Topper buries his head in his hands. “Okay, but Rusty and I will not hesitate to lock you in the barn for the summer if our guests don’t happen to take a shine to you.”
“Don’t worry. These people are going to love this,” I say,tightening my steer horn bolo tie complete with turquoise tips. “How is Roxanne doing?”
“She felt better when she saw her room. Don’t think she was expecting something so nice. That’s why I’m excited about them being here. They will see this is not-your-average ranch in the mountains.”
“We could have sent them a picture.”
“Ignoring that,” Topper says. “So that Roxanne sure is something though, huh? Being dunked in a trough didn’t even diminish her beauty. She reminds me of a 1940s old Hollywood movie star or something.”
I turn from the mirror and frown at Topper. Why did my chest pang at the thought of him noticing her?
“Oh, hadn’t noticed,” I lie. “Don’t start down that path my friend. She’s only here for the summer. She’s a city gal and that’s not your type.”
“You should be telling yourself the same thing. I saw how you looked at her.”
“She didn’t shake my hand. Did you notice that? Everyone else did, but her.”
Topper stands and follows me out of the room. “I think she was just tired.”
“Did she shake your hand?”
Topper shrugs. “Well, yeah, but?—”
“Whatever. As long as we win the money.” My spurs chime as I make my way down the staircase, where Rusty stands scowling from the bottom. “Hmm, maybe I should turn on my charm and melt that cold New York heart of hers.”
“Who?”
“Roxanne.”
“I don’t think she’s the type of woman to respond to shiny white chaps with fringe.”
“What are you doin’, boy?” Rusty asks.
“He’s putting on a show for our guests.” Topper slaps me on the back so hard I cough. “Showin’ what a real cowboy looks like.”
Rusty rolls his eyes. “You’re not a real cowboy, Duke.”
Topper grunts. “We’ve already had this discussion.”
“What happened to you wanting no part in this?” Rusty asks.
Topper and I say something about me changing my mind in unison.
Rusty grumbles and straightens his shirt collar. He does clean up nice and has donned his best suit coat and pressed pants. He even trimmed his beard.
“Y’all go on without me,” I say. “I want to make a real entrance.”
like a rhinestone cowboy
ROXANNE
Once I showerthe grime off me, I stand in my towel, staring at my reflection. I need to get a grip because I’m going to have to leave this room and endure an evening with that cocky, attention-seeking, insufferably attractive menace known as Duke Faraday.
I hate that my cheeks heated the second that half-naked, dripping-wet mountain man handed me my shoes. He’s like an Adonis who was raised by wolves in the wilderness. It took everything in me not to gape at the cut of his abs and the sharp lines of his chest. I bite down on my lip, angry at the traitorous part of me that has forgotten why men like him are a terrible idea.
Don’t even get me started on the fact that despite plunging into a trough of cold water, my body betrayed me, igniting like a damn wildfire the second his face slammed into my breasts and his rough, calloused hand gripped my thigh.
No. Absolutely not going to replay that moment over and over again in my mind.
