In this Colorado Cattle Barons novel by USA TODAY bestselling author Barbara Dunlop, a cowboy seduces the enemy

Mayor Seth Jacobs has plans, and he won’t let do-gooder Darby Carroll ruin them. Her need for peace and quiet is standing in the way of a crucial railroad project. Now he must put his cowboy charms to good use and persuade Darby to see things his way. But seduction is a two-way street, and Seth soon realizes he underestimated his opponent. Now that he’s caught in his own trap, his desire for this woman could be his downfall….

“Is that what this is all about? To slow me down?”

“No, Darby. This is all about stopping you.”

He shifted his stance. His hand brushed hers, and they both froze. The attraction between them was suddenly palpable. His eyes went dark, and she realized that at any other time, and with any other man in this circumstance, she’d be tilting her head up for a kiss.

But instead of kissing her, he spoke, his voice a low, sexy rumble. “I seriously want to kick your butt.”

She couldn’t seem to stop the mocking smile that formed on her lips. “No, you don’t, Seth. You seriously want to kiss my mouth. Admit it,” she cajoled.

To her surprise, he immediately swooped in.

A Cowboy’s Temptation is a Colorado Cattle Barons novel:

From the mountains to the boardroom, these men have everything under control—except their hearts

Dear Reader,

Welcome to A Cowboy’s Temptation, book five of the Colorado Cattle Barons series from Mills & Boon Desire. It’s been two years since I started writing about the Jacobs and Terrell families, and I’ve found myself falling in love with the rugged men and intrepid women of Lyndon Valley.

Now that his three sisters are married off, it’s cowboy Seth Jacobs’s turn to meet the woman of his dreams. Former army captain Darby Carroll is as independent as they come. The last thing she needs messing up her well-ordered life and plans for her bucolic Lyndon Valley retreat is Seth and his treasured railway. He might be tough, but she’ll take him on and shut him down, no matter what it takes. Oh, and of course, fall in love, too!

I hope you enjoy A Cowboy’s Temptation.

Happy reading!

Barbara Dunlop

A Cowboy’s Temptation

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

MILLS & BOON

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For my daughter, with love.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Excerpt

One

He didn’t look much like a mayor—especially in the lighted ranch yard, wearing blue jeans and a battered Stetson, his dark eyes, square chin and straight nose set in a deeply tanned face. From this distance, Seth Jacobs was all cowboy, all rugged and as powerful as they came in Lyndon Valley.

Sipping her vodka tonic out of a disposable plastic cup, Darby Carroll hovered in the wide-open doorway of the newly raised Davelyn barn. Thirty feet across the dirt construction site, Seth was standing with a group of cowboys, chatting over an open fire, passing around a bottle of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. He chuckled at something one of the cowboys said, white teeth flashing in the firelight.

It was nearing ten at night, and most of the young Lyndon Valley families had packed up their kids and headed for home. The holdouts were the singles, young married couples and a few fiftysomethings, whose child-rearing days were over, but who hadn’t yet traded after-parties for early bedtimes and cups of hot tea.

The September sky was awash with stars, muted dance music throbbing far behind her. The air was warm, fragrant with wheatgrass, and the Lyndon River roared softly at the base of the hill. Most of the west valley had shown up for the barn raising. Community was alive and well in Lyndon.

Family was everything. And that only added to Seth’s power and prestige. While the Jacobses had arrived many generations ago, Darby was a newcomer, having taken over her estranged great-aunt’s property only three years previous. There were people who thought she wasn’t entitled to an opinion, many who thought the old guard should remain in charge forever. She took another sip of the tart, bracing drink, gaze still resting on the group of six cowboys.

She couldn’t help but wonder if an in-person appeal would help her cause. She had so much to say to him, so many points to make, arguments to mount, facts and figures to put forward. That is, if Seth Jacobs or anyone else was willing to listen.

He caught her gaze, trapping her in place as surely as if he’d wrapped his callous hands around her arms and held her steady. He cocked his head, spoke to the cowboy next to him, handed over the bottle then broke from the group, pacing toward her.

His shoulders were wide, hips slim, strides easy as he ate up the ground between them. She had no doubt whatsoever that he’d garnered nearly 100 percent of female voters in the mayoral election. Well, maybe 99.9, since Darby had voted for his opponent.

He slowed his pace, stopping in front of her in the doorway. “You look like a woman who has something to say.”

She brushed her auburn hair behind her shoulders. “Are you a man who’s willing to listen?”

“I took an oath that says I am,” he responded easily, shifting to lean one shoulder against the wide jamb of the barn doorway. “I take it doubly serious for pretty women.”

“I’m not here to flirt with you, Mayor.”

There was a teasing warmth in his dark, blue eyes. “Too bad.”

“I’m here to argue with you.”

He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, well, that’s my bad luck, too.”

“Did you know that a train whistle is one hundred thirty to one hundred fifty decibels?”

“Can’t say that I did,” he drawled.

“At one hundred twenty-five decibels, pain begins.” She tugged at her ear as she quoted the researched statistics. “At one hundred forty decibels, even short-term exposure can cause permanent damage.”

“You know, you have the most arresting eyes. What are they, turquoise? Green?”

Darby’s thoughts stumbled for a split second. But she reminded herself that it was the Jack Daniel’s and the cowboy talking. She had to focus on the mayor.

“Right now, we’re talking about my ears.”

He smiled at that, canting his head to one side. “Interesting ears, too.”

“And I’d like to keep them in working order. Mine and those of every other resident of Lyndon Valley, especially the children.”

