-oh.” Her face lit up like Times Square after dark. “Elizabeth, you’ve got to see this guy. He’s behind you a few feet. Turn, but don’t be obvious that you’re looking.”

Behind her in the corral stood an attractive cowboy. His dark brown hat cast a shadow over his face, but didn’t conceal his strong jaw or classic cheekbones. Dressed in a simple navy button-down shirt, jeans, chaps complete with leather fringe and dusty cowboy boots, he was the real deal.

“I’d be willing to risk getting hay in all sorts of awkward places for a little time alone in the barn with him,” Claire said.

“Close your mouth, Janice, or you’ll start catching flies,” Elizabeth teased. “Plus you’re getting married tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m dead. I can still appreciate the exceptional scenery.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Sure he’s good-looking, but what’s so fantastic about a cowboy? I don’t get it. They smell like horses. They spend a good part of their days cleaning manure out of barn stalls. What about that inspires romance?”

Claire looked ready to tackle the cowboy. “They’re so rugged. So strong.”

“Janice Rogers and party,” cowboy hottie called out in a lazy drawl.

“That’s me, or us, rather.” Janice waved her hand and gave him a big smile.

“Let’s see about getting you ladies on some horses.” He pointed to Claire. “Come with me.”

Claire beamed and practically ran over Laura to get to the cowboy. Then she introduced herself, giggled and tossed her hair.

Elizabeth laughed. Watching this show unfold might be fun, after all.

The ranch hand tilted his hat and nodded. “Rory.”

“Even his name’s gorgeous,” Laura crooned dreamily to no one in particular.

“Clem, help this lady with Biscuit.”

Claire slowly started moving toward an older cowboy, but kept glancing over her shoulder at Rory all doe-eyed.

Then he motioned to Janice, who stepped on Elizabeth’s foot in her haste to reach him.

“Watch it,” Elizabeth snapped.

“Sorry,” her cousin said, but her gaze remained locked on the cowboy. If he offered to sell her the Rocky Mountains right now, she’d be whipping out her MasterCard.

Wait a minute. Elizabeth smiled. That’s exactly what she wanted people to do—open their wallets. Thank you, Lord, for sending the answer to my prayers. She just might be able to pull this campaign out of the fire.

When she’d proposed that Devlin Designs center its men’s jeans campaign on a cowboy, she’d had this type of female reaction in mind. Micah Devlin liked the idea, but not the models she’d suggested. Now she understood what he’d meant about something being missing in all the models dressed like cowboys. They weren’t authentic.

Bingo. Yes, sir. Rory could be the answer to all her problems.

By the time he motioned her forward, she had a tentative pitch mentally mapped out.

“I hope the horse knows what he’s doing, because I don’t have a clue,” she joked as an icebreaker. Starting her conversation with, “Come to New York to model designer jeans,” seemed a little abrupt. She needed to loosen the guy up first. Appear to be interested in his life here in the great outdoors.

“As long as you hold on to the reins and sit up straight, you’ll be okay. We haven’t lost anyone yet.”

“Elizabeth might be the first.” Janice laughed. “She’s not exactly athletic.”

Rory looked her up and down with eyes that were liquid gold. She could feel herself blush, something she hadn’t done in years.

“She looks like she can handle herself well enough.”

Apparently chivalry wasn’t as dead as everyone believed.

“Put your left foot in the stirrup,” Rory said as he pointed toward the saddle. “Then grab hold of the saddle horn with your right hand and pull up while you swing your leg over.”

She glanced at the horse, an amazingly large one, and then back at Rory. The man had to be kidding. “Have you noticed how big the horse is, and how short I am? There’s no way I can get up there.”

“You are a little thing,” he said, smiling.

Again, she blushed. This blushing was getting a little out of control.

“I’ll help you.”

How, exactly? She pictured this gorgeous man pushing her butt to shove her into the saddle. Could this experience get more humiliating?

She’d get on the horse on her own if it killed her. After placing her foot in the stirrup, she grabbed the saddle horn. Then she pushed off with her right foot and pulled as hard as she could. She was about to swing her leg over the saddle when she started slipping back down. Then she felt Rory’s firm hands on her rear end, and next thing she knew, she was sitting on the horse.

Now she wished she hadn’t skipped so many Pilates classes lately.

A minute later they headed off down a path into the great outdoors. The trees formed a canopy around them as they rode. The mountains loomed, harsh and demanding, making her feel incredibly insignificant.

Birds chirped. Wind rustled through the leaves. A stream babbled past. How did people stand the quiet?

Flies swarmed around her and the horse. She wanted to swat at them, but feared she’d fall off if she took one hand from the reins. To keep her mind off the insects and her already screaming thigh muscles, she focused on Rory at the front of their little caravan. The set of his shoulders spoke of his confidence. He moved in the saddle with a casual grace. Everything about him said how comfortable he was in his own skin. Then there was his voice as he tossed out tidbits about the area and its history. Slow, melodic and deep, it wrapped around her like a warm hug.

Rory pointed to the towering oak to his left. “That’s our wishing tree. If you make a wish and circle the tree three times, your wish will come true. Feel free to hop down and make a wish while we’re here.”

Laura and Claire immediately vaulted off their horses, dashed to the tree and circled it three times. “What did you wish for?” Janice called out as she joined her friends.

“I wished to find someone as wonderful as David,” Laura chirped, referring to Janice’s fiancé.

Claire giggled. “I wished Michael would propose.”

Janice dashed around the tree. “I wish that I’ll always be as happy as I am right now.”

Why did people wish for things like that? Only the foolish wished for something impossible.

“What about you?” Rory asked. He’d dismounted, and now stood beside Elizabeth.

Even if she were willing to get off her horse and risk needing Rory to give her another boost into the saddle, the only thing she’d wish for was landing him as a spokesman for the jeans campaign. Wishing wouldn’t make that happen. She’d rely on her business skills to accomplish it.

“I think I’ll pass.”

“Come on, Elizabeth, make a wish,” Janice coaxed. “What could it hurt?”

If only her cousin knew.

The remainder of the ride passed in a blur of trees, rocks and mountains. Three hours later, when they returned to the corral, Elizabeth didn’t like the outdoors any better, but she knew her instincts about Rory had been dead on. He’d make the perfect spokesperson for Devlin Designs men’s jeans. He spun a good tale, which would work well in TV commercials, and then there were his looks and the way he moved. A guy either had a presence or he didn’t, and Rory had it in spades.

“I’m a management supervisor at Rayzor Sharp Media. It’s an advertising agency,” she said, ignoring her protesting muscles when he helped her off the horse. “You’d be the perfect model for one of my clients. You have a presence that can’t be taught or faked, while you’re real enough to connect with the average man.”

He laughed. Not a good sign.

“I’m not interested, but thanks for asking.”

“It’s a major national campaign. The exposure would be excellent.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card and held it out to him. “You could get a free trip to New York out of the deal.”

