Lasso That Cowboy
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By: Lynde Lakes | Other books by Lynde Lakes Categories: Mainstream Romance, Contemporary, Romantic Suspense, Western/Cowboys Word Count: 75,361 Heat Level: SENSUAL Published By: Amira Press, LLC
Desperate, Luke hires a nanny with no credentials. Amber is the only prospect for the job on his remote South Texas ranch. He might not be so quick to hire her if he knew she had a loaded .38 in her purse. Her secrets could destroy everything he's worked so hard to build--and get him and his daughter killed. Amber had awakened next to a dead man with her memory gone. To hide on this ranch, she must deal with the dangerous Luke Ryan and give him her trust, a trust she doesn't dare give. 3 Ratings Avg - 4.0
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 Lasso That Cowboy
Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Microsoft Reader Price: $5.99 |
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ExcerptAmber rubbed her throbbing head and fought a wave of dizziness. Running away felt like a bad choice to start a new life. But waking up next to a lifeless, bloody body told her that if she'd stayed in San Antonio, sooner or later, she'd be jailed, or worse yet . . . dead.Elmer, the trucker she'd hitched a ride with, pulled his flatbed semi into the center of a complex of ranch buildings. "This is as far as Betsy can go to make an easy wide turn," he said in his thick Texas drawl. He had the fierce look of an albino gorilla, but Amber had learned in their hours riding together that he had the heart of a teddy bear. Elmer hauled lumber and fencing supplies into the Bar R cattle ranch, and she'd lucked out getting a ride with him from San Antonio to this nowhereland about a hundred miles north of the Mexico border. She had ignored the "No Riders" sign painted on his door and had told him she was broke and needed a lift to get a job. Elmer sized her up and gestured for her to get into the cab. She'd felt comfortable with him from the moment she settled into the passenger seat. The pictures of his wife and two teenage daughters tucked into the visor over his head suggested that he was a family man, and the gentleness in his voice when he talked about them warmed her heart. "You gonna be all right?" Amber nodded. The dizziness had passed. Now she felt empty, lost. The activity behind the roar of ranch machinery and grange trucks should've made her feel not quite so alone. But she was alone. Totally alone. She had no ID in her wallet, no pictures of loved ones. A woman with no past. She'd better get used to it. She sighed, grabbed her suitcase, and slid from the cab. Elmer moved his truck ahead. He circled slowly until the driver's side of his polished, black cab came parallel with her. "If this job falls through," he said, shouting over the idling engine, "be out by the dirt road in front of the bunk house at five a.m. sharp. I won't wait!" The June sky was light blue, cloudless. Amber shaded her aching eyes from the blinding morning sun and looked up at him. The upward tilt of her head sent pain up the column of her neck into the base of her skull. "You know something about this place that I don't?" They were both yelling over the head-splitting engine noise now. "It's just that . . . if Luke Ryan's gonna be your boss, you maybe oughta ask for your pay up front." Oh great, she thought. Her prospective employer might be a deadbeat. "Thanks for the tip, Elmer." Too bad she hadn't heard that discouraging news before coming all this way with a mere three bucks in her wallet. Since she didn't have all that many options, she wouldn't count Bossman Ryan out completely. She would make her own evaluation of the man. To the right, an impressive Spanish villa stood off by itself on a small knoll. They had passed other large homes on the property along the long, dusty lane from the main road. Elmer said they housed top ranch people. This classy piece of real estate must belong to the big kingpin. "Is that Luke Ryan's place?" she asked. "I hope, I hope." "Naw. He has a place up that dirt road out beyond the big house. Never seen it, but I don't think it's much." Please, let it have indoor plumbing at the very least. "I thought Luke was the owner of this ranch." "May have an interest. Spread used to belong to Gavin Ryan, but for the last five years, I've been dealin' with his son, Matt." The job sounded worse by the minute. Amber fanned herself with her straw hat. The temperature was inching up fast. The brightness of the day gilded the surrounding barns and sheds with a golden hue. A job at the Bar R might not be a golden opportunity, but it was better than losing her life. "Well, good luck, Amber," Elmer