How to Seduce a Texan

Chapter 1

If Cal Braxton had to explain one more time the workings of a dude ranch, he’d rip out the phone, throw it against the wall, and say to hell with everything.

What? People couldn’t figure it out for themselves? A ranch was a ranch. Horses and cows equaled ranch.

He sighed deeply. Damn, was this what his life had become? When had his temper gotten so short?

Yeah, right, as if he didn’t already know the answer to that. About a week after he’d dropped in at his little brother Brian’s ranch, which had been turned into a…a resort, of all things. Cal could take fresh air only in small doses, no matter what kind of label his brother had put on it.

The country was starting to get to him. It always did. That was the reason he’d left in the first place. He might’ve been raised on this ranch, but country life wasn’t for him, unlike Brian, who seemed to thrive on living out in the middle of nowhere.

Cal wasn’t a phone person, either. Never had been, never would be. But baby brother had stuck him with the chore when Shelley called in sick with a cold.

Ringggggg!

He glared at the phone. It was possessed-taunting him.

He took a deep breath and jerked it up to his ear. “Crystal Creek Dude Ranch, Cal speaking.”

“I’d like to make a reservation,” a very sexy, throaty voice drawled.

Her words wrapped around him, caressed him. His gut clenched. He suddenly realized something else he’d been missing while on his self-imposed hiatus from city life-a hot sexy woman.

A spark of interest swept over him. So maybe his day wasn’t going to hell after all. “What exactly are you looking for?” He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the desk.

“What do you have?” she flirted.

She was flirting, wasn’t she? Did it matter? Well, yeah, sort of. Damn, he liked the sound of her voice, though. He switched the phone to his other ear. “Will you be alone…or with someone?”

“I’m definitely single, and I don’t plan to change that fact anytime soon.”

Oh, yeah, he really liked this lady a lot. He wanted to stay as far away from serious relationships as he could get. The female with the hot voice was exactly what he needed.

He pictured her sunning herself beside the pool wearing only a thong bikini, tanned curves stretched out on a lounge chair for his lengthy perusal.

“Let me see what’s available.” His boots slapped the floor as he opened the registration book. Fanning the pages, he came to the current month.

Oh, man, this wasn’t right. Not right at all. They were full. The first opening wasn’t for two months. He probably wouldn’t be around by then. He had no choice except to tell her she’d have to continue looking for a vacation spot somewhere else-unless…

Hope sprang inside him. The old homestead was empty. Not surprising. That place was nearly always open. Just as quickly as the spark of hope ignited, it died. Nah, he wouldn’t foist that place on anyone, no matter how horny he got. It wouldn’t be fair.

Man, it was a damn shame, too. The country had finally started looking better. He took a deep breath to tell her they were full up but stopped at the last second.

Then again…

“Just how rough do you like it?” he asked.

Her chuckle rippled across the line and down his spine. “I like it real rough.”

He immediately lost himself in a fantasy of a sexy lady wearing black leather and stilettos walking slowly toward him. Lips painted red, blond hair flowing down her back in soft waves.

A door slammed. He looked up. A young couple strolled toward one of the cabins, their two redheaded sons in tow. The mother looked tired and worn.

Those were the type of people who visited a dude ranch. Families. Not sex-starved playgirls. The woman on the phone probably wanted to get back to basics: roughing it in the backwoods, seeing how pioneer women lived. He wouldn’t doubt she was a dumpy, middle-aged history teacher…but with a really sexy voice. He might be desperate, but he wasn’t that desperate.

He cleared his throat. “I have one secluded cabin that’s open.”

“Book me for the next two weeks. My name is Nicole Scott.”

He had to admire her guts. Two weeks in the old homestead would certainly be roughing it. No electricity, no running water-just a pump in the kitchen…outside toilet facilities, as in the outhouse from hell, complete with a half-moon cutout. A shiver of revulsion swept over him. Yeah, the woman had a lot of guts.

But maybe he should explain it a little better just so she would understood. “This cabin doesn’t come with a lot of amenities…”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Yep, definitely a spinster schoolteacher or maybe she was an older widowed woman and wanted to relive the Depression. She’d get her wish. The cabin would depress just about anyone.