“Well, unless you’re planning to stand on the tracks, I’m guessing your ears will be safe.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “Uncontrolled railway crossings account for eighty-nine percent of fatal train-vehicle collisions.”

“Again, my advice is to keep your pretty eyes, your pretty ears—” he drew slightly back to make a show of checking out the length of her body “—and your pretty little body off the railway tracks.”

“How drunk are you?” she asked, wondering if there was any reason to continue the conversation.

He grinned unrepentantly. “Why?”

“Because you’re not behaving much like a mayor.”

“My mistake.”

He removed his Stetson, raking his fingers through his hair to give it some semblance of order. He squared his shoulders and neutralized the cocky grin. “Better?”

“Your draft plan calls for twelve uncontrolled railway crossings in the greater Lyndon City area.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“That’s twelve new chances for Lyndon City citizens to die.”

“You don’t think they’ll notice the one-hundred-thirty-decibel whistle and get out of the way?”

Darby was not going to be deterred. “That adds up to twelve blasts, per train, of up to one hundred fifty decibels, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

His grin crept back. “You did the math.”

“I did the math. And you need to take this seriously.”

“Mountain Railway is pouring tens of millions of dollars into the region. Believe me when I tell you I take that kind of money very seriously.”

She polished off the last of her drink. “Money’s not everything.”

“The railway benefits the ranchers and other businesses, such as DFB Brewery, and it brings new economic opportunities to the entire region,” he countered, not seeming remotely intoxicated now.

Darby did some other math inside her head. Perhaps three vodka tonics into the evening wasn’t the best time to get into this debate.

But Seth wasn’t finished. “Ranchers and trains have been coexisting in this country for well over two hundred years.”

“There are more than just ranchers living in Lyndon Valley.”

He smiled again, knowingly this time. “And there we have it. The crux of your opposition. You think the ambiance at your ladies’ retreat should take precedence over the economic well-being of the Lyndon City ranching community.”

“My ladies’ retreat?” Darby felt her cheeks heat with indignation on behalf of her clientele. “Do you think we’re up there quilting and swapping cookie recipes?”

“What are you doing up there?”

What they were doing up there was none of his business, and she had no intention of sharing it with him. It wasn’t exactly a state secret, but there were definitely elements of national security.

“Fair warning, Mayor Jacobs. I’m going to formally request you hold a referendum on whether or not to allow a railway line through Lyndon Valley,” she told him instead.

His smirk telegraphed to her he’d noted the evasion. “I don’t need a referendum. The new railway line was the centerpiece of my campaign.”

“That’s why I voted for Hal Jameson.”

Seth gave an unconcerned shrug. “Yet, I won.”

“That doesn’t mean you get to be a tyrant.”

“They voted with me on the issue, Darby. You’re in the minority. That’s how democracy works.”

She leaned a little closer to him. “Democracy also gives me the right to free speech.”

He searched her expression for a full minute. Was he impressed, annoyed, refocusing and coming at it from a new angle? She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made her point.

“You really do have incredible eyes,” he said.

The unexpected statement caused a little lurch of attraction inside her chest, but she quickly shoved it to the far reaches of her being. “Behave yourself, Mayor Jacobs.”

“Free speech, Ms. Carroll. It works both ways.”

“Are you telling me your mayor’s code of conduct allows you to flirt with the citizens?”

“I’m not on the job right now. I’m attending a party.”

She had to concede that point to him. “Then we should stop talking business.”

She hated to admit it, but maybe this hadn’t been the greatest idea.

“You started it. I wanted to flirt all along.”

She held her ground. “I’ll never flirt back.”

“Too bad for me.”

“Mayor,” she warned, not liking his apparent knack for flirting, nor how susceptible she appeared to be to it. “I’m your opposition.”

“On a single issue.”

“It’s do or die for me.”

“It’s do or die for me, too.” He gave a regretful shake of his head. “But you still have astonishing eyes.”

She ignored his attempt at distraction and refused to be swayed. At the same time, she used a warning tone. “That’s not the only thing I have.”

* * *

Darby had a Ph.D. in psychology, a black belt in karate and five years’ experience in the military. Normally, she was prepared for any challenge, but she’d never run up against politics before. And she’d never run up against anyone like Seth Jacobs.

Just by walking into a room, he seemed to garner respect in Lyndon City. People spoke about him with awe, and she’d yet to meet anyone willing to fight him head-on. He was a unique and formidable opponent, and he was standing between her and her dream.

Arriving at her home, Sierra Hotel, she left her SUV in the front driveway and made her way into the entry lounge. A new group of guests was expected late next week, but for now, she and her small staff had the lakefront retreat to themselves.

“How’d it go?” asked Marta Laurent. Marta had been her first friend in Lyndon Valley, and she was now assistant manager at Sierra Hotel. Marta muted a news story on the wide-screen television. “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

Darby dropped her small backpack on the end of a sofa and plunked herself down. “I did. But I don’t think he’s taking me seriously. Hey, have you noticed anything weird about my eyes?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your eyes. What did he say?”

“He said the Lyndon City constituents put him into office knowing he was in favor of the railway, so he doesn’t need a referendum now.”

“He’s not wrong about that,” Marta conceded with her usual logic.

“I know,” Darby had to agree. “He’s wrong to support the railway. But he’s not wrong to say people knew about it when they elected him.”

“Did you check? Is there any way to force him to hold a referendum?”

“The only way to do it is to get six hundred signatures on a petition by next Monday.”

“That’s not impossible,” Marta mused, sitting up straighter. “I know a lot of people. We can canvass the city, mount a public-information campaign, put clipboards at sympathetic businesses.”