“Right now all I’m interested in is getting this horse taken care of,” he said as he reached for the reins.

Her stubbornness kicked up a notch. She couldn’t give up when so much rode on this campaign and Rory’s participation.

“Elizabeth, hurry up,” Janice yelled from the parking lot.

“Lady, the rest of your party’s ready to go.”

Let ’em wait. “Did I mention the job will pay around thirty thousand dollars? Surely a ranch hand like you could use the money.”

Rory pushed his hat off his forehead a bit. Now she had his attention.

Dark coffee-colored eyes peered down at her. The look in those eyes could sell refrigerators to Eskimos. Or hopefully, designer jeans to the average man. Or the average man’s significant other.

Then gravel crunched under car tires, drawing his gaze away from her. When his attention returned a moment later, his interest had vanished.

“Lady, the next tour group has pulled into the parking lot, and I don’t have time for this.”

She held out her card again. “If I agree to leave, will you take my contact info, and consider my business proposal?”

“Deal.” Rory snatched the card out of her hand and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “But don’t count on hearing from me.”

That was okay. She believed in positive thinking. If she sent good karma into the world, good things would return to her. Now if she could only collect by getting Rory to agree to model—because she needed this cowboy or she was out of a job.

THREEDAYSLATER Rory sat in his worn leather desk chair as the banker he’d known all his life told him he couldn’t approve a second mortgage.

“Rory, if things were different, if we were still a family-owned bank, maybe I could approve this, but I’ve got stockholders to answer to. Twin Creeks carries too much debt to justify another loan.”

He thanked John, reassured him that he understood it was simply a business decision, and hung up the phone.

Rory’s chin sank to his chest. He’d already tried to sell some of their horses, but most folks were having financial difficulties, too. He’d looked for extra work, but there were too many unemployed people out there and no one was adding on help anyway. The second mortgage had been his last palatable choice to get the cash his mom needed. There had to be something he could do—his mom’s life depended on it.

The McAlister family had gone through their savings to pay for the medical bills when Rory’s dad had suffered a heart attack behind the wheel and sent his truck into a ditch, putting him and Rory’s younger brother, Griffin, into the hospital. Then two years ago, when his dad’s heart finally gave out, Rory cashed in most of their stocks to pay for those bills and his dad’s funeral. Now, their mom had gone as far as she could with her cancer treatments and was left with one alternative, which turned out to be experimental—and expensive.

You have another alternative. You just don’t like it.

He pulled open his middle desk drawer, shoved aside some papers and located Elizabeth Harrington-Smyth’s business card.

He twirled it between his fingers as he stared out the window. The snow-capped Rocky Mountains filled his view. Though he’d seen them every day of his life, their beauty never failed to amaze him. Some people thought they had a magnificent view when they looked out at a city skyline. Personally, he didn’t understand the appeal. Give him what God had created any day. Man’s creations were strictly amateur in comparison.

His hands tightened around the chair arm and the worn leather creaked in protest. Visions of his dad sitting in this same chair flashed in Rory’s mind. He still missed the old man every day. More so lately, since the doctor had found the inoperable tumor on his mother’s brain. How he wished he could talk to his dad about what to do, even though he knew what his dad would say. Do whatever’s necessary to get the money for your mother. She’s a good woman, the rock of this family, and she damned well deserves every shot to beat cancer.

Knowing his mom had only one alternative didn’t make this call any easier. Rory willed his hand to reach for the phone.

Nothing.

Not even a twitch.

Picking up a phone. Such a simple action, so why couldn’t he?

Because this call would change his life irrevocably. But at least it was his choice, as opposed to bankers and doctors calling the shots. Life was full of choices. Some turned out well and some sucked pond water. All a body could do was think things through, make a careful decision and deal with any fallout.

The last thing Rory wanted to do was leave this ranch, even short-term. He loved the land, the horses and the hard work that made his muscles ache at the end of the day. He loved the mental challenge of managing the ranching business.

A quiet knock sounded on his office door. “Come in, Mom.”

“How’d you know it was me?”

He smiled. “The ranch hands and Griff knock loud enough to break down the door. Avery rarely bothers to knock.”

His mom grinned, but weariness filled her eyes, twisting his gut as she walked across the office. Until the last year she’d been active and energetic. Then she’d started chemo. The constant nausea had almost killed her, but hadn’t done anything to shrink the tumor. Now, thanks to the steroids the doctor prescribed and her lack of energy for the long walks she enjoyed, her weight had ballooned. At least her hair had grown out enough for her to wear it in a short, spiky style. Despite all that, she hadn’t given up. Talk about strong.

Her quiet strength always amazed him. She never complained, and remained positive. He’d always loved his mom, but now he admired her in a different way.

Rory said a silent prayer that this experimental treatment would work.

“Griffin is ready to take me and Avery to the airport.” His mom stopped in front of his desk. Her frail hand rested on his forearm. “Are you sure we can afford this treatment, since insurance isn’t covering it? It’s so expensive.”

Thank goodness for Avery. His little sister, who’d always driven him crazy, wanting to tag along with him and his friends, had turned out okay. Since their mother’s diagnosis, she’d stepped into the family caretaker role. Avery coordinating their mom’s appointments and accompanying her had allowed Rory to focus on putting food on the table and keeping the ranch afloat. He couldn’t ask for a better sister.

“Don’t worry about the money, Mom. I’ve got the situation under control.”

She squeezed his arm and peered down at him. For a moment he worried that she’d read the lie in his eyes.

“If you’re absolutely sure.”

“I’ll worry about the finances. You concentrate on getting well.” He stood, walked around his desk and enveloped her in a hug, wishing he could take on this fight for her.

He couldn’t bear to lose her, too. Not so soon after losing his dad.

She kissed him on the cheek, and he pulled away. “Now, get out of here. I don’t want you to miss your flight.”

Once his mother had closed the door behind her, Rory returned to his desk. He picked up the business card, flipped open his cell phone and dialed.

Chapter Two

“Elizabeth Harrington-Smyth.”

Her voice sounded exactly as Rory remembered—pushy, businesslike and New York City. At the ranch she’d been like a defensive lineman, single-minded in pursuit of her goal, intent on getting to him, the quarterback. The lady definitely didn’t acknowledge the word no. Not exactly his favorite type of woman.

“It’s Rory McAlister. We met when you were at Twin Creeks Ranch in Estes Park last weekend. I was your guide on the horseback ride.”

“I remember, though I’m surprised to hear from you.”

That made two of them.

He swallowed hard and barreled forward. “The modeling job you said you could get me, is it still available?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And it’ll pay thirty thousand dollars?”

“Over the course of the campaign, yes.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll get paid when we do the photo shoots. Then you get paid again whenever the material is used for an aspect of the campaign.”

He needed to do some research to see if he could work a deal to get more money up front. “Are you interested?”

