One Stubborn Cowboy

  One Stubborn Cowboy

  by Barbara McMahon

  Chapter 1

  There was no warning.

  One minute Kelly Adams was calmly crossing the deserted country road heading for the old-fashioned feed and grain warehouse on the edge of town. The next moment a large pickup truck tore out of the barnlike building, its tires squealing on the pavement as it skidded in the turn. Righting itself, it headed directly for Kelly.

  Jumping out of the way at the last second, she felt surprise and fear clash within her, producing instant anger. Kelly caught her breath and turned after the truck.

  “Dammit, you imbecile! Watch where you’re going! Do you think you own the blasted road?” Her heart was pounding at the near miss. She could have been killed!

  The truck slammed on its brakes and began backing up.

  After twenty-eight years in San Francisco with nary an accident, she couldn’t believe she had almost been run down by the only moving vehicle on an otherwise deserted road. She was furious. Just who did that driver think he was to come barreling out of the building like that? There could have been children crossing the road, or an elderly person who wouldn’t have moved as quickly as she had.

  “Just you wait,” Kelly murmured between clenched teeth as she watched the truck draw closer.

  The pickup truck was white-and-blue with big all-terrain tires, the jacked-up body and the mud splatters along the sides giving evidence of its off-road travels. It backed up quickly, drawing to a stop beside her.

  Kelly held her ground until the cab of the truck was even with her, the throaty growl of its engine loud in the afternoon stillness. She’d often been teased she should have red hair—instead of blond— to match her temper. It boiled over now. She’d give this reckless driver a piece of her mind. Maybe next time he wouldn’t be so quick to drive so wildly.

  The truck was higher than usual. She had to look up to see into the darker interior. As the driver glared back down at her, she drew a breath in shock. If she had thought she was angry, it was nothing compared to the visage of the man facing her. Narrowed black eyes looked out at her from under a jutting brow creased in an angry frown. His eyebrows almost met, his frown was so ferocious. His lips were thinned, tight with hostility. She could feel the strength of his emotions almost envelop her.

  “What the hell did you call me?” He was a big man, with wide, strong shoulders, muscular arms, strong, chiseled features. His expression was grim, his voice harsh and deep.

  Kelly’s emotions flared, her blood boiling. He had a hell of a nerve being mad.

  “I called you an imbecile. Idiot might apply, as well. Who do you think you are, pulling out like that? What if someone who couldn’t move fast had been crossing the street? This is California—didn’t you know pedestrians have the right of way?” she said, her teeth still gritted. She tilted her chin defiantly, her own blue eyes blazing with anger. “You could have killed me with your reckless driving! Do you think you own the damn road?” Her glare was like ice, challenging his, never wavering.

  “What did you call me?” he growled again between clenched teeth, his gaze raking her as she stood defiantly in the hot sun. His eyes moved insolently from her flushed, angry face to her breasts, heaving with emotion. Pausing only a moment, they drifted lower, to her trim waist, flaring hips and long legs encased in stone-washed jeans.

  Kelly felt a frisson of a different kind of anger run through her. How dare this man look at her like that, as if she was on exhibit! She held her ground resolutely, feeling the heat of her indignation build.

  “I called you an imbecile. You hard of hearing? You drive like a maniac, accelerating out of there like that, without seeing if anyone was in the street. Where’d you get your license, out of a cereal box?” she asked scornfully.

  For a split second Kelly wondered what she’d do if he got out of the truck. He was so big, and looked mean. But she was not about to back down.

  “You’re new around here, aren’t you?” he said softly, the change menacing. “So I’ll give you some advice. Don’t ever talk to me again like that, or you’ll be sorry!” His hands were tight on the steering wheel, his face shadowed by his hat.

  Kelly shivered in spite of the hot day. She could feel his resolve as he said the words. But she had grown up in some tough neighborhoods. She wasn’t easily intimidated, certainly not by some reckless cowboy in the wrong. She continued staring at him, tilting her chin defiantly.