“Fight politics with politics?” Darby couldn’t help but let her optimism rise.

She’d do anything to protect Sierra Hotel. She loved this place, and she knew it provided a vital service to women.

On the shores of Berlynn Lake, it was in a perfect retreat location for women who worked in high-intensity, male-dominated security, defense and law-enforcement jobs. Here, they could recharge and rejuvenate around others who understood the pressures of their careers. One of the things they needed to get away from was sudden, loud noises.

As a military psychologist, she’d been frustrated by the narrow range of support options she could provide to female soldiers in combat. They didn’t want to engage in the typical R & R activities that their male counterparts used to blow off steam. The women needed camaraderie, a safe place to let their hair down and interact with peers. And so, Sierra Hotel was born.

Darby had put everything she had into building it, including taking out a rather sizeable mortgage on the land, resulting in payments that she was only just able to maintain. Luckily, word was spreading, and her client base was growing.

She came to her feet, drawn toward the big window and the soothing view beyond, her large back deck, a rolling lawn, a pot-lighted pathway leading to a sandy beach.

“We can’t let this happen,” she said out loud.

Marta followed her lead, coming to stand next to her in front of the glass. “We won’t.”

“They’ve been trucking steers from Lyndon Valley to the railhead for decades,” Darby reasoned, framing up a new tactic. “Ranching has been profitable so far. This railroad is only a matter of convenience.”

“Whereas Sierra Hotel is irreplaceable,” Marta added. “With far-reaching implications to the safety and security of our nation. Why don’t you tell the mayor what you do up here? That might help him understand.”

Darby shook her head. “We can’t call that kind of attention to ourselves.”

Some of her clients were high-value targets of the country’s enemies. Many were irreplaceable to their organizations. And most represented an investment of millions of dollars in their personal recruitment and training. Clustering them together required a certain level of secrecy and discretion.

“Yeah, I get that,” said Marta.

“We have to stop the railway development without giving ourselves away.”

“I can have an anti-railway website up and running for us in an hour,” Marta offered. “Stop-the-evil-railroad.com.”

“Too on the nose,” Darby returned, buying into the idea. “Save-our-pristine-wilderness.org.”

“Stop-noise-pollution-in-Lyndon.”

“That one’s not bad.” Darby nodded her agreement.

A website was certainly a good place to start. Lyndonites couldn’t make the right decision if they didn’t have accurate information. At the very least, she had to convince them that holding a referendum was in everybody’s best interest. What was the point of democracy if the majority didn’t get a chance to make decisions?

“We can put all your facts and figures out there,” said Marta. “Charts, graphs, you name it. And we can print up flyers and deliver them door to door. We could target the women close to him in his life. His parents moved away when they retired, but his sisters are in town. Abigail’s pregnant.”

Darby couldn’t help but admire the way Marta’s mind worked. It didn’t matter what the topic, she automatically cataloged, reviewed, analyzed and predicted.

“You mean pregnant with a baby who might one day get hit by a train,” Darby continued the thought.

“Or whose delicate little eardrums might be ruptured by one hundred fifty decibels of train whistle.”

“Doesn’t his sister Mandy have a baby boy?”

“One year old now.”

Darby surprised herself with a grin. “Those are some really great ideas.”

“Thanks.” Marta smiled in return.

“Seth Jacobs, here we come.”

* * *

Seth was beginning to realize he might have underestimated Darby Carroll. It was obviously a bias on his part, one he’d never admit to his sisters or his cousin, but it hadn’t occurred to him that a woman so incredibly gorgeous and sexy would also be so incredibly efficient.

Staring at the glossy anti-railway poster on the bulletin board in the front office of City Hall, he couldn’t help remembering her at the Davelyns’ barn raising. Those eyes had been her most startling feature, wide and deep green, lashes dark. But they were by no means the only thing that made her beautiful. Her skin was creamy smooth. She had a sleek mane of auburn hair that cascaded partway down her back. And her compact body seemed as toned and healthy as they came. She gave the impression of coiled energy, like she might spring to action at any moment.

He reached out and tugged the poster down, gazing at the breadth of her handiwork. It was outrageous and impressive at the same time, encouraging Lyndon citizens to demand a referendum.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” said Lisa Thompson, arriving at his right shoulder. Lisa was his cousin, advisor and chief of staff.

“It’s my bulletin board,” Seth returned.

“It’s the city’s bulletin board,” she corrected. “And citizens are permitted to post notices for seven days.”

“Not when it’s hate speech.”

She scoffed out a laugh. “It’s perfectly legal to hate the railroad.”

Reluctantly accepting her argument, he handed Lisa the poster. She waggled her finger in an obvious reprimand of his behavior.

“We’ve had a dozen more phone calls on the topic this morning,” she told him as she repegged it to the large corkboard.

“For or against?”

“A mixed bag. Darby Carroll may well get enough signatures for the referendum. You have to admire the woman’s tenacity.”

“Tenacity is not exactly what I’m looking for in a woman.” Seth would hardly call it her best feature.

“Excuse me?” Lisa raised her brows. “Did I detect a note of sexism there?”

“Stand down, cousin,” Seth quickly backpedaled. “I’m not looking for it in a man, either.”

“Do I need to reinstate our gender sensitivity lessons?”

“No. Please, no.” Raised on the range, Seth was hardly the most enlightened of males, but he could be politically correct when it was required.

“I was thinking you’re a lot alike,” Lisa observed.

“Who’s a lot alike?”