He pictured his eighth-grade history teacher. Miss Horton had never married, and he could understand why. She wore her hair short, no make-up, and dark green heavy shoes.

The way the story went, her parents had died and left her the farm when she was sixteen. She’d had to work like a man to keep it going, and then once she was able to make it profitable, she sold it and went to college to get her teaching degree, but she never lost her mannishness.

Except she’d had a really nice voice.

Before he could push it back, a vision formed of Miss Horton wearing a black leather dominatrix outfit and combat boots. The image did as much good to bring his thoughts back to the present as if he’d jumped into the river during the middle of winter.

Back to business. He finished making the necessary arrangements with Ms. Scott and hung up. A shame.

Dumpy history teacher or not, she had a voice that warmed him all over. It would be interesting to see exactly what she looked like. Since she was arriving tomorrow, he wouldn’t have long to wait.

Nicole Scott. Hell, he even liked the sound of her name when it rolled off his tongue. What if she was young and attractive? For just a few seconds, he closed his eyes and imagined her walking toward him, peeling off each layer of clothing she wore.

Just when it was starting to get good, he heard the mother of the wild little boys screech at one of them. For some reason, she sounded like Cynthia, his ex fiancée. That was enough to kill his amorous mood.

He almost hoped Nicole was matronly. He didn’t need to start another relationship. Just look what happened with the last one. He’d glanced away and found himself engaged to Cynthia-the witch from hell who’d decided she wanted him on a leash, another toy to add to her collection, then discard when she was tired of her plaything.

He hated manipulative women. No, make that rich, spoiled, manipulative women. Women who didn’t know or care about the meaning of survival. They ranked on the top of his list of people to avoid-right along with reporters, who’d dogged his football career right from the start and made his life a living hell.

But like his grandpa had always told him, what goes around, comes around. He had no doubt that someday the people he wanted to avoid would realize the errors of their way, and if he ever got the chance to help them see the light, he planned to take it.

Nikki cringed when she hit another pothole. She expected her little black sports car to plunge into one any minute and she and the convertible would never be seen again.

The Bermuda Pothole.

Lord, she should’ve at least put the top up. The dust was choking her to death. It wasn’t doing a whole hell of a lot for her white blouse, either.

And she was going through this why?

As though she didn’t know the answer to that one. Because she’d gotten the hots for a face on a glossy eight by ten. Well, that and her editor could talk her into doing just about anything, and Marge really wanted the scoop on Cal Braxton.

A fluff piece! How could Marge do this to her?

She must be losing her touch. Cal Braxton was a football player, for Pete’s sake. When he grinned it would probably be like looking into the Grand Canyon: no teeth whatsoever. He was just another big dumb jock and she didn’t even like sports.

A flash of heat suddenly swept over her and it wasn’t from the heat of the sun.

Ahh, but with his mouth shut, he looked pretty yummy: thick black hair, deep green eyes that seemed to look right back at her. Hell, if he could flirt that good in a picture what would the real thing be like?

Then there was his voice. Goose bumps popped up on her arms when she remembered his soft Texas drawl. When they’d talked on the phone, his voice had practically curled her toes.

So what if this was a fluff story? The fairy-tale prince falls in love with the princess, one Ms. Cynthia Cole, and they get engaged. Except something goes wrong and there’s no happily ever after ending. The kind of story most women devoured.

Maybe it wouldn’t shake up the political arena, but she needed a break-she needed something…something different. Besides, how bad could the country be?

The right wheel dipped deep, then the car righted only to dip again when the back tire hit the same hole. She bounced against the door then quickly took a firmer grip on the steering wheel.

Damned bad!

Jeez! Did no one pay county taxes out here? A little asphalt would be nice right about now.

How much farther was it? Her teeth had been rattled for at least twenty miles. The old man at the gas station had said “a fair piece.” Whatever the hell that meant.

And it was so isolated. She hadn’t seen a barn or house for miles. It was more than a little creepy. Surely it wasn’t that far now. She was hungry, hot, and tired-in that order. All she’d had to eat today was Texas dust, and a lot of it.

Her hands choked the steering wheel. This story had better be worth it. Hell, Cal Braxton had better be worth it. But then, if he looked anything like his picture, he would be.