  “Oh, yeah? What are you gonna do about it?” she flung back. Just let him open the door and try something. She knew a move or two that might surprise him. Self-defense was a way of life, a part of growing up in the city, and she’d studied different ways to keep safe.

  His lips tightened, then he let his eyes wander again insolently down the length of her, his expression changing.

  “Sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Was there a trace of amusement in his tone?

  Kelly felt the wave of hot color wash over her. She wished he would get out of the truck. Her hand clenched in a tight fist. She’d like to wipe that insolent look off his face, show him she wasn’t to be intimidated by some small-town, hotshot, cocky cowboy.

  Before she could reply, however, the old owner of B. J.’s Feed and Grain came around the back of the truck, slapping his hand hard against the metal side.

  “What’s going on out here?” Jefferies asked, the wizened man peering between Kelly and the driver.

  “Just welcoming a newcomer,” the man drawled mockingly, raising one eyebrow as if daring Kelly to challenge his audacious statement.

  Her angry gaze never left his face. His straw cowboy hat was pulled low on his forehead, throwing his face in shadow. She could make out his eyes now, despite the low brim. They were not black as she’d first thought, but a dark, stormy blue. Dark brown hair hung beneath his hat, brushing the collar of his blue checked shirt. It looked thick and springy. She wished for a second she could see him without the hat. Wished he would get down from the truck and face off. Her heart began to beat faster in anticipation.

  “You go on home, Kit. Kelly has the right of it. Next time don’t pull out so fast if you can’t see that the way’s clear!” the old man admonished.

  With a quick glance at Jefferies the driver seemed to calm down. His gaze returned to Kelly and he touched the brim of his hat with two fingers, giving her a mocking salute. “We’ll have to continue this interesting discussion at another time.”

  The man put the truck in gear and accelerated, tires squealing on the blacktop as he pulled away.

  Kelly watched the truck speed down the highway, the air still charged from their encounter, her heart racing. Had he looked this time before pulling away? Probably not.

  Who was he? She hadn’t met him before. Kelly would never have forgotten him. Did he live nearby?

  She turned to Jefferies, a smile settling on her face. “Thanks for coming out. I thought tor a minute he was going to get out and knock me down.”

  Had she hoped he would try? She would have liked to see him up close and in her face. Was he as tall as he looked sitting in the cab of the truck?

  “Not to worry.” Spying her sketch pad and pencils his face lightened. “You’ve come to draw the old place? Molly said you were an artist.”

  She smiled and nodded, casting another quick glance at the departing truck. “That and a writer. I illustrate my own books. I wanted to sketch the feed store, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Sure it is. Come on in, then. Don’t you go worrying about yon Kit—he’s hotheaded and wild, but he doesn’t come to town much anymore. He knows he was in the wrong, though it didn’t make him happy, did it?” Jefferies chuckled. “Sure was fun, watching you stand up to him. Not many p
eople do, poor boy.” Jefferies shook his head as they walked into the dim feed store.

  Kelly could see no reason for Jefferies to consider that insufferable, arrogant man poor, or a boy. From the weathered look of his face he must be well into his thirties. And what he probably needed was more people to stand up to him. Who was he anyway, the town bully?

  She could tell him a thing or two. As always after an emotionally charged event, Kelly thought up several scathing comments she should have made. She glanced down the street once more, wishing she’d had a little longer to tell him off.

  Wondering if she’d ever see him again.

  It took Kelly a few minutes to calm down and capture the mood she needed to sketch pictures. Over and over her mind replayed the truck roaring toward her, the angry man driving it. Each time her heart sped up with the memory. It had been unexpected and frightening. Yet the driver had intrigued her.

  His chin was strong and firm—with maybe a hint of stubbornness. He had deep lines carving his cheeks, bracketing his mouth. His skin was dark and tanned like a cowboy. But the blue eyes were unexpected, especially with his dark hair. His shoulders and height indicated a tall, large man. She remembered his muscular arms, the strong hands on the wheel. Arrogant cowboy.