“You and Darby Carroll.”

“Excuse me?”

She took a step backward. “Don’t shoot the messenger, boss. But you have been known to take a stand on certain subjects and flatly refuse to back down.”

“I do for the good of the city. And the railway is absolutely for the good of the city.”

“I don’t disagree.”

“Then why are we arguing?”

“I’m only saying she’s a worthy adversary.”

Seth didn’t need a worthy adversary, particularly not a beautiful one with distracting green eyes. He needed a little smooth sailing.

He’d been mayor for nearly a year now, and he’d discovered there were opponents to literally every initiative. And it was always the craziest of his detractors who took the time and trouble to call City Hall or write to the newspaper. He swore he couldn’t change the toilet paper color in the men’s room without a barrage of resistance.

“How long until the rail right-of-way permits are in place?” he asked Lisa.

“The public has one more week to comment.”

His attention went back to the poster. “And if she gets enough signatures on the petition?”

“Then it takes sixty days to hold a referendum. That will delay execution of the permits.”

Seth could see all his well-placed plans blowing up in his face. “Has anyone been in touch with Mountain Railway? Have they heard about this?”

“I talked with the president yesterday,” Lisa said.

“And?”

“And, on the one hand, they’re used to these kinds of protests. On the other hand, they’re beginning to think this particular protest has legs. And they weren’t expecting it.”

“Should I call and try to reassure him?” Seth asked.

Lisa shook her head. “Not yet.”

“If Darby gets the six hundred signatures?”

“Then you should definitely call him.”

“Just once,” Seth complained as they made their way up the marble staircase toward his private offices, “just once, I’d like something to be easy.”

“Oh, poor boss,” she mocked as they walked side by side. “Did you expect them to love you?”

“I expected them to be sane.”

“Why would you expect that? You were here during the election campaign.”

Seth cracked a smile at that observation. “I know the vast majority of the citizens of Lyndon are smart, reasonable, hardworking people. Why can’t any of those ones ever write, call or come out to meetings?”

“They’re busy working and raising their families. They’re expecting you to run the city for them. That’s why they pay you.”

He cut through the executive reception area and into his private office. The room was big and airy. A bay window arched out on one side, overlooking the river and the town square. The riverbanks were a little muddy from a recent storm and flood, but the fall colors were brilliant: reds, yellows and greens, stretching their way up the Rocky Mountains.

He moved to the window to take in the view.

Darby was on a ridiculous crusade. A hundred and fifty decibels. The figure was irrelevant. Nobody but the rail-yard workers would be right next to the train when it blew its whistle. And they’d be wearing hearing protection.

Train whistles were hardly newfound, cutting-edge technology that needed to be tested and studied. And the danger of collision was no different here than the danger of collision anywhere else in the country. Lyndon citizens encountered trains as close by as Fern Junction. They all seemed to come back alive.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” said Lisa, coming up beside him.

“And say what?”

“Okay, let me rephrase. Maybe you should listen to her.”

“You think she’ll change my mind?”

Lisa was talking nonsense. She was as much in favor of the railway as anyone else in Lyndon. She’d read the research. She knew what a boon it would be to local businesses.

“Often, people just want to be heard.”

“She’s being heard all over the damn town.” The woman had taken out radio spots.

“She needs to be heard by you,” said Lisa.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m your boss.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“You are the most insubordinate employee in the world.”

She broke into a grin. “I thought we’d established that months ago.”

Seth considered her suggestion. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

“In fighting Darby?”

“No, in running for office in the first place.”

Part of his rationale for leaving his brother, Travis, to manage the family ranch alone was that from the mayor’s seat he’d be able to make the kind of changes the ranching community needed. But so far, all he’d done was get dragged into petty squabbles. Every significant change he’d campaigned on was bogged down in controversy or red tape, or both. Worse still, he was realizing how hard it was to represent the entire city, balance needs, balance agendas. He couldn’t simply lobby for the ranchers.

“You’re a great mayor,” Lisa assured him.

“I wanted to be an effective mayor. I wanted to solve the water-rights issue and get the railway into Lyndon. I wanted to make life better for our neighbors.”

“You’re doing everything you can.”

“It’s not enough.”

“At least you’re trying.”

“This isn’t third grade. We don’t all get a ribbon for showing up.”

“Quit wallowing in self-pity.”

He arched a brow.

“Cowboy up, Seth. So you’ve hit a setback. Big deal. What’s your next move?”

For about the thousandth time, he found himself capitulating to Lisa’s reason. As usual, her initial advice was right.

“I need to talk to Darby Carroll,” he admitted.

“You need to listen to Darby Carroll.”

“That’s what I meant.”

“Just make sure you remember it during the conversation.”

Two

The Valley Fall Festival attracted the who’s who of Lyndon Valley. Set in the city’s main park next to the river, it was everything from a craft fair and a farmers’ market to a family picnic, complete with amateur athletics and fun-filled competitions.

This was Darby’s third year attending the event, but today it was about more than just fun. She was chatting with the people, passing out flyers, directing them to the “stop the noise pollution” website and, most important, gathering as many signatures as possible on the petition. Midnight tomorrow was the deadline to file, and they needed nearly a hundred more signatures to guarantee the referendum.

Marta was making her way through the stalls of the farmers’ market, while Darby was in the tiny midway, hoping to meet a few concerned mothers putting their children on the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel.

“A little harder. A little higher,” came a deep, familiar, male voice.