A smile curved her lips. She’d get her story and her man. She never lost. The word wasn’t even in her dictionary, not that she planned on losing.

She hit another pothole.

Dammit! They came out of nowhere. As soon as she got home, she’d need to take her car in for realignment. And she’d send Marge the bill.

She topped a rise and slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailed, spewing a thick cloud of dust behind her. Her heart felt as if it had taken residence in her throat. She skidded to a stop, barely missing the cow that languidly stood in the middle of the road looking unconcerned that it had almost been splattered across her windshield.

Nikki’s heart pounded inside her chest and her hands shook. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the black and white cow looked at her with total unconcern. This was so not how she wanted to start her vacation slash investigative reporting.

“I almost wrecked because of you.” She glared at the cow. Her cold-eyed, steely glare that she’d perfected over the years. If it had been a person rather than a dumb animal, it would’ve been frozen to the spot.

The cow opened its mouth and bellowed a low, meandering, I-was-here-first moo.

She didn’t think the cow cared one little bit that it had almost become hamburger. Damned country. She’d take city life and dirty politicians any day.

“Move!” She clapped her hands.

The cow didn’t get in any hurry as it lumbered to the side of the narrow road and lowered its head. The four-legged beast chomped down on a bunch of grass, then slowly began to chew.

She shifted into park, then waved her arms. “Shoo!”

Nothing.

She honked the horn.

Nothing.

The hot sun beat down on her. A bead of sweat slid uncomfortably between her breasts. She judged the narrow road, wondering if she could maneuver around the cow without going into the ditch.

Before she decided to attempt it, another sound drew her attention. She glanced down the dirt road, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as a cloud of dust came toward her. The cloud of dust became a man on a horse.

Correction. A cowboy on a horse.

Hi-ho, Silver, the Lone Ranger, she thought sarcastically.

But the closer he got, the more her sarcasm faded. The Lone Ranger had nothing on this cowboy. Broad shoulders, black hat pulled low on his forehead…

Black hat. Bad guys wore black hats. Right? Things were looking up.

At least until he brought the horse to a grinding halt and dust swirled around her-again. She coughed and waved her hands in front of her face.

“Bessie, how the hell do you keep getting out?” he asked.

His slow, southern drawl drizzled over her like warmed honey, and she knew from experience warmed honey drizzling over her naked body could be very good. Sticky, but oh so sexy.

Did he look as good as he sounded?

She shaded her eyes again at the same time he pushed his hat higher on his forehead with one finger. Cal Braxton’s tanned face stared down at her. His cool, deep-green eyes only made her body grow warmer with each passing second.

So this was the infamous playboy star football player. The man who had a pretty woman on his arm almost every night of the week-at least until Cynthia Cole had come into his life.

“I almost hit your cow,” she told him as she slipped off one of her high heels and rubbed the insole with her other foot. It didn’t stop the tingle of pleasure that was running up and down her legs. He could park his boots by her bed any day.

“Sorry about that. Bessie thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.”

He pulled a rolled-up rope off the saddle horn and swatted the end of it against Bessie’s rump. The cow gave him a disgruntled look before ambling down the road.

His gaze returned to her…roaming over her…seducing her. “Are you lost?”

“On vacation.”

He easily controlled the prancing horse beneath him. “Staying nearby?”

“At the Crystal Creek Dude Ranch.”

His grin was slow. So, he did have all his teeth, and they were pearly white. She ran her tongue over her dry lips.

“My brother owns it,” he said. “I’m helping him out. It looks like we might be seeing a lot of each other. Name’s Cal-Cal Braxton.”

His thumb idly stroked the rope. For a moment, she was mesmerized as she watched the hypnotic movement.

“You know, you shouldn’t drive with the top down in this heat,” he said.

She almost laughed. It wasn’t the heat from the sun that had momentarily stolen her wits. Cal was good. Ah, yes, he knew all the moves that made a woman yearn for him to caress her naked skin. And he made those moves very well.

She drew in a deep breath. “I’m Nicole Scott. You can call me Nikki-most people do.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms against the saddle horn. “The one who likes it rough.”