  Did he live near town, come in often? Jefferies had said he didn’t. Who was he?

  With an effort she dragged her thoughts back to the sketches she wanted to do. Soothed by the deft strokes of her colored pencils, she settled in to draw different scenes of the unusual store from a child’s point of view, trying to capture the aspects that would appeal to children. The drawings began to take shape. But at the back of her mind echored the question of who Kit was. And when she might see him again.

  Kit Lockford drove his pickup at breakneck speed. But his mind was not on his driving—he was wondering who the woman was. He’d never seen her before, didn’t have a clue to who she was or why she was in town. But Jefferies obviously knew her. Was she visiting, or had she recently moved in?

  He grinned, remembering how she’d yelled at him. No brains probably, like most blondes. And pretty at that with her long, white-blond hair and big, sky blue eyes. Her figure wasn’t bad, either. He chuckled at the dumb-blonde stereotype, not believing it for a moment, but he bet it would make her mad as hell to hear him say it.

  He tried to recall if he’d seen a ring on her left hand. She’d been holding some sort of pad, but he didn’t think she had a ring. For a moment he thought about turning around and heading back for B.J.’s Feed and Grain, to see if she was still there. See if she’d light into him again with her complaints about his driving.

  She sure had guts, he thought, thinking about her temper with another grin. He was a big man, had a bad temper himself. Yet she’d yelled at him as no one had in years. His grin faded. And she’d probably never do it again. He hated the way everyone tried to coddle him, to tiptoe around him. Once she found out about him, she’d be like the rest. Damn!

  Turning in to the driveway that led home some time later, he turned his thoughts elsewhere. No use thinking of the woman. They’d probably never meet again. Or if they did, it would be after she knew all about Kit Lockford, and her attitude would be different. He wished he could see her once more before she knew. He’d hate to see pity from her eyes. But it would be too much to hope he’d escape it.

  “You stay away from young Kit Lockford,” Molly Benson admonished Kelly later that afternoon.

  Kelly looked up at her next-door neighbor in surprise, her eyes dancing in amusement. “How did you know I met him?” He now had a last name. Lockford.

  The two were sipping iced tea, beneath the large oak tree that straddled their property line. Kelly had visited with the old woman almost every day since she had arrived in Taylorville five days ago. Molly Benson was in her eighties. She’d been a friend of Kelly’s great-aunt, and Kelly wanted to learn as much about her as she could. Molly had endless stories to tell about when the two of them had been girls.

  “Small town, news travels fast,” Molly said gently.

  “We weren’t actually introduced.” Kelly said in remembrance, the incident almost amusing in retrospect, now that she could forget how frightened she’d been. Actually, she was having trouble not thinking about the cowboy.

  “You probably won’t be introduced any time soon. He and his brother own one of the big ranches outside town. Raise cattle, naturally. Kit doesn’t come in much anymore. How Clint puts up with him, I just don’t know.” Molly shook her head, gazing across her yard toward the grassy hills in the distance.

  “A hellion, huh?” Kelly asked, remembering what Jefferies had said. She was curious about the man, and wondered what Molly would tell her.

  “He was always chasing wild times and wild women. I didn’t think he’d ever settle down. He was hotheaded and stubborn, thought he was God’s gift to the ladies and wanted to pleasure as many as he could when he was younger.”

  Kelly hid a smile and glanced away. How odd to hear that from Molly. She seemed too much an old-fashioned lady to even know about wild young men and their pleasures, much less mention it in public.

  “But he doesn’t come to town much anymore?” Kelly asked. How could she learn more without Molly suspecting her interest? Kelly was oddly shy about showing overt interest in the man. Though her curiosity was raging.

  “No. Which is probably a good thing. At least the girls are safe again.”

