Page 21 of Breaking the Cowboy's Rules

“It is called Big Sky Country,” he said, slowly.

“And?” The tip of her tongue moistened her top lip in a sexy little swipe.

“If you’re comfortable enough with me, I could show you a pretty alpine lake about fifteen minutes’ drive out of town. When I’m in town, no matter the season, I head out there to absorb the forest and mountain air.”

“I’d love to see it,” she said. “I have a jacket in my room. I’d like to stop off and get it first.”

“Of course,” Bodhi said. “If it makes you feel safer, you can ask about my family there. My granddad—Ben Ballantyne—is an institution in town. He’s a member of many local organizations for ranchers and the rodeo.”

“I can handle myself,” she said.

That was both a challenge and a blast of heat to his ego and other southern regions.

Heading to the Graff first also gave him another idea. “I always have blankets in my truck, so if we want to sit by the lake and stargaze some, we can,” he said. “I can order us some coffee to go or hot chocolate from the bar. That will keep us warm.”

“Surprise me,” she said.

*

Back in herroom, Nico slicked on more of the copper-colored matte lipstick and brushed out her hair. Then she rummaged through the bag of clothes she’d purchased today and pulled out the fitted cream-colored denim duster.

She was full-on western woman as she looked critically at herself in the mirror. She was enjoying playing a part far more than she should. Perhaps she should have pursued theater in high school instead of debate and mock trial. She felt alive and engaged. Bodhi intrigued her. He made her feel sexy and fun and desirable, but she wasn’t stupid.

She googled Bodhi Ballantyne and was a little shocked at the list of information that scrolled down her screen, but instead of scanning down for facts, she was stuck on the first several pictures of him competing. How was that even physically possible? She enlarged the photo of Bodhi arched nearly parallel to the back of a bucking bronco.

His body was stretched out, following the line of the horse. One hand locked in a grip while his other arm was stretched out high over his head as if in exaltation. She looked at a few more pictures and read the captions. He won a lot. She thumbed through a few articles and something promotional the tour published. Wow. His health stats, wins, schedule, and earnings year to date were all there for anyone to see.

This year Bodhi was a top earner and excelled in bull riding and something called saddleless bronc riding. Number one.

“Perfect fodder for stalkers.”

Which was sort of what she was doing right now while he waited for her in the lobby. Not exactly fair since he didn’t know anything about her. But if he had her full name, he’d get more than an eyeful of online information. She scanned a bit more, but other than his reputation as “eye candy for the ladies,” and “fan favorite,” and “catnip for the buckle bunnies,” there was no hint of anything dangerous or criminal. Being handsome and desirable and taking advantage of that was nothing that reflected poorly on Bodhi.

She was looking for a diversion, not a faithful husband.

Ironic since he’d proposed a game called Rodeo Brides.

She looked in the mirror again and struck a pose like she had a lasso over her head. “Montana Rodeo Bride.”

Her family would… She had no idea what anyone would think or do if they could see her now. She’d never had an agile imagination.

But Bodhi was damn fine. She didn’t need any online pictures to tell her that.

She tucked her phone back in her cross-body purse. She didn’t want to think about her past. And she didn’t care about Bodhi’s earnings, endorsement deals, or the foundation he’d started to help injured and disabled former rodeo cowboys recover and remake their lives. She was just focused on the now.

What would it be like to be fake-wooed by a rodeo cowboy for a week? Too bad she was a lawyer and not a writer or actor. She could kid herself she was doing research instead of hiding.

Healing.

“Showtime,” she said to her reflection.

She found Bodhi in the bar, grinning at the tall, blonde bartender who held a large, pink thermos to her chest.

“Promise you won’t open this until you are not driving or not in your car,” she said.

“It’s a truck, woman. A big, manly cowboy truck. Won’t catch me in a car.”

The bartender laughed at him. “I’m not sure the pink can survive in your manly cowboy truck. It might melt from all that testosterone and heat.”

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