“Yes.” He forced the word past the lump in his throat.

“Email me a photograph of yourself as soon as we get off the phone. My address is on my card.”

“I don’t have anything taken by a professional photographer.” Nor would he, if he had to pay for them.

“I don’t care. Send me what you’ve got, even if it’s family photos. If you have ones showing your face clearly, that would be great.”

“I’ll send what I can find.”

“Have you gotten an agent yet?”

Forget that. An agent would take a percentage of what he made. No way would he give anyone a part of his money, when he needed every penny so desperately. Surely with an MBA he could negotiate the deal. “I’m representing myself.”

“I want you on the first available flight to New York.”

“You expecting me to pay for the flight?”

“We’ll reimburse you. Put the ticket on your credit card and turn in your receipt to me. I’ll send it on to Accounting, and they’ll cut you a check within two weeks.”

“I can’t do that.” He’d hit his credit limit paying for the two plane tickets to Portland.

“If that’s a problem, I’ll contact our travel person to book your flight.”

“You do that.”

“I’ll email you the details.”

“What about a hotel? I’m not paying for that, either.”

She paused, and he imagined her sitting at a clean desk in an efficiently organized office, trying to decide if he’d be this big a pain about everything. He made a mental note not to push her too much on anything but money. That issue was nonnegotiable. He had to pinch pennies.

“I’ll book you at a hotel near our office. I’ll email you the details. Is that to your satisfaction?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For better or worse, his life was about to change.

ELIZABETHHUNGUPHERPHONE, jumped out of her chair, took two quick steps across her office, then stopped. A management supervisor who planned on becoming a vice president did not dash into the hallway because she was excited. She sucked in a calming breath, smoothing the front of her black pencil skirt, and headed for her friend Chloe Walsh’s office.

Reaching it, Elizabeth shuddered at the clutter surrounding her. Piles of paper dotted the room. She couldn’t even see the top of Chloe’s desk because of the stacks of portfolios and pictures on it. Elizabeth shook her head. How did her best friend find anything or get any work done? This office would drive her past the brink of insanity.

“I heard from cowboy hottie,” Elizabeth said as she sank into the chair in front of Chloe’s desk—once she’d transferred a stack of photos from the seat to the floor.

“The gorgeous ranch hand from Colorado?” Chloe pointed to the picture Janice had taken of Rory during the week of a million bridesmaid events.

“That’s our guy,” Elizabeth said. “A real-life cowboy dream, if you liked the rough outdoorsman type. He called me back.”

Chloe swiveled her chair around and glanced out her tenth-floor Madison Avenue window.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m checking for pigs. I swore they’d be flying if that cowboy ever called you back.”

“Me, too. Thankfully, we were both wrong.” Elizabeth plucked a piece of lint off her skirt. “We’ve got to get moving full blast on finalizing the idea. We need to finish storyboards, ideas for TV commercials, print ad mock-ups, billboard ideas, and have everything ready ASAP. Then when we do Rory’s photo shoot we’ll be set to present everything to Micah Devlin.”

“What’ll we do if Devlin doesn’t go for this idea?”

“Don’t even think it. Be positive. We have to believe in this campaign and sell him on it.”

“Got it, Chief. I’ll be Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Let’s not go overboard. The guy’s smart. Devlin won’t buy a snow job. We’ll believe in the campaign because it’s going to be wonderful.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” Chloe grabbed a scrap of paper and pen off the nearest pile and started writing. “Be positive, but not delusional.”

Elizabeth smiled. What would she do without Chloe? Her friend always made her laugh when she needed to most. “It’s scary how much rides on this idea.”

“You didn’t tell our cowboy that, did you?”

“Do I look stupid? If he knew how important this campaign is, and how central he is to pulling it off, who knows how much he’d want to get paid.”

Chloe held up her hands in mock defeat. “Excuse me for losing my mind and forgetting you’re all business no matter what the situation or how gorgeous the guy. Surely if he wanted too much money we could find another cowboy.”

Elizabeth took another calming breath, needing to channel her nervousness. “I’ve tried. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Believe it or not, most cowboys just want to spend time on their horses riding the range, or whatever it is they do. Plus there’s something about this guy.”

“Other than good looks?”

“There’s something about the way he moves. He exudes confidence.”

“If he’s a real cowboy, and all they want to do is ride the range, why’s this guy willing to model?”

Elizabeth had asked herself the same question since Rory’s call. “I don’t care, as long as he is.”

When she’d given him her card he’d been polite, but she’d seen the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look in his eyes. She’d suspected modeling was the last thing he would do, right after moving away from Colorado.

So why the major about-face?

Well, there was no reason to borrow trouble when what had changed his mind wasn’t important. All that mattered was that she got what she needed for the campaign.

“We better hope he doesn’t change his mind,” Chloe said.

“Again, I say, don’t even think it. Think positive, because I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be on the unemployment line.”

“You think Devlin’s that close to pulling his business?”

“He made it quite clear when I talked to him yesterday that his patience has run out. He’s given me to the end of the week to find a spokesman, so we’re doing whatever we have to in order to get this done. We’ve got to finalize this campaign fast or we’ll all be out of a job.”

ELIZABETHSTAREDAT Rory’s face displayed on her computer monitor. No doubt about it, he was a natural. Despite the amateur photos, the camera loved him. His maleness oozed through the screen. He would be the perfect spokesman.

Women would take one look at Rory in Devlin’s designer jeans and buy a pair for their guy. Men would wear the jeans hoping they’d look like Rory, and have women falling at their feet. Exactly what the client wanted. Their jeans sold well in New York and Los Angeles, but hadn’t broken into other major markets. Devlin wanted to get the guys who wore Levi’s and Wranglers to spend their hard-earned cash on his expensive product. Rory could pry open those wallets.

She spun around in her desk chair, giddy over how things were coming together. She couldn’t wait to show Devlin the mock-up. If he didn’t like Rory and the campaign, then fine, let him take his business elsewhere, because nothing would please the man.

She considered sending Devlin Rory’s photos, but her practical nature balked at the idea. Instinct told her to wait until she had the campaign completely outlined and professional photographs of Rory. God forbid she sold Devlin on the cowboy, and then discovered Rory froze in front of a camera.

Needing to stretch her legs and energize her mind, Elizabeth decided to take a quick bathroom break and then grab a fresh cup of coffee before she dived into the details for Rory’s photo session.

She weaved her way through the maze of offices and cubicles until she reached the woman’s restroom, where quiet sobs floated toward her from the middle stall. She knocked gently on the door. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” More sobs contradicted the words.

“Nancy? What’s wrong?”

The door latch clicked free, and Nancy, a friend and fellow management supervisor, exited the stall. The middle-aged woman clutched a wad of toilet paper in each hand, and her eyes were red and swollen.