Darby twisted her head and spotted Seth Jacobs, perched on a makeshift platform above a water tank, coaxing the teenage boy who was throwing a baseball at a target to dunk him. The mayor was bone dry so far, and the short lineup of women and preteens looking to take their turn didn’t seem to pose much of a threat.

Too bad. She would have loved to see him go under.

She couldn’t help musing that it was unfortunate the City Council Chambers didn’t have their own dunk tank. The mayor got out of hand at a meeting: boom, down he went.

She smiled at the visual, temptation rising within her.

She knew it would be wrong to give in to her fantasy. This wasn’t the time and place to take out her frustration. She had far more important things to do.

Then again, she could afford to blow ten minutes. And if Seth had to head home and change his clothes, she’d have the festival and the citizens all to herself.

It made perfect, strategic sense. Get the adversary out of the way, even if it was only temporarily.

While she talked herself into it, her feet were already taking her toward the dunk tank. She fished into the pocket of her blue jeans and produced a five-dollar bill. For that, the woman at the kiosk handed over three softballs.

Darby was confident she’d only need one.

She took her place in the lineup, fifth back, behind a short, teenage boy who was obviously a friend of the one who’d just failed to hit the target. Behind him were three women, all in heels and dresses, each of them obviously here to flirt with Seth, not to embarrass him.

It didn’t take him long to spot her. He glanced to the balls in her hand, and his expression faltered.

She flashed him a confident smile, tossing one of the balls a couple of feet in the air and catching it again with one hand. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy this. But there was really no point in fighting her feelings. She felt a buzz of adrenaline come up in anticipation.

He gritted his teeth.

The teenage boy came close but didn’t hit the bull’s-eye.

The three women all giggled their way through pathetic attempts.

Then it was Darby’s turn.

“Mr. Mayor,” she greeted.

“Ms. Carroll.”

“Ready to get wet?”

“Give it your best shot.”

“Oh, I will.”

It was far from the first projectile Darby had thrown. She’d played a lot of softball while stationed on bases and overseas. More significant, in basic training, she’d been a great shot with a rifle.

He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, sneakers instead of his usual leather boots—probably a good idea—and a blue plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over his tanned forearms.

“You might want to take off your hat,” she advised.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He settled the Stetson more firmly on his head, and their gazes locked.

Adios, Seth Jacobs.

She switched her attention to the target.

“Don’t get nervous,” he taunted, voice loud and staccato, as if he was trying to psych out a batter. “Don’t want to miss. Don’t want to choke.”

But Darby had spent enough time in a war zone that his shouts weren’t going to faze her.

She drew back her arm, pivoted at the elbow and drilled the ball in a straight line.

It hit straight on. The target pinged. The crowd gasped. And Seth’s eyes widened a split second before he plunged into the tank.

The crowd squealed and clapped.

“Well, I guess that’s it for our brave mayor,” came a woman’s voice through the tinny loudspeaker. “Round of applause please, ladies and gentlemen. Next up is Carla Sunfall, our very own Miss Wheatgrass.”

Darby watched Seth surface. He gave her a fleeting, dark look, before smiling gamely and waving his hat to the crowd. He climbed the ladder out of the tank while two men reaffixed the platform and helped Miss Wheatgrass up to her perch.

Darby turned and handed her spare softballs to the young man behind her.

“Good luck,” she told him.

He grinned, likely just as thrilled to have Miss Wheatgrass take the platform as he was to have two extra chances to throw.

Darby left the midway and headed for the baseball field. It had been temporarily turned into a sports track with white paint delineating various lanes and quadrants. There, the organizers were hosting everything from three-legged races to egg tosses. Again, she expected to find mothers with young children who might share her concerns on safety and noise pollution.

“Nice throw,” came Seth’s voice.

She glanced at him as he drew up beside her, matching her strides. They were out of the main action now, between the backs of the game stalls and a low chain-link fence, where the generators hummed and fans blew heat out of the stalls. The shouts of game players and the electronic buzzes and pings were dampened by the makeshift walls.

“You’re looking a little damp, Mr. Mayor.”

His shirt was plastered to his broad chest, the soaked fabric delineating the definition of his muscles. His hair was wet, curling darkly across his forehead, and the sheen on his face seemed to accentuate his rugged, handsome features.

Her mouth went dry, and the sun suddenly felt hotter on her head. Her body launched a traitorous rush of hormones, and she didn’t dare glance at the fit of his blue jeans.

“All for a good cause,” he responded easily, and she couldn’t help being disappointed by his equanimity.

He nodded to her clipboard. “How’s it going?”

“Almost there.”

“Deadline’s tomorrow.”

“Really?” she drawled. “I hadn’t thought to check.”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

She gazed up and down his body. Oops. Bad idea. He was one sexy specimen of a man. She gave herself a mental shake. “Aren’t you going to change your clothes?”

“I’ve been wet before.” His smooth, deep tone added an edge to the comment.

She deliberately ignored it. “It can’t be very comfortable.”

“I’ll live.”

“Good to hear. But I’m a little busy right now.”

“Did I say talk? I meant I wanted to listen to your side of the situation.”

Darby stopped, and Seth stopped, too. She turned to face him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The old adage that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was, applied in this case.

“Why?” she asked shortly.

“I’m interested in your concerns.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then I’m interested in you.”

“No,” she repeated with finality. “You’re not.”

“Go ahead. Let’s hear your pitch.”

“I’m not going to waste my breath.” If he gave one whit about her concerns, he’d have listened to them long before now.

“How will you know it’s a waste unless you try?” he challenged.