said. "Gotta git my load delivered." He'd already told her his plan. He'd unload his truck at a warehouse about a mile down the road; visit his cousin Arnie, also a trucker on an intersecting route; and then rest overnight in the bunk house and get an early start in the morning. She'd hate to be forced to leave with him. Please, Lord, let me ace this interview, and let Elmer be wrong about Luke Ryan. She blew up at a wayward wisp of hair. "Thanks for the info, Elmer, and the ride." Elmer took a long drag from his cigarette, then flicked the butt out the window with stubby, nicotine-stained fingers. He rested his hairy, muscled arm on the window frame. "If you miss my pull out in the mornin', I won't be back for two weeks." She laughed. "You're not the only ride heading out of here, friend." "Maybe the only one you can trust. Be careful, Amber girl. Knowin' most of the other road jockeys comin' in and out of this ranch like I do, I'd say you best wait for me to git yourself outta here." Amber thought of the loaded .38 in the purse hanging from a thin strap over her shoulder. Elmer had a point. She'd hate to shoot a guy for a little knee grabbing. "Where do you think I should look for this Luke Ryan fellow?" "Try the office in the barn. Someone there should be able to find him for you." Elmer saluted and pulled away. A cloud of black diesel smoke curled from the exhaust pipe behind the cab. She sighed. Even after the truck turned down the side road and disappeared, Amber continued to stare. For mile,s there was only low, rolling land sowed with scrub oak, mesquite, and cactus and, in the far distance, a haze of rocky, purple mountains. The land was more severe than she'd expectedbarren, even hostile. She had wanted a job in a remote place, and this location was about as remote as any she could've imagined. Amber fought her fight-or-flight feeling, and the paranoia that came from running. She shivered as the sense of isolation registered in a crushing blow. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her suitcase. She had to make this work. Two dogs, a black mongrel and an Australian shepherd with tan and white markings, came running toward her, barking. "Big bark, no bite, I hope?" she asked, crossing her fingers. They wagged their tails and trailed behind her. After a couple of dozen steps, a whistle sounded, and they took off to answer the call. "Fickle," she said. A smiling ranch hand came toward her. He was wiry, bowlegged, and although as brown as tanned leather, he wasn't Latino like most of the vaqueros who worked on South Texas ranches. "Lost, little lady?" he asked. If only he knew how lost. She fought her instinctive fear of strangers. "I was told I might find Luke Ryan in the barn office." "You might," he drawled. "Good a place as any. Follow me. I'm Pete." "Amber." When they reached the barn, Amber saw that most of the thirty or more stalls stood empty. Sunshine streamed through the high windows. The snort of a horse echoed through the wood structure. Somewhere at the other end of the barn, a radio was tuned to a Mexican station playing a Texas-Mexican quickstep. Pete led her to an office in the middle of the barn. "Here we are." A nameplate on the desk read Matt Ryan in bold letters. "I'm looking for Luke Ryan." Pete poured the dregs of coffee from a glass decanter into a mug and handed it to her. "I'll git Luke for you." He pointed to a chair. "Take a load off your feet." Amber sat down and took a sip of the coffee. She frowned at the bitterness and pushed it away. She'd rather have a cold glass of water and an aspirin. She drummed her fingers on the desk, then opened her purse and withdrew the help wanted ad for a nanny she'd clipped from the day-before-yesterday's newspaper. She'd stapled the ad to the sheet of notes from her telephone conversation with her prospective boss. She smoothed the wrinkles from the paper. Mr. Ryan had said to get here as soon as possible for an interview. She had grabbed her already-packed bag and took a bus to the truck stop at the edge of town. Luck was on her side. When she hitched a ride with the first truck heading south, it had been Elmer, and he was going straight to the Bar R. No one could have gotten here faster. Amber extracted a small mirror from her purse. Using a mini brush, she gave her hair a few strokes. Then, she smeared on some apricot mist lipstick and smudged a little onto her cheeks. God, she still looked awful. What she needed was a complete makeover. Oh well, she wasn't applying for an office or modeling job. She just needed to look presentableand reliable. With no credentials to back her up, she had to rely on her wits. She got up and paced, rubbing her arms. Had she made a mistake coming