He’d remembered. Her pulse sped up a fraction.

He glanced down the road. The cow was trotting off completely unconcerned that she wasn’t supposed to be out of her own pasture. Before he decided to chase after the cow, Nikki spoke.

“You have something against liking it rough?” She certainly hoped not.

He straightened, reining in his prancing horse. “No, but I never would’ve expected it from someone like you.”

Now what did he mean by that?

“Bessie, damn it, not that way!” He glanced at Nikki once more and smiled. “The ranch is just up the road on the left.” He pointed toward an intersection. “Watch for the signs.

“I should be up there before you get signed in and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.” He whirled the horse around and took off after the cow.

She smiled to herself, liking the idea that he’d remembered she liked it rough. Maybe she should’ve told him she didn’t like to give up control, either. She preferred being the one in charge, no matter what she did.

But then, why scare him off?

She laughed and shifted gears. Tonight should prove interesting. But first, she wanted to soak in a hot tub of bubbles and wash off the layer of dust it felt like she wore.

Did they have spa treatments at the ranch? She could certainly use a massage and a facial. Maybe she’d splurge and have a pedicure, too. After all, Marge was paying for it. She might as well get her money’s worth.

This was going to be the easiest assignment she’d ever had. A little rest and relaxation, and from the way Cal had looked at her, a whole lot of hot sex.

Yum…this was too, too sweet.

Man, this was sweet. Cal wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Nicole Scott had left the top button of her white blouse undone. But had she left it unbuttoned to let the wind cool her skin or because she knew it would stir a man’s blood to the boiling point?

Sex appeal had oozed from her. From her long, lingering looks to her full, pouty lips. His gut told him Nicole was the kind of woman who didn’t play for keeps. And that was just the kind of relationship he wanted-the kind he was used to. No strings attached. He’d learned his lesson about getting even a little serious. He’d dated Cynthia for a couple of weeks and he still hadn’t shaken her loose. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word no.

His cell phone rang as he herded Bessie back into the pasture. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. Jeff? What did he want?

“Yeah?”

“You’re about to have a visitor, buddy.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. He and Jeff went back a long way. They’d roomed together in college and been friends ever since. Jeff was one of the few sports reporters who actually cut him a little slack.

Cal scanned the open pasture, not liking the sound of Jeff’s dire prediction, then shook his head. Paranoia didn’t sit well with him.

“Who?”

“A reporter.”

A sour taste formed in his mouth. The press had labeled Cal the bad boy of football. Maybe he hadn’t been a saint, but they’d painted the picture blacker than it was. That, and Cynthia, were the reasons he was at his brother’s ranch. He’d needed a change of scenery so he could get his head screwed on straight.

But it seemed they’d found him.

“Who is he?”

“Not a he. A she, and they call her The Barracuda.”

“Great.” This was all he needed. “Talk to me.”

“Nicole Scott. She goes by Nikki.”

His eyebrows rose. That hot little number in the black sports car? He shook his head. Nah. Sexy, yes. Hot, yes. But a hard-edged reporter? Not likely.

“I’ve met her. She doesn’t look like a sports reporter.” Jeff had to be pulling his leg. And his brother was probably in on the joke.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?” Jeff asked. “I’ve had a few daydreams about her myself, but the one time I asked her out she gave me a cold stare that practically froze me to the spot. Then she informed me that she made it a policy to never date coworkers. But she’s definitely hot looking.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Jeff’s cynical laugh came through the phone. “Don’t make the same mistake I did and let her sexy looks fool you. She didn’t get the tag Barracuda for nothing. Her parents are two hotshot lawyers. Remember the Snyder case from a few years back?”

“Isn’t that the one where they had the corporate lawyers crying when they left the courtroom? It was all over the papers.”

“Her mother and father are the ones who got all that money for the families. Believe me, Nikki Scott takes after her parents. She might have grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth but when she goes after a story, she’s like a starving dog after a meaty bone. She’s the one who went head-to-head with the man running for senator. James Rutledge, remember him?”

Before Cal could say anything, Jeff continued.

“She exposed the family that he’d dumped. Hell, he didn’t even pay child support. Let his kid grow up practically in the gutter. She became