“Everything’s not fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Racking sobs consumed her. Not sure of what else to do, Elizabeth enveloped the woman in an embrace.

“I found out yesterday that I have breast cancer,” Nancy choked out, once her crying subsided.

You have breast cancer. One of the most feared phrases a woman could hear. Tears pooled in Elizabeth’s own eyes for this woman, and what she was facing. “I’m so sorry, Nancy.” She tightened her hold on her friend. “If you want to go home, I’ll say you weren’t feeling well.”

Nancy stepped out of Elizabeth’s embrace and dabbed at her eyes with the toilet paper. “Let me think about it. I’m not sure I want to go home. It’s so lonely there. I kept saying there was time for me to have a family. I said I’d focus on that once I felt secure in my career.” Her voice cracked. “Now I’ve got nothing but my career, and because of the cancer, I may never have the chance to get married.”

“They’ve made great strides in breast cancer treatment. It’s not the death sentence it once was.” Elizabeth’s words sounded so hollow, when women still died of breast cancer every day.

“From your mouth to God’s ears. They want me to have surgery next week and start chemo soon after that.”

“Do you need someone to go with you?”

“I’ll let you know. Right now I’m in shock.” She sighed deeply. “I think I will take the day off. I’ll call my best friend and see if she wants to go out for lunch. Then we can do some shopping therapy.”

As Elizabeth returned to her office, she heard her blaring phone from halfway down the hall. Once seated at her desk, she glanced at caller ID. Micah Devlin. So much for having everything in order before she talked to him. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone.

“I’m glad you called, Micah.” She tried not to wince over her white lie. “I’ve found the perfect man for your campaign, but I won’t have photos for you until after the shoot tomorrow.”

“Send me what you have.”

“They’re family pictures. I’d prefer to wait for the professional shots.”

“Send them. I want to see this guy to make sure we’re on the right track this time.”

Elizabeth winced at Devlin’s reminder of her previous suggestions for a spokesperson. Ones he had immediately, and not so politely, shot down. Some clients were dreams to work with. She had plenty of those, and they kept her sane and confident. Micah Devlin could benefit from a class on how to tactfully get his point across without incinerating those who worked for him.

“I have every confidence you’ll be as pleased with this choice as I am.”

She retrieved Rory’s message from her email, hit Forward and typed Devlin’s name. After saying a quick prayer, she hit Send.

Here goes everything.

“I’m emailing his photos to you right now. Keep in mind these aren’t professionally done, but I believe his essence, his personality, comes through nonetheless.”

She heard Devlin’s computer keys clicking as he retrieved her message. She couldn’t breathe. Thoughts bounced around in her brain. She hadn’t updated her résumé in years. How would she tell her parents if she lost her job? She had mortgage payments… .

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. He’s somebody the average man can relate to. He’s not one of those pretty boy models. Before I sign him, I want to see how he comes off in a professional shoot.”

Air rushed into Elizabeth’s lungs, and she smiled over passing the first hurdle. “Rory will be in town tomorrow, and by Friday’s meeting we’ll have photos for you.”

“I’ve contacted Harms and Finn.”

Devlin’s little tact problem reared its ugly head again. So that’s why he’d called—to drop that bomb. Her firm, Rayzor Sharp Media, had lost an account to them six months ago. The agency was top-notch and hungry. “They’re good.”

“I meet with them tomorrow.”

“Then I look forward to showing you what we’ve got on Friday.”

She could pull this campaign together. If she didn’t sleep until after the meeting, lived on Starbucks with double shots, and the rest of her team did the same, they’d be fine.

No problem.

Except that they were working with a cowboy, not a professional model. A total unknown who’d never modeled before. The unknown made Elizabeth nervous. It was always so unpredictable.

RORYSATINHISOFFICE waiting for his brother. Things were moving much faster than he’d expected. When he’d called Elizabeth he’d never dreamed she would expect him to be on the first flight to New York. She was probably one of those people who stayed attached to the office via her iPhone so she never missed a message, even when she was supposed to be on vacation. Life was way too short to spend it that attached to anything but family.

He smiled. At least he wouldn’t be the only one miserable. Having to manage the ranch would severely cramp Griff’s style. The life of the party, his kid brother never turned down an invitation, but would soon discover he couldn’t be out all night and sleep until noon while running the ranch.

Rory glanced up as he sauntered in and flung himself into the leather wing chair in the corner of the office. Griffin had a gift with animals, especially horses. He had a way of calming them, sensing when something was wrong. Business was an entirely different matter. Despite his ability in math, Griffin hadn’t shown any interest in learning that side of the ranch. All that was about to change. Little brother was going to have to step up.

“I couldn’t get the second mortgage.”

“Why?”

“The downturn in the economy has caused a drop in tourism. Pair that with the amount of debt Twin Creeks already carries, and John couldn’t justify it.”

“You’d think since he was dad’s best friend, he’d cut us a little slack.”

“John’s a smart businessman, and this was purely a business decision.”

“Wait a minute. Mom and Avery left for Portland yesterday. How did you pay for their flights?”

“I put it on a credit card.” One charging a fortune in interest. The hole Rory was digging kept getting deeper. “I need to get additional cash coming in before we start receiving Mom’s medical bills.”

“Did you tell her?”

Rory shook his head. “I didn’t tell Avery, either. She isn’t to know anything about this. No one is, for that matter. This stays between you and me. Are you clear on that?”

“But if—

“Avery’s got to take care of Mom. That’s her job, keeping her calm and positive. You mention any of this, and I’ll beat you to within an inch of your life. You got that, little brother?”

Griffin nodded.

“I’ve got the money situation under control, but I need you to take over the ranch’s day-to-day operations.”

“I’m obviously missing something. How did you find a way to come up with that kind of cash?”

“I’m going to New York City to model.”

Griffin laughed. “No, seriously, Rory. What’re we going to do?”

“This isn’t a joke. I called the advertising executive who was here last week. She’s got a client I can work for who will pay thirty grand for me to do an advertising campaign. I’m leaving tonight.”

“What? Are you sure about this? You hate being in the spotlight, and you hate having your picture taken. If anything, you’ve always tried to blend into the background.”

“What choice do I have? If Mom doesn’t get this treatment, she’ll die.”

Griffin nodded, and for a moment the weight of their worry hung in the air.

“You have to hold things together here while I’m in New York.”

“Tell me what to do.”

Some of the heaviness pressing on Rory’s chest lifted. He picked up a three-ring binder and gave Griff a crash course on Twin Creeks’ finances.

“Don’t spend money on anything but the essentials, Griff. I’ve cut expenses to the bone. In doing that I haven’t had to let anyone go.”

“It’s that bad?”

“We’re not on the verge of bankruptcy, but things are tight.” Rory handed over a file. “Jameson is interested in buying Star’s foal. Follow up with him next week. He’s been lowballing us. I’ve given him the best price possible. Don’t let him haggle with you. Another copy of the quote I gave him is in his file.”