here? No, it would be all right. What better place to hide? Outside the door near the stalls, a young couple was arguing. Amber pressed herself close to the door frame and listened. With a razor-sharp tongue, the girl was dressing down the guy about flirting with some gal at a rodeo in Reno. Amber moved closer where she could see them, but they couldn't see her. Maybe she'd hear something to help her ace this interview. The young man had a thick rope of black hair hanging down his back. He was about nineteen, tall, lean, and had a wild, brooding look. The girl, poured into jeans and a halter top, was about the same age, maybe a little younger. The way she tossed that sexy mane of blonde hair and thrust her breasts about suggested she was used to using her physical attributes to her advantage. "Y'all know two can play the flirting game, Roberto." The girl's tone twanged with the threat. "What are you talking about, Suzy?" Roberto eyes flashed, reminding Amber of an Indian brave about to go on the warpath. Suzy smiled sweetly. "Mando's here. He drove in a couple of hours ago." "That boozer may be God's gift to the empty-headed chicas on the circuit, but you're too smart to fall for a loser like him. Mando showing up is bound to cause trouble on the ranch. He's bad news for Luke." "Luke?" Suzy arched her eyebrows. "Yeah, he and Mando were two-fisted drinking buddies when they rode the circuit together. Luke won't be able to stay sober with him around. A hundred bucks sez Luke'll hit the bottle within the week." Suzy lifted her chin. "I'll take that bet. He didn't topple when Connie Lou died. No ol' drinking buddy will send him over the edge." "Hate to take money from an innocent young thing." Roberto grinned. "Oh, that's right, there's nothing innocent about you." Suzy gave him a shove. "Ridin' the rodeo circuit's ruined your manners. Maybe when I win that C-note from you, it'll prove you're not such a hotshot after all." He laughed. "Last chance to back out. I'll give you fair warning, Luke's been hanging on by a thread." Amber groaned to herself and moved back into the office. She plunked down in a chair and rubbed her aching head. What next? Her prospective employer had a drinking problem. This wasn't going to work. She got to her feet and headed out of the barn. She'd only taken a few steps when a lasso came from the front and flipped over her head, knocking off her straw hat and closing tight around her arms. She dropped her suitcase. The latch broke, and her clothes spilled out into the dirt next to her hat. "What the devil?" she screeched, fighting the taut rope, as well as fear. Three men blocked her path. They were Pete, the ranch hand who had taken her to the office and given her the bitter, simmered-to-death coffee, and a vaquero who looked like Poncho Villa. She zeroed in on the smirking cowboy at the end of the rope. He was tall and lean with a body sculptured to wear those hip-hugging denim Levi's. He had coal-black hair, and in spite of a faint zigzagging scar on his cheek just below his eye that made him look as dangerous as hell, she determined she wasn't in any real danger. At least not if she discounted that something about him made her heart race like a floor-boarded engine. "Well, lookie here," the cowboy said. "I'll be damned if I didn't lasso myself a cute li'l heifer." Under the black Stetson tipped high on his forehead, the cowboy's angular face twisted with a cocky, bad-boy smile. He was in his mid-twenties with a demeanor that screamed strength and reckless arrogance. The flicker of boyishness in his eyes confirmed his intention to have a good time at her expense while showing off for his buddies. Her head throbbed. She didn't need this. "Look, rude dude, don't call me a cow. And get your blasted rope off me." "Mighty tough talk, sweet thing. But you aren't goin' nowhere until I say so." Amber glared at the too-full-of-himself cowboy. "Let me loose, or I'll get you fired for sexual harassment." The vaquero standing next to Rude Dude laughed. "Chihuahua! This one's got a mouth on her." Rude Dude locked in on Amber's gaze. "Sexual what?" He sauntered toward her like he owned the place, holding the rope tight, keeping her trapped. Blast him. She'd like to rope him with his own rope and show him how it felt to be vulnerable, degraded. "Does Mr. Ryan know you torment his guests?" The cowboy's earth-brown eyes clouded. "You a guest, miss?" His voice lost its arrogance. A flush crawled up his neck. "I saw you get out of that semi a while ago and I thought" "I don't care what you thought. You shouldn't treat any woman like this." "You're right. And I'm mighty sorry." "You ought to be." He removed his Stetson and raked his unruly hair. He looked