“Let me tell you what I know,” she said. “You’re worried I might just pull it off. You know I have a lot of signatures, but you’re not sure exactly how close I am to six hundred. So ‘talking to me’ will accomplish one of two things. Either you’ll slow me down, making me one, two or ten signatures short or, and let me assure you this second one is a very long shot, you’ll talk me out of filing the petition.”

The expression on his face told her she wasn’t wrong.

“I said I wanted to listen,” he reminded her.

“Then I’m guessing you’re trying option number one. Your intent is to slow me down rather than talk me out of filing.”

“I’m not here to slow you down.”

“Mr. Mayor—” she canted one hip, resting a hand on her waist “—I believe politicians ought to at least be honest.”

She detected a hint of a grin.

“I really do want to listen,” he insisted.

“In order to understand me? Or in order to change my mind?”

His expression faltered once more, telling her that seven years of psychology hadn’t gone to waste.

“Both,” he admitted.

“I admire your honesty, sir.”

“You can call me Seth, you know. Everybody does.”

“Seth,” she repeated, and she saw a slight flare of awareness heat the depths of his eyes.

Uh-oh. Not good. This situation was complicated enough.

Then again... She pulled her thoughts together. Maybe it was something she could use. Maybe she could mess with his focus by pursing her lips or batting her eyelashes. Truly, she’d do anything for the mission.

She tucked her hair behind one ear, moistened her lower lip and subtly pulled her shoulders back, taking on a more provocative pose.

His eyes flared deep blue again, and she knew she was taking the right tack.

A petition, if she actually made the deadline, only got her to the point of a general vote. And winning a general vote meant convincing at least half the town to support her. Might it be easier to change the mind of the one man who could single-handedly stop the railway?

“Okay,” she told him. “I’ll listen to you.”

“Talk to me,” he corrected.

“That, too,” she agreed.

* * *

Seth couldn’t recall a sexier woman than Darby Carroll. Which was odd, since she was quite plainly dressed—blue jeans, a white top and a navy blazer. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup, and she didn’t appear to have paid much attention to her hair, simply pulling it back in a jaunty ponytail. A few wisps of auburn curled softly around her temple, but he’d be willing to bet it wasn’t on purpose. They’d likely worked their way loose in the breeze.

Her green eyes were clear and intelligent, flecked with gold. Her cheeks were pink, her lips dark and full, and her nose was straight in a perfectly balanced face. She wore a set of tiny blue stones in her ears, but otherwise no jewelry. Not unless he counted her rather large and serviceable watch with its worn leather strap. And he didn’t. She couldn’t have chosen it to make herself attractive.

They were sitting at a corner table in one of the refreshment tents. She’d surprised him by agreeing to split a syrup-drizzled funnel cake with their coffee, surprised him further by actually tearing off a piece and popping the hot, sticky confection into her mouth.

He couldn’t take his gaze off the tiny drop of syrup on her lower lip. Her tongue flicked out to remove it, causing a sharp reaction deep in his gut.

“Decadent,” she breathed with a smile, and the sensation hit him again. “Now, what’s this all about?”

For a split second, he couldn’t remember. Then he dragged himself back to business. This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. He had to stop thinking like a cowboy and start thinking like the mayor.

“I want to make sure I understand your concerns,” he responded, removing a chunk from his own side of the funnel cake. “Why, exactly, do you object so strongly to the railroad?”

She swallowed. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No.”

“It seems like you’re making a joke.”

“If I was making a joke, one of us would be laughing.”

“So I’ve been white noise for the past three weeks?”

“Excuse me?” This was going to be harder than he’d expected.

“You’ve pushed everything I’ve said to the background, ignored me?” She placed the remaining chunk of funnel cake back down to the plate, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I don’t know why that surprises me.”

Seth found himself growing impatient. “Do you want to fight with me or talk to me?”

“I want to collect signatures.”

“That option wasn’t on the list.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do people really let you get away with being such a jerk?”

“Usually, yeah,” he admitted, realizing Lisa would be kicking him under the table if she were here. “But give me the benefit of the doubt for a minute. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Her green eyes darkened, but her voice went lower, more controlled. “I’ve told you in every way I know how. Trains are noisy, disruptive and dangerous. They will fundamentally change the character of Lyndon Valley forever.”

“For the better,” he couldn’t help but put in.

She clenched her jaw.

“They’ll pass through town, what, three, four, five times a day. For that minor interruption, we’ll see enormous immediate benefit and enormous future potential. Mountain Railway is willing to pour tens of millions of dollars into this project, and we’ll be the ones who win.”

“Is this what you call listening?”

He stopped, regretting he’d defaulted to speech mode. “Sorry.” He lifted his cardboard coffee cup and put it to his lips.

“It won’t just be three times a day.”

He’d allowed it could be four or five, but he stopped himself from pointing that out to her.

“It might be a dozen times a day,” she continued. “You know that line is going to eventually link up to Ripple Ridge. They won’t be able to resist that link because it cuts nearly two hundred miles off their northwestern interstate. You don’t think they’ll run their trains over the shortest route possible?”

There was a very likely possibility she was right. But Seth was surprised she’d dug that deep into the company’s future possibilities.

“That’s not in their plan,” was the best he could do as a comeback.

She shot him a look of disbelief. “Please tell me you’re capable of connecting the dots.”

“Trains run on schedules,” he said. “Can’t you plan your yoga classes and meditation during a quiet time, maybe do scrapbooking or some basket weaving when a train is due?”

“Gee, I hadn’t thought of that,” she drawled. “I could organize my life around trains. How tough could that be?”

