Page 10 of My Cowboy Temptation

Brody Dalton isn’t the only eligible cowboy in this town. What I need is to get off this ranch entirely, maybe give a different cowboy a try.

Hmm. I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll through the numbers before I find the one I’m looking for, and I hit dial.

If nothing else, I’ll give Brody a chance to see what he’s missing.

* * *

I hopdown from the truck outside the Rusty Horseshoe later that night and pull my small leather purse over my head and across a shoulder where I’ll barely notice it.

Pausing, I tilt my head up to the galaxy of stars above. They’re the same stars I stared at for the past six years living in California, but somehow they seem different out here in northern Montana. Brighter. Closer. More promising. Ready to lead me toward the life I’m ready to embrace.

“Have I told you how pretty you look tonight, Cal?” my date asks, coming around the truck to join me.

“Thank you,” I say, grinning up at him. “You look pretty good yourself.”

I tried to convince Everly to come out with us tonight, but she pleaded fatigue and a need to stay in. But there was no way I was going to stick around for a night under my dad’s eye like when I was in high school while Brody was out and about doing God knows what.

And Johnny, my date, seems nice enough. Cute, funny, and a damned good kisser, something I know from last weekend when Everly and I were here at this very bar, and he swept me out to the dance floor.

Only he isn’t Brody.

I look over his shoulder to the county road, expecting to see a truck with the Castle Creek Ranch emblazoned on the side. Ever since Everly’s first run-in with Cody Palmer and the appearance of the dead cat on our doorstep more than a week ago, my dad has insisted on sending one of his men to babysit us when we left the ranch—wanted or not. I wonder what ranch hand will have pulled the short straw and will be pulling in on the Callie Castle Babysitting Rotation tonight.

There’s a pit in my stomach as I wonder whether he’ll be here. Or worse, he won’t be here.

Because if Brody sends someone else, it will feel like he’s saying he’s washed his hands of me and that I’m officially someone else’s problem. But if he’s here, the ranch manager of the fourth largest ranch in Montana with a million more important things to do than babysitting me, it can only be because he cares.

Cares a whole fucking lot.

Johnny’s arm goes around my waist as we walk across the dirt parking lot toward the entrance, and I bite back a bit of nausea because that arm isn’t the right arm. Then I see the headlights of a truck as it slows to turn into the parking lot, and that sickness evaporates as hope takes hold.

Because I recognize the dusty black pick-up truck that pulls into the parking lot and slowly passes us. I see the frustration in the driver’s eyes as they latch on to mine and the tension in his jaw as he probably wishes he were anywhere but here while knowing there’s nowhere else he could be.

He wants me, I know it. I felt it and tasted it only hours before. I just have to push him enough to make him realize that we are inevitable.

My spirits lift as we go inside, knowing that Brody will be lurking in the shadows with no eyes for anyone but me.

Sure enough,an hour later, lightheaded from two whiskey sours and two beer chasers, I spot Brody leaning on the other side of the bar nursing a beer, his Stetson tilted down as if to obscure his identity—and the fact he’s closely watching me.

Feeling impish, I call over one of the cocktail waitresses.

A few minutes later, the same cocktail waitress who’s wearing a shirt cut low enough that I wonder how long it will be before her boobs fall out approaches him. She sets a fresh beer down in front of him and nods toward me.

Brody’s gaze locks with mine, and I wave to him and grin.

Then, with his gaze still on me, I take Johnny’s hand and pull him out to the dance floor. Johnny is a pretty decent dancer, which isn’t hard to do as we’re mostly just gyrating our hips and moving our bodies together in time to the music.

I’m being a tease, though, since aside from some heavy flirting, I have no intention of going home with this cowboy, not when there’s only one cowboy I want between my thighs.

Johnny grips my hips, and he pulls me in close enough I can feel the boner pushing against my lower belly. Hmm. Maybe he’s not as sweet of a guy as I thought.

Normally, I would push him away, get some distance between us, but with Brody still watching us, his disapproval washing over me in waves even from this distance, I’m feeling a high of adrenaline and too much alcohol. Instead, I wiggle against him.

When I turn back to the bar to see Brody’s reaction, I’m disappointed to see the busty waitress chatting with him, leaning forward not so subtly to let him get a peek down her shirt. I’m even more disappointed to see Brody doing exactly that, a slight grin tearing at his lips.

That grin should be for me. His eyes on me.

As if he hears my thoughts, Brody looks up, his lips creasing into a wider grin as he raises his beer to me.

Argh.

Sometimes I really hate that guy.

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