contrite, and even better without a hat shading his expression. But dangerous with that scar and those penetrating eyes. It was then that she noticed the slice missing from the top of his right ear. This man had faced trouble. And when she got loose, she'd give him another dose. Was she really so tough? She wished she knew. Going forty-eight hours without sleep or food, and suffering from an aching head, wasn't all that contributed to her off-balance feelings. It seemed this man's piercing gaze could reach inside, scramble her emotions, and bring out the worst in her. "I'm trying to apologize," he said, "if you'd kindly simmer down. I'm downright sorry about what just happened here. I didn't mean to lasso you. I was showing Sanchez how I . . . " His voice trailed away in a regretful tone that softened her heart. "Let me go, and we can forget the whole thing." He took the lasso from around her, brushing her arm in the process. She flinched from his searing touch. Something deep within told her it was a good thing she wasn't staying on the Bar R, because her mixed emotions about this cowboy meant trouble. She looked down at her spilled clothing. A bra and a pair of panties peeked out beneath the tangle. Face flaming, she bent to retrieve them. The cowboy squatted to his haunches beside her. Beating her to the draw, he scooped up the undies, along with her other dusty clothes, and stuffed them back inside her suitcase. "Damn it. You're not helping." Amber counted to ten. She couldn't let this man lasso her emotions like one of the cattle. "I'm trying," he muttered. He picked up her dusty hat, swatted it a couple of times against his powerful-looking thigh, then plunked the misshapen straw hat with the crooked sunflower back onto her head. She adjusted it. "Well, don't," she said. "You're not good at handling women's things." All signs of agitation left his face. He laughed and looked up at her with mischief in his eyes. "That's not what most women say, sweet thing." She glared at him. "I'm not most women, and I'm not a bit interested in what your bimbos say to stroke your overinflated ego." A masked expression crossed his face. When he stood again, he said, "How about we start again?" His voice deepened. He wiped his hand on his Levi's and extended it to her. "I'm Luke Ryan and" "What?" Amber stepped back. "You left me waiting twenty minutes in your office to play with a lasso? If that's how you run your business, Mr. Ryan, I'm glad I decided not to take this job." He closed his eyes briefly and groaned. "You're Amber Smith?" She didn't bother to answer. He knew. Awareness was written all over his rugged face. For some puzzling and unsettling reason beyond the regret she saw in his eyes, and her immediate need for a roof over her head, she was suddenly willing to reconsider the job. But even if she killed her chances, this cowpoke deserved to be told off. She gestured with her head toward Pete. "Don't try to say he didn't tell you I was waiting." "Like I said, I didn't know it was you." He looked her up and down, then gestured helplessly with his hands. "You said you'd taught kindergarten and worked as a librarian. I was expecting someone more . . . well, plain." "Forgive him, miss," Pete said. "Ever since they opened Lady Liela's place on the other side of the mountain we've had a string of real pretty women coming through, hitching rides with the truckers. And when I saw you get out of the semi" He cleared his throat. "It's my fault. I told Luke you might be one of them." Amber frowned. It was getting worse by the minute. "You think I look like a hooker?" "Let's get off that," Luke said. "It's all a stupid mistake. You don't look like a hooker. You're pretty, that's all." "Don't say that again. From you, it sounds like a character assault." He settled his Stetson back on his head. "Trading digs will get us nowhere. You came all this way, and I think we can work this out. How about we finish our talk in the office in private?" "We're already finished." "Come on." He flashed her an irresistible grin. "Where's your sense of humor? Haven't you ever made a mistakesomething you wished you could take back?" If regaining consciousness next to a dead body countedshe'd made a doozy of a mistake. Besides, she had come all this way. She should at least check out the job. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. The whites around Luke's intense brown irises weren't bloodshot, and his tanned skin looked vibrant, healthy. Perhaps he wasn't an alcoholic. Even if he was, so what? Maybe his boozing could work in her favor. A drunk wouldn't be sharp, which would make it easier for her to avoid a lot of questions. |
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