“Everything sounds simple enough.”

“Stick to the budget.” Rory flipped to another section in the binder.

“Thank goodness for cell phones. You’re only a call away if I have questions,” Griffin murmured.

“I may have to call you back, since I’ll be working.”

“How are you going to stand being away from here? You break out in a cold sweat when you have to go to Denver. Being in a big city like New York will drive you crazy.”

That’s exactly what worried Rory the most.

WHEN RORYWALKEDINTO Rayzor Sharp Media’s reception area, the first thing that hit him was how sterile the place felt. The desk was a sleek chrome-and-glass contraption with lines and angles and no warmth. A big black sign with the company name hung above it. The white walls added to the lifeless environment. He suddenly found himself missing the warm wood and earthy colors he saw everywhere at home.

A pretty little brunette dressed in black, who looked as if she hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a month, glanced up and flashed him a perfect, blinding-white smile. “Hello…” She stretched out the word and looked him up and down, making him feel like a bright red apple held out to a horse. “What can I do for you?”

Man, he was out of his element. Fingering the brim of his Sunday Stetson, which he held in his hands, he said, “I’m here to see Ms. Harrington-Smyth.”

“Lucky Elizabeth. Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Bottled water? My phone number?”

For a moment he didn’t know what to say. Strong women didn’t scare him, but he wanted a woman to at least give him a chance to show interest before she made an all-out play for him, and he wasn’t used to being pounced on the minute he walked into a place of business.

“I’m good.”

“You sure are.” The receptionist pointed to a cluster of ridiculously flimsy metal chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll let Elizabeth know you’re here.”

As he sat, he hoped the chair would hold his weight. He didn’t belong here. Elizabeth’s client would take one look at him, laugh and ask her if she was crazy to put this cowboy in an ad campaign to sell clothes.

Now if the client was Ford or Chevy, that he could see. Man, he wished she wanted him to sell trucks instead of jeans. That wouldn’t be a bad deal. He could chuck a saddle and some grain sacks in the back of a flatbed, crawl in the cab and drive off into the sunset. Yup, that would be a sweet deal.

But he hadn’t gotten that lucky.

A minute later Elizabeth walked into the reception area. She was tinier than he remembered. Heck, she couldn’t be more than five-two, because she barely reached the middle of his chest, even wearing high heels. He grinned. Those spiky shoes sure made her calves look fantastic. How could such a little thing have legs that were longer than an Alaskan night?

“I’m glad you’re here. I hope your flight was pleasant.” She held out her hand.

He shook it, surprised at the softness of her skin. “The flight was fine.”

“Thanks for getting here on such short notice. Today we’re going to take some photos. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow with the client. You and I both work for him. Unfortunately, until we have professional shots he’s unwilling to sign a contract with you or the agency.”

“I can’t sign the contract and have him cut me a check today?”

“Mr. Devlin insists on seeing the professional photographs first.”

Rory nodded, trying to shove aside his nervousness and unease. The sooner he got to work, the sooner he’d get paid. “Then we’d best get started.”

“Follow me.” Elizabeth started walking. “Let me tell you a couple of things about today’s shoot. We’re doing this one in-house since the photos are to show the client how wonderful you’ll be to showcase his jeans. When he signs the contract, we’ll do the commercial and print shoots elsewhere.”

She glanced at Rory as if she expected him to say something, so he replied, “Makes sense.”

“I coordinate the shoot. It’s my job to make sure everyone else is doing his or hers, and that we have everything we need. We’ve got a small set, and once you change, our photographer will take pictures of you there. But the first thing we need to do is get you into our client’s designer jeans.”

Designer jeans. Probably uncomfortable, tight and way too fancy. Rory followed Elizabeth down a series of hallways to a big open room, where she picked up a pair of dark blue jeans off a table.

When she held them out to him, he realized this job was going to be worse than he’d expected. Way worse.

Chapter Three

“No real man would be caught dead in these.”

“Excuse me?” Elizabeth couldn’t believe what Rory had just said about the client’s jeans.

“I didn’t mean to say that loud enough for anyone to hear.”

Not an ounce of remorse showed in his clear, coffee-colored eyes, annoying her further. Her campaign rested on this cowboy, and he needed to take this job seriously. She’d fix that problem right now. “The first rule of being a spokesperson for a product, which is what we intend for you to be, is to always sing the product’s praises. Never, in public or private, make any negative comments about the company, its employees or their products.”

“Do I have to check with you before I say anything to anyone?”

“That might not be a bad idea until you get the hang of this business.”

“I was joking.”

She stared at him, not quite sure how to respond. “I know a lot of people don’t value advertising, but this is a serious, competitive business.”

“Lighten up. It isn’t brain surgery.”

Bullheaded man. Elizabeth pinched her lips together and counted to ten. If she didn’t need him so desperately, she’d fire him, because obviously her words weren’t hitting home.

“No, it’s not brain surgery or rocket science, but that doesn’t mean what we do here isn’t important. We’re a crucial part of the economy. If we create an ineffective campaign, company sales go down, which means people get laid off. It also means a possible fall in stock prices and less dividends for stockholders. That creates other repercussions in the economy, which I won’t go into here.” Mainly because Rory probably wouldn’t grasp the fine nuances. “Mistakes like criticizing the company’s product can cause a lot of people, you included, to lose their jobs. Are we clear on that?”

“Where do I change?”

She ignored his question for a minute, trying to determine if she’d made her point. Finally deciding the man would have to be a complete idiot not to have understood her, she pointed to a door on the opposite side of the studio. “You’ll find a shirt in there. You can wear your own boots for this shoot.”

While Rory changed, Elizabeth surveyed the scene around her, checking the details for the photo shoot. Micah Devlin was a perfectionist with a keen eye, and expected the same from everyone he worked with. He had to like Rory; otherwise the whole concept was a loss.

Think positively, Elizabeth. That breeds good energy, and good energy brings about good results.

The lighting was perfect. The background clean white. A saddle was propped on a hay bale, a rope casually wrapped around the saddle horn. Rats. She’d forgotten about requesting hay bales. She glanced at the set assistant. “Kudos on the set, especially on such short notice.”

The young woman beamed.

Elizabeth rubbed her itching eyes. The sneezing would start soon. She dug in her purse, searching for a Claritin to stem her allergy symptoms, but came up empty. No getting around it, she’d have to suffer through.

Two more hay bales sat beside the saddle, completing the scene. Enough props to let people know Rory was a cowboy, but not enough to detract from the jeans or the cowboy. For the actual campaign she planned outdoor shots in upstate New York at a barn, on a horse, working around the place. But right now she needed to sell Rory to Devlin.

Please let him look good in the jeans.

The coffee she’d gulped an hour earlier sloshed in her nervous stomach.