He stayed silent for a moment, hoping against hope she wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Your ranchers are profitable without the railway,” she pointed out. “It’s a convenience, not a necessity.”

“Right back at you,” he responded. “Your hotel will survive with a railway. It’s a convenience to have one hundred percent peace and quiet, not a necessity.”

“It’s a necessity.”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Women come to Sierra Hotel to get away from loud, sudden noises.”

“It upsets their delicate sensibilities?” He knew he was being snarky, but the conversation was getting away from him. He wasn’t used to that.

She cracked her first real smile and sat back in her chair. “Yes. My clients have exceedingly delicate sensibilities.”

“Maybe they should work on that.”

“I’ll let them know you said so.” She gazed levelly into his eyes.

He got that he had amused her, that there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he couldn’t for the life of him guess what it was.

“Bottom line, Darby. The train is good for Lyndon.”

“Bottom line, Seth. The train is bad for Lyndon.”

He gauged the confidence in her expression, realizing what it had to mean, and realizing she was as worthy an adversary as he’d come across in a while. “You’ve got enough signatures, haven’t you?”

“I will have by tomorrow.”

“I could arrest you, you know. Have the sheriff lock you up. Hold you overnight on suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?”

He could tell she wasn’t taking him seriously.

“Sedition. Rabble-rousing.”

She smiled again, shaking her pretty head. “And I could sue you and Lyndon back to the Stone Age.”

“You probably could.”

“I absolutely could.” She picked up the last chunk of the funnel cake before looking him in the eyes. “You’re a smart guy, Seth. And you know how to rise to a challenge. You don’t have to cheat to get there.”

“You’re pandering to my ego?” He couldn’t help but hope she denied it. And that hope made him realize he wanted her to have a decent opinion of him.

“I’m being honest,” she responded.

It was ridiculous, but his chest tightened with some kind of silly pride. “I’m not going to cheat.”

That earned him another smile. “Which means I’m going to win.”

* * *

“Five hundred and ninety-seven,” Darby told Marta who was sitting at the computer in the great room at Sierra Hotel. It was eleven-fifty, and they only had ten minutes left to file the petition electronically. “How could we come so close, only to miss?”

They should have worked a little harder, put up a few more posters, run another radio ad, or somehow made their pitch more compelling.

Marta swiveled in the desk chair, her gaze calculating. “If it was me,” she began slowly.

Darby waited.

“I’d go ahead and add three more signatures.”

“You mean forge them?”

“Nobody real, just scrawl something illegible along the line. I’m sure they’d get lost in the crowd.”

“That’s illegal. Not to mention immoral.”

Marta gave a little shrug. “Risk-benefit analysis. If they double-check each and every signature, they’ll throw them out. If they don’t, we get a referendum.”

“I don’t think I could ethically do that.” Darby had experienced too many situations where people claimed the end justified the means. It never did.

“Okay, how about this. Six hundred is a lot of signatures to manually count. Are you sure we got it right? Could you have been off by one, maybe two?” She glanced at her watch. “We have seven minutes to file the petition. There’s no time for a recount. Are you absolutely, one hundred percent positive on the number?”

Darby thought about it. Okay, that was plausible. How accurate could the true count be?

“I’m sure the people at City Hall are going to double-check when they get it,” she cautioned.

“True,” Marta agreed. “But if we don’t file, it’s a definite no. If we do file—” she hovered a finger over the computer keyboard “—we could get lucky. A long shot is better than no shot at all.”

“You’ve scanned all the pages?” Darby asked.

“A few are a bit blurry, making it, you know, maybe a little hard to get an accurate count.” Marta gave her a conspiratorial smile.

“This’ll never work,” said Darby, even though she was reluctantly smiling back. Could they possibly fudge their way through? Their subterfuge wouldn’t make the final decision. It would only give people a chance to vote.

“As a fallback, we’ll try for a dozen more signatures tomorrow. I double-checked. The exact wording on the regulation is: ‘A petition filed at least twenty-four hours before permit implementation. The petition must be endorsed by at least six hundred residents of Lyndon City.’ It doesn’t say the six hundred residents must have endorsed it prior to the initial petition filing.”

“That has to have been the spirit of the rule,” Darby said, coming to her feet to read the screen. Had Marta found a loophole?

“It’ll take a judge to say for certain,” said Marta. “And, in the meantime, if the railway gets bad press, they might rethink their commitment to the Lyndon Valley route.”

Darby moved up behind Marta’s chair. “You’re frighteningly devious.”

“Just thinking things through.”

“I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“I’m always on your side. Here goes nothing.” Marta clicked Send on the screen.

They both watched as the cursor flashed across the screen. At eleven fifty-eight, it flashed “Sent.”

“Do you suppose he’s still up?” asked Darby, picturing Seth in the mayor’s mansion. In her imagination, he was in blue jeans and a plaid shirt. She liked him better that way, relaxed and laid-back. When he dressed up in his suit, he seemed to get more uptight.

“I’m sure he’s still up,” said Marta. “I’m guessing he’s swearing a blue streak about now.”

Darby found she could easily picture that. “Wine?” she asked, breathing a sigh of temporary relief.

They’d done all they could do for tonight, and she definitely needed to wind down before she tried to sleep.

“Sounds easier than making margaritas,” Marta agreed, naming their favorite drink. “You want to do a swim first? I’ve been either sitting or standing still most of the day. I need to stretch my muscles.”

“Sure,” Darby easily agreed. She’d sleep even better if she got some exercise.

Early in the summer, she’d tethered a floating dock half a mile out in the lake for guests to use. Floodlights from the yard would illuminate their way, and it was a full moon tonight, which would give them even more light.

“Three miles?” she asked.

“That’ll do it,” Marta agreed. “Then wine. We get to celebrate this.”

“Celebrate what? Not quite getting enough signatures?”

“Celebrate still having a chance, even though we experienced a setback.”

“You’re a true optimist.”

“I find it helps.”

As they’d done several times in the past, they decided to push a small dinghy out to the floater. The dinghy was stocked with towels, the wine, warm-up clothes and life jackets. It was also a means for them to paddle back to shore without getting wet again.

After swimming several laps, they pulled up onto the floater and changed out of the suits into sweatpants and jackets, rubbing their hair dry before opening the bottle of wine.

“This is paradise,” Marta observed, settling onto one of the towels.

The moon was high in the sky, surrounded by pinpricks of stars. A soft breeze wafted the scent of pine from the hillsides, and the lake water lapped softly against the floater, little more than ripples on the calm surface.

“Can you imagine a freight train chugging past, spewing out diesel smoke and shaking the ground?” Darby pointed to a rise behind the Sierra Hotel building. It would travel the length of the lowest ridge, crossing Wren Road, where it would have to blow its whistle. They’d have to put a bridge across the creek, and the reverberation would carry across the lake for miles.

“What was it like?” Marta asked as she poured herself a glass of wine. “Being in a war zone?”

“I was mostly behind the wire,” said Darby, taking the bottle from Marta and pouring her own glass. She didn’t mind talking about her time overseas. She knew Marta wanted to understand her passion for keeping Sierra Hotel open.

She took a sip of her wine. “It’s the uncertainty that gets to you. No matter how calm things might feel in the moment, at any second all hell can break loose.”

“That’s the problem with the trains.” Marta nodded.

“The women who stay here might have just been in a war zone, maybe even a military firefight, or maybe they’ve chased gang members down the streets of Chicago. I can’t imagine telling them that all will be calm and quiet, well, except for the sudden blasts and clattering from the freight trains. Can you imagine having that wake you up in the middle of the night? They’d be lunging for their firearms. They need a complete break,” Darby ended. “A complete break from the stress.”

Marta held up her glass in a mock toast. “Here’s to defeating the mayor.”

Darby saluted in return, wondering just how difficult that was going to be. “How long have you known him?” she asked.

“All my life. I used to have a crush on his brother, Travis. Most of the girls in my age group had a crush on one or the other. Or on Caleb Terrell, at least until he moved away.”

“I can see it,” Darby allowed. She’d seen both Travis Jacobs and Caleb Terrell around over the past three years.

“Forgetting for a second that Travis and Caleb are both married,” Marta continued. “Which one do you find attractive?”

“Of the two of them?” It seemed like an odd, theoretical question.

“Of the three of them,” Marta clarified.

“You’re asking if I’m attracted to Seth?”

Marta grinned. “I’m trying to figure out your type.”

“Seth’s more my type than the other two.” Darby didn’t see much point in denying it. She’d trusted Marta with her secrets for a long time now. “I mean, they’re all good-looking, but I guess I like the take-charge type, smart, committed, take-no-prisoners.” She gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “Even if those prisoners are me.”

Then she paused. “You know it occurs to me that I might not find him quite as sexy if he backed down. Do you suppose that’s a terrible character flaw?”

“You find him sexy?”

Darby rubbed a fingertip along the rim of her wineglass. “I’m afraid I do.”

Marta looked calculating again.

“What?” Darby prompted.

“I’m wondering if we can use that to help our cause. Any chance he reciprocates?”

“He was a little flirty the night of the barn raising. And again at the fair, there might have been a little something. But I have a feeling that was more of an automatic response to the fact that I’m female. I bet he flirts with everyone.”

“I don’t think so,” Marta countered. “I’ve seen him with lots of women. He’s quite circumspect.”

“Hmmm.” Darby let her mind go back over the memory. She knew she shouldn’t care whether or not he found her attractive, but her ego kind of liked the idea.

“It’s another option. Maybe you could flirt your way to a referendum.”

“I think you’re being ridiculously optimistic. But I have to admit, I did think about it.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Marta reasoned. “If the petition fails, maybe you could cloud his judgment with lust.”

“Would you ever try something like that?” It didn’t seem particularly noble, but Darby had no doubt it would work for some women.

“Sure,” said Marta. “Depending on the circumstances, if the stakes were high enough.”

“How high?”

“If somebody’s life was on the line. Or if a thousand lives were on the line. How could you live with yourself if you didn’t?” She grimaced.

“Alas, in this case, no lives are on the line.”

“Disappointed?” Marta grinned.

“No.” Darby emphatically shook her head. Well, maybe a little. If somebody’s life were on the line, she’d have a perfectly noble excuse to flirt with Seth.

“Plus, you’d probably have to sleep with him to really make it work.”

“Excuse me?” Darby’s fantasy didn’t extend that far. Well, not really.

“I don’t think you’ve got that in you.”

“Why not?” Darby demanded, before she realized how that would sound out loud.

Marta laughed at her.

“I mean, of course I don’t.” Darby shifted to her stomach, settling more comfortably on her towel. The prone position kept her below the freshening breeze.

“Though,” Marta mused, leaning back on her elbows. “I suppose you could sleep with him recreationally. Do it for fun, and if it helps, it helps.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Darby told both of them.

“I prefer to think of it as practical.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I am, but not really. If, and only if, you’d be willing to sleep with him, anyway, why not let the chips fall where they may?”

Darby tried to picture it. Unfortunately, she could.

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