The Cowboy And The Ceo

She stole another glance at Clint and saw the laugh lines around his eyes. His hands were tanned and strong. She studied the sharp crease of his long-sleeved, blue-checkered shirt. His light brown hair stuck out from under his white cowboy hat and brushed the back of his shirt collar. Her eyes strayed farther south.

He sure did fill out those jeans.

“Something wrong?” he asked, glancing over at her and grinning.

“Um…no. Just admiring your truck.”

That was a lame recovery, but she’d die of embarrassment if he ever guessed that she was checking him out. She decided to change the subject.

“Why did those cowboys at the airport know you?”

“They’ve probably seen me working the rodeo events. I’m a bullfighter. That’s the new politically correct term for a rodeo clown.”

“You mean you toss around a red cape and get the bull to charge you like they do in Spain?”

“Absolutely not.” He chuckled. “You’ve never seen a rodeo or a bull riding event, have you?”

She shook her head. “Not once.”

He whistled. “I thought everyone in North America had seen one at one time or another.”

“Not everyone.”

He made a sharp right turn onto a bumpy road. Susan gripped the lip of the dash so she wouldn’t fall over onto him. She thought her teeth were going to rattle loose from her head.

“So what does a bullfighter do?” she asked.

“I protect the bull riders.”

“From what?”

“From the bull.”

“Just how do you do that?”

“Various techniques, but mostly I’m fast on my feet.”

Her heart started to pound as she thought of a huge bull charging him or anyone else. “Are you crazy?”

“Mostly.” He shrugged. “But then I think you’re crazy for living in New York City, but to each his—or her—own.” He paused for a bit then added, “Anyone special going to be missing you back in New York?”

Hmm…She didn’t know whether or not she liked the fact that he was asking about her availability. He was nothing like any man she’d ever met, and would be interesting to get to know, but that was all. She had no interest in a casual fling.

“If you’re asking me if I’m married, I’m not. Marriage isn’t for me. I don’t have time for relationships. How about you? Anyone worried that you’re going to kill yourself saving cowboys from bulls?”

“No. Marriage isn’t for me, either. Most women aren’t happy living down on the ranch once they’ve seen what the world has to offer.”

“Sounds like you speak from personal experience.”

There was silence. Then he raised a finger from his grip on the wheel and pointed at the horizon. “Bet you don’t get sunsets like that back home.”

The sun looked like a big red ball stuck between two peaks of lacy black mountains. Slivers of purple and yellow and red shot across the sky, and she wondered how long it had been since she’d taken the time to watch a sunset.

She knew the answer to that—not since she’d gotten too busy building her company.

“We might get sunsets like that,” she said, “but there are too many buildings in the way for me to see it from my office or my apartment. Those who live on a high floor can see it.”

“What a shame,” Clint said, shaking his head. “So what do you do in New York?”

“I make uniforms and sportswear.”

“Uniforms? What kind?”

“Everything from high school band to major league baseball and everything in between.” She hesitated, and then said with pride, “I own my own company. I call it Winners Wear, and our motto is ‘For Those Who Try Their Best.’”

“Nice.” He nodded. “I like it. But running your own company seems like a lot of responsibility.”

“It is. I really shouldn’t have left New York. I have a million things that need tending to.”

She fished around in her purse, pulled out her daily planner, slid out a gold pen and reviewed the list of items she needed to discuss with Mrs. Dixon.

She made notes until the light faded. “Could you turn on the overhead light?” she asked Clint.

“Sorry. It’s broken. Why don’t you sit back and enjoy what’s left of the ride?”

She had no choice, now did she? She put her planner away and stared out the window.

They pulled into the Gold Buckle just after sundown. She couldn’t see much of the grounds in the dusk, only the welcoming indoor lights of several small log cabins strung along a brook that glistened in the moonlight.

“This looks just like a real ranch,” she said.

“It is a real ranch.” Clint slowed down and made a right turn. “Mrs. D said to put you in the Homesteader Cabin and that she’ll try to come by later to give you a proper welcome, along with something to eat. That all right with you?”

“Fine. Maybe we can have our meeting then.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“The sooner I meet with Emily, the sooner we can take care of business.”

Clint pulled up in front of one of the log cabins, the second one from the end. In the glow of the porch light by the cabin door, Susan could see two rocking chairs. Large pine trees loomed behind the structure. If there were snow, it’d look like a Christmas card. She wondered if the guests in the other little cabins were at dinner or snuggled up inside.

Susan felt a little thrill of excitement zip through her when she caught the scent of horses on the breeze. She remembered the riding lessons she’d taken one summer in White Plains—a gift from her father when she was twelve. Her mother had protested, but her father had insisted.

“Susan needs to have some fun, Rochelle,” he’d told her mother in one of his rare moments of strength. “And you know how much she loves horses. I’ll take her on the train, wait for her and ride back with her.”

Those were the best six Saturdays of her young life. After that, her father was gone again, escorting a tour group to Europe. He never managed to stay with them for very long.

Shaking off the sad thoughts, she gathered up her planner and her purse as Clint turned on the overhead light.