Wait a minute. What was she thinking? As long as the jeans fit, he’d look terrific in them. A man that gorgeous could make anything look good. A mental picture of Rory shirtless in a pair of jeans, his chest slick as he poured water over his sweaty skin after a long day of fixing fences, flashed in her mind.

Note to self—get shots of Rory with his shirt off.

She fanned her face, though that wasn’t the only place she was warm. What was she thinking? This was business. She never mixed business with pleasure, and besides that, Rory wasn’t her type.

The click of stilettos on the hardwood floor interrupted Elizabeth’s daydreaming. She turned to find Stephanie Jones, her black leather makeup case slung over her shoulder, sauntering toward her.

The leggy brunette stopped in front of Elizabeth. “Where’s our model?”

Before she could answer, she sneezed. Not one of those polite feminine sneezes, but one with hurricane force. Darn allergies. “He’s changing,” Elizabeth said, after two more sneezes. “Let me explain what I’m looking for today. Just play up his natural good looks. I want him to stay real, like the cowboy he is.”

“You’re kidding! He’s really a cowboy?” Stephanie’s blue eyes sparkled as if she’d snatched up the last fifty-percent-off cashmere sweater at Barney’s.

What was it about cowboys? Stephanie hadn’t even seen Rory and she was drooling. Mark, the lighting tech, had about stepped on his tongue when Rory walked in.

“He’s the real deal, and I want his pictures to reflect that. I want him to look like he’s just stepped out of the ranch house and is heading toward the barn to work.”

“In designer jeans?”

Elizabeth bristled at Stephanie’s skepticism about her ad campaign.

Breathe. Don’t let her negativity invade your space and make you doubt your decision. This is the right way to go with this campaign.

A big smile on her face, Elizabeth said, “Devlin Designs wants to crack the Western and middle-American market with their men’s jeans.”

“Okay, now using the cowboy makes sense.”

“I hope the public sees it the same way. I won’t keep you any longer. You need to set up, and I need to check other details of the shoot.”

While the stylist traipsed across the room to the makeup table and chair, Elizabeth went to talk to Chloe.

“I can’t wait to get this guy on film,” she said the minute Elizabeth stopped beside her.

Just then, Rory strolled out of the dressing room. The client’s designer jeans fit him perfectly, emphasizing his strong thighs. Ones he’d no doubt obtained from riding. Who’d have thought horseback riding was such a workout? But her quads and glutes had been sore for two days after her horse excursion.

Rory’s tanned skin contrasted nicely with the crisp, white, snap-front, Western-style shirt she’d picked out. Denim and white. Classic, clean. One never went wrong with the basics.

She smiled at the personal touches he’d added—his belt buckle, a royal flush fanned-out poker hand, plus his boots and his cowboy hat. Rugged, but accessible.

Absolutely delicious. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wrong for her.

“If he’s any indication, they sure raise them handsome in Colorado.” A sinful grin spread across Chloe’s face.

Elizabeth continued staring at Rory. Before meeting him she’d have said her ideal man was more comfortable in a Brooks Brothers suit than jeans. Rory put those immaculately groomed men in their thousand-dollar suits to shame.

She started to move toward him, but Stephanie reached Rory first, introduced herself and led him to the makeup chair.

“Our model is too delectable for words,” Mark said as he joined them.

This was getting a little ridiculous. “Has everyone forgotten why we’re here? And no, it isn’t to ogle Rory.” She was beginning to think she needed to hire a bodyguard for the cowboy.

“There’s no harm in looking,” Mark said, glancing at him longingly.

“But with you it doesn’t stop there,” Chloe reminded the lighting tech.

“Plus I’m pretty sure he’s heterosexual,” Elizabeth added, trying to end the subject without having to give a lecture on professionalism.

“But you don’t know for sure.”

Elizabeth leaned toward him as if sharing a confidence. “I’m counting on you to help me out. This guy isn’t a model. He doesn’t understand the game. We all have to be careful that we don’t scare him off. I think this might be his first visit to New York.”

“All right. I’ll back off. Just for you.”

“I appreciate your sacrifice, Mark.” She smiled in relief. “You’ve done a super job with the lighting, by the way. You’re the best.”

“Can I have that in writing for when review time rolls around?”

“Absolutely.”

He glanced toward the set. “I’m off to be wonderful. I need to reposition one of the lights.”

“You sure you didn’t tell him to back off so you can have Rory all to yourself?” Chloe asked once Mark had left.

“Oh, please. You know my type, and Rory’s not it.”

“A guy doesn’t have to be a Mensa candidate to be worth spending time with.”

“That’s the difference between us. You can be involved with someone for right now. I don’t see the point in that.”

“Fun and great sex.” Chloe nodded toward Rory. “Look at him. I bet he’s amazing in bed.”

“There’s more to a relationship than hot sex.”

“Maybe, but that’s a pretty good place to start.”

“Now’s not the time to talk about this,” Elizabeth said, realizing how far they’d strayed off course. “Nothing can interfere with today’s shoot. Be the epitome of professional.”

“What he does for those jeans is amazing.”

“Thank goodness.”

“Not to stress you out more,” Chloe said as she adjusted the height of her tripod, “but we’re all counting on you to pull this one out. Word is Devlin’s agency-shopping.”

“This time the rumor mill’s right, but I’ve got everything under control.” Maybe if she said that enough times she’d believe it. The whole self-fulfilling prophecy thing. “Rory will help us change two crucial opinions. One, that only gay men wear designer jeans, and two, wearing designer jeans will make a man look like a pretty boy. I want the average, red-blooded, straight male to think that if a cowboy will wear these jeans, he can wear them, too.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road.”

WITHAROOMFULOFPEOPLE, all with their gazes glued on his every move, Rory felt like a piece of meat. Prime choice, grade A, but meat nonetheless.

The stylist opened her black case, revealing small bottles and other containers. His stomach tightened when he recognized it was makeup. He’d figured she might have a hair dryer and hair gel in the thing. He sat horrified as she stared at him, and then selected one bottle. She dumped some of the liquid on a foam triangle and leaned toward him.

“Whoa, hold on a minute. Is that makeup?” Sissy city jeans were one thing, but no way was he wearing makeup.

The stylist nodded. The triangle moved closer.

He leaned away. “Cowboys don’t wear makeup.”

High-pitched giggles greeted his response. “This cowboy needs to, because if you don’t wear base makeup and blush—”

Blush. Wasn’t that the pink stuff women swiped over their cheeks? He resisted the urge to hang his head in shame.

“If you don’t wear makeup, you’ll look washed out under the lights.”

“Better that than wearing that stuff. If any of my friends find out, I’ll never live it down.” He shuddered. “Next thing you’ll be telling me I need mascara.”

“It would—”

“No mascara. A man’s got to draw the line somewhere.”