  Kelly couldn’t help smiling broadly at that. She’d only seen the man for a few moments, but she could understand how some women would be drawn to him. He was raw sexy masculinity personified. Even angry, he’d stopped and looked at her, really looked at her, and made her feel every inch a woman. For a few seconds she let herself imagine what it would be like to have him look at her when he wasn’t angry. She wasn’t prepared for the surge of desire and anticipation that swept through her at the thought. It shook her.

  Whoa, girl, no use thinking in those terms. She’d be way out of her depth with that man. She was used to the conservative businessmen and gentle artists she knew from San Francisco. Not an earthy, brash, wild cowboy looking to pleasure any woman around.

  Fixing dinner that night, Kelly was pleased when she realized how completely satisfied she was with her new lifestyle. Amazing to think she’d only lived here for a few days.

  It had been an experiment, moving to Taylorville. Yet it seemed destined, somehow. When she had first learned of her inheritance, the large old house in the heart of a small ranching community in the Sierra Nevada foothills, she’d been shocked. She hadn’t even known she had a great-aunt and had never expected an inheritance. She had always thought of herself as alone. Orphaned when young, she had not known of any living relatives. It had been kind of her unknown aunt to leave her the house, but she wished she had tried to contact her while she’d been alive.

  She smiled wryly as she set the table, remembering how her friends had taken the news of her move. Maybe she was crazy as they’d said. But she was tired of traffic jams, rude street people and the growing crime rate in San Francisco.

  She wanted to try a change of lifestyle. And being a writer, she could work anywhere, so why not move?

  Her friends had greeted her news with incredulity, disbelief, flat-out denial. Her agent thought she’d lost her mind; her friend Susan suspected a man was involved; and her neighbor David refused to believe she was serious, even when he helped her pack her car.

  “You’ll be back in a week,” he’d said in continued disbelief. “If you last that long.”

  Kelly only smiled. They’d been friends for years, and knew each other well. He could be right, though she wasn’t planning on it. She wanted to make the change. Now the first week was drawing to a close and she wasn’t ready to leave yet. The experiment had just begun, and so far she relished the change!

  Looking back over the five days, Kelly was astonished at how easily she’d transplanted. Reared in various neighborhoods of San Francisco, her only previous
experience with the country had been forays into Golden Gate Park, and one long weekend in Yosemite. Yet she found the quiet, slow pace of life easy to adjust to, and in only a few days she felt as if she’d always had a place in Taylorville, as if she belonged. And that was a wonderful feeling, one she’d been looking for all her life. To belong.

  The next morning Kelly studied her sketches, deciding which she would paint. Her charcoal renditions of the feed store were good. Just needed a touch here and there. She was still trying to formulate a story line that would incorporate the store. Without meaning to, she began to think about her encounter yesterday.

  Startled, she realized she was sketching Kit Lockford. She started to rip out the page, hesitated, then changed her mind. Concentrating on his image, she quickly added bold strokes to the picture. The likeness was perfect. She’d done a good job capturing his hostility, and the hidden but discernible aching hurt.

  She paused and stared at the picture in disbelief. Why in the world would she think there was hurt reflected in those bold, stormy eyes? A more self-confident, arrogant, irritating man she had yet to meet. He acted as if he owned the whole damn town. Or at least the road that ran through it. And his look when he’d surveyed her had definitely been insolent male appraisal.

  Flipping over her page, she began another picture. She wouldn’t think about Kit Lockford again. Blast the man, she’d only talked to him for about four minutes—why couldn’t she forget the incident? Forget the way he looked, forget the way she tensed up inside whenever she remembered how he’d raked her with his gaze.

  She sketched a small black pony, dozing alone in a field. She’d seen the pony on one of her driving explorations around the county and had immediately wanted a story centered around him. But she didn’t like the sketch. Tearing it up, she tried again. It just wasn’t right. Somehow she wasn’t getting the proper perspective. Frustrated, Kelly stood, stretched and went to her window. She needed to see some horses in action. Her pony was too stiff, too artificial.