The stylist lightly swatted his arm and giggled again. The sound grated on his nerves. “There’s no need for you to worry. No one will be able to see you’ve got makeup on, and I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Her words failed to reassure him. Something in his gut told him that his wearing makeup would get out—that was the kind of luck he had. But what choice did he have? He needed this job, and photos were the first step to landing the gig. The things he did for his mom. “I’ve died and gone to hell, and this is my punishment.”

The woman used the sponge to dab makeup on his skin. The oily liquid slid across his face, sending ripples of revulsion through him.

“See, that’s not so bad.”

He gritted his teeth at the comment and refused to look in the mirror. He’d wear the blasted stuff, but no way did he want the sight of him in makeup burned into his memory.

“This doesn’t detract from your masculinity at all,” she declared.

He suspected she was a woman who thought a man wouldn’t be interested unless she agreed with everything he said, and complimented him nonstop.

Now little Lizzie—Elizabeth, he’d decided, didn’t fit her—didn’t appear to let anyone tell her what to think. In an effort to tune out Stephanie’s incessant chatter as she fussed with his hair, he’d watched Lizzie out of the corner of his eye.

Dressed in a black skirt and white blouse that showed off her knockout curves, she efficiently circled the room, checking lighting and the setup. What was it with all the women here wearing black? Hadn’t they heard of color in New York?

As if thinking about her pulled her to him, Lizzie walked his way. “Is he ready to go, Stephanie?”

“He’s perfect.”

Rory almost laughed. Perfect? Not in his universe. He looked like a sissy in these tight, fancy stitched jeans. “Anybody gonna ask me if I’m ready?”

Both women turned to him, their mouths hanging open. Guess he’d broken another photo shoot protocol.

Lizzie recovered first. “I’m sorry, Rory. I didn’t mean to appear rude. I need to make sure Stephanie’s finished her job, which is to make sure you look your best under the lights.” She turned to the stylist. “Once again, you’ve done super work. Now, Rory, if you’d come this way. I’d like to introduce you to the photographer before we start shooting.”

Rory stood, thankful to put distance between him and Stephanie before she jumped him in the chair. “Lead on.”

He liked the white shirt Lizzie had picked out for him, but the jeans wouldn’t last a week on the ranch. “Just out of curiosity, how much do these pants cost?”

“The pair you’re wearing retails for two hundred dollars.”

He whistled. “Men actually spend their hard-earned money on these?”

“Devlin’s men’s jeans are among the hottest in the upscale market.”

Guilt swirled inside him at the thought of playing a part in convincing people to waste money on high-priced jeans, when a pair of Wranglers or Levi’s worked fine. The world was so out of whack. Kids got killed over expensive sneakers. People who couldn’t pay their rent found money to get tattoos. Stuff didn’t make a person. Didn’t people get that?

Lizzie led him to a tall, slender woman with shoulder-length black hair, dressed in a long, flowing purple skirt and a red T-shirt with a baggy white sweater thrown over that. Big chunky beads hung around her neck. Finally, a female who wasn’t dressed as if she was heading to a funeral.

She introduced herself and tossed him a look that said she was interested in more than taking his picture. What was the deal with everyone at this agency?

“Are you ready to get started?” Elizabeth asked.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

Chloe smiled. “Just be you. I’ll do all the hard work. Let’s start with some simple shots of you sitting here on the hay. That’ll give us both a chance to warm up. I hope you don’t have allergies like Elizabeth. She’s been sneezing since she arrived.”

“Thanks, Chloe, for pointing out the obvious.” Elizabeth punctuated her statement with an unladylike sneeze, followed by a delicate “excuse me.”

“The hay won’t bother me. I’m around it all day long.”

“Good. Chloe, you get behind the camera and see how everything looks. Rory, come with me. I’ll position you.”

Position him? A very intimate picture of him and Lizzie tangled together in bed popped into his head. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll show you where to sit on the set, which way to look, that kind of thing. That’s what we call positioning. What were you thinking?”

“I had a more intimate picture in mind.” As Rory followed her he couldn’t keep his gaze off the way her little black high-heeled shoes made her hips sway, causing his blood to pump.

She froze and a pretty pink blush spread across her face. “I’m sorry you were confused.”

He leaned toward her to rattle her chain a little more. After all, if he was going to be on display, he had no intention of being the only one uncomfortable. “Lizzie, if we get together, there won’t be any confusion.”

For a second her eyes widened and her pupils dilated. Then she swallowed hard. “My name’s Elizabeth.”

“You don’t look like an Elizabeth. It’s too long a name for such a little thing like you.”

She snapped her lips together. He expected to see steam coming out her ears any minute. This job could be fun, after all.

“My parents named me Elizabeth. That’s what they called me, and that’s the name I go by.” She crossed her arms over her chest, pulling her blouse open farther at the neck. She had a pretty neck. He’d love to kiss that spot where the vein throbbed wildly beneath her skin. “Now, if we’re through with the discussion regarding my name, we both have work to do.”

He smiled, way more at ease than when he’d arrived. “All set.”

“Have a seat on the hay bale there.” Lizzie pointed to the one closet to the saddle.

He sank onto the hay, braced his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “Now what?”

That pretty pink color still tingeing her cheeks, Lizzie turned to Chloe. “How’s it look from your angle?”

“Good from here. Now, get out of the shot and let me work.”

The rapid-fire click of the camera shutter filled the studio. During a momentary lull, Stephanie buzzed around him, more annoying and persistent than the horseflies at home. “I think he’s getting a little shiny. Let me add some powder.”

Rory tried not to wince. Just what he needed, more makeup. Pretty soon he’d look like Bozo the Clown.

She swiped a brush across his face, tossed him a big smile and fluttered away. She wasn’t any better at getting the leave-me-alone signals than the horseflies.

More clicking.

This was every bit the torture he’d expected, except for the short diversion with Lizzie.

“Relax, Rory, you look like you’ve got a dentist appointment later today,” Chloe said.

“Relax? How’s a man supposed to do that with everyone staring at him, watching his every move? I feel like the turkey on Thanksgiving, sitting there in the middle of the table.”

“That’s an interesting point of view,” Lizzie said. “It’s not that everyone’s watching what you do so much as ensuring nothing needs their attention.”

“Try to forget everyone’s here, Rory. Concentrate on one thing, and tune out everything else,” Chloe suggested.

He focused on Lizzie. All straitlaced and in charge, but he’d seen a fire flash in her eyes when he’d called her that. There was definitely something there. All she needed to do was let go and channel that energy. Now that would be a job worth taking on.

“Hold that pose.”

More clicking.

Lizzie leaned toward the photographer and the women whispered back and forth for a minute, before Lizzie said, “Rory, let’s try some shots with you standing.”

He stood, but wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. That wasn’t exactly true. Right now he’d like to have his hands on Lizzie, caressing her dynamite curves and those long legs of hers. Heat shot through him. If he didn’t think about something other than her legs, these fancy jeans would get even tighter. “What do you want me to do with my hands?”

“Stand like you would if you were hanging around the ranch with friends.”

When he hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, Lizzie smiled.

She seemed different when she smiled. Softer. More approachable, more womanly.

“Fabulous. Keep looking like that.” The camera clicked away as Chloe rattled on. “Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s doing wonders for you.”

Rory’s gaze locked with Lizzie’s. He imagined holding her, exploring her full curves. He could almost hear her excited sigh in his ears as his hands glided over her breasts and hips.

Then his phone, which he’d instinctively shoved in his back pocket, rang. Lizzie’s smile evaporated, replaced with a scowl.

“Whose phone is that?” she asked. “Everyone here knows my policy on cell phones interrupting a photo shoot.”

“It’s mine.” Rory pulled it out of his back pocket and answered the call.

He answered the call? Elizabeth stormed toward him. The man possessed no work ethic. “I forgot to mention that when we’re at a photo shoot, everyone turns off their cell phones.”

Ignoring her, he said, “I know he’s trying to make it sound that way, but don’t worry about it. He’ll cool down.”

“Get off the phone now.”

“Got to go. I’ll call you back later.” Rory ended the call.

“I can’t believe you answered that call.”

“I had a life and responsibilities before this job came along. I still have things that need my attention.”

“I realize that. However, I expect you to deal with those things on your own time, not on the client’s.” Elizabeth held out her hand.

“I’ll turn it on vibrate.”

“Give it to me. I’ll hold on to it until we’re done with the shoot.” When he opened his mouth, she suspected to protest, she explained, “You can’t have your phone in your back pocket. It’ll ruin the line of the jeans.”

Reluctantly, he handed over his BlackBerry.

“Let’s get back to work.” She returned to her position beside Chloe. “Where were we?”

The photographer stepped out from behind the camera. “If our focus is to sell jeans, we might want to see more of them.”

“You’re absolutely right, Chloe.” Elizabeth tapped a manicured nail against her watch. “Got any ideas?”

“Rory, do you mind turning to the side and lifting that saddle?”

“Finally something I feel comfortable doing.” He lifted the saddle and balanced the leather against his thigh, as if he’d done so every day since he was strong enough to pick it up.

Rory’s gaze locked with Elizabeth’s and held. Electricity shot through her. Strong. Hot. Baffling. The look in his eyes mesmerized her, making her more confident that she’d chosen the right man for the campaign.

As she watched Rory’s biceps flex under his shirt, heat coursed through her. Then she glanced at his thighs. No doubt about his strength there, and his butt did amazing things for those jeans.

Oh, yeah, this shot was more than perfect.

If Micah Devlin didn’t like this picture and believe the campaign would sell jeans, then there was no pleasing him.

Remembering the campaign put things back into perspective for Elizabeth. She appreciated the sight of an attractive man as much as the next woman, but this was business. She couldn’t let irrational pheromones on overdrive interfere with her work.

“Angle behind him,” she whispered to Chloe. No way did she want Rory hearing this conversation. “I want shots from behind.”

“Butt shots coming up.”

She blushed, surprised at her reaction, since she and Chloe discussed models’ body parts all the time in shoots. “We’re selling jeans. The client will want to see how they look on our model from every angle.”

“No need to get defensive,” Chloe said as she moved to get the shots.

Elizabeth remained rooted in place, staring at Rory. The cowboy was absolutely mesmerizing. Stalwart. Confident. Any girl’s best dream. Elizabeth could barely breathe. Now if Chloe could get the heat radiating from him on film…

“Rory, would you mind putting down the saddle and taking off your shirt?”

“Yes, I’d mind.”

Elizabeth couldn’t have heard him. Either that or he misunderstood her question. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t mind putting the saddle down, but I’m not taking off my shirt.”

She stood there for a moment trying to regroup.

She was in charge. She told everyone what to do and they did as requested. No one at a photo shoot questioned her decision. Not even Chloe.

This cowboy so pushed her buttons.

For a minute she considered ordering Rory to take off his shirt, but the glint in his eyes stopped her. He flashed her a look similar to her first boss’s I’m-not-discussing-this expression. Sure, she was in charge, but her job hinged on two men’s whims right now, Micah Devlin and Rory McAlister. She couldn’t risk angering Rory enough that he hopped on the next plane to Colorado.

She could do this. Finesse and charm time. “Everyone take five.”

The crew scooted away, though not far, in case she and Rory put on a show.

She walked to where he stood beside the hay, wanting to make their conversation as private as possible. “Rory, what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem, because I’m keeping my shirt on.”

She stared at him, trying to fathom what the hang-up could be. It wasn’t as if she was asking him to pose for a pinup poster. Granted, she hoped this shot would have the same effect and drive women wild for him and the jeans, but they were primarily selling the product.

Maybe he was embarrassed about his chest? It couldn’t be because he wasn’t in shape. No way could he be hiding a beer belly under that form-fitting shirt. Okay, so what else could it be? He was a cowboy. They got thrown from horses. “Do you have some kind of injury or scar that’s making this uncomfortable for you?”

“No.”

“Then what’s going on?”

“You told me I’d be modeling jeans, not posing for beefcake shots.”

“Shots of you without your shirt will highlight the jeans, and it’s what the client wants.”

“We don’t always get what we want.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. The guy was one huge piece of granite, hard and unmoving. Needing a chance to cool off, she walked to the table with bottled water by the dressing room. She grabbed one, surprised that the top didn’t pop off the way she squeezed the thing, and stormed back to Rory.

“Here, have some water.” She shoved the bottle into his hands. Hopefully, the water would cool him off, too. “I need a minute.”

Then she walked to the opposite side of the studio to talk to Chloe.

“I gather he’s still refusing to take off his shirt?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I think he’s just being stubborn.”

“We’ve got to get the shots of him in just the jeans.”

What about Rory made her want to dig in her heels? She felt as if she were six years old again, fighting with Angela Simmons. I dare you. No, I double dare you, and the next thing she knew, they were both sitting in Principal Mathews’s office.

“You may have to pull rank.” Chloe glanced toward Rory. “Look at him. How else do you think you’re going to get him to cooperate?”

She followed her friend’s gaze. The cowboy was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his strong chest. His lips formed a thin line. Nope, he hadn’t let go of his anger, either.

His gaze locked with hers again. Then his chin tilted up ever so slightly and he smiled.

No way was he backing down.

She’d never been a gambler, especially when the costs were so high, and not just for her, but those who worked with her. So much rode on the campaign’s success, and she needed those shots of Rory in just the jeans.

If he wanted to lock horns about this issue, he’d chosen the wrong person to mess with, because she couldn’t afford to lose.

She stalked across the floor and stopped in front of Rory. She looked into his chiseled features, unmoved by his gorgeous face or his angry scowl. “I need shots of you with your shirt off. You either do as requested or you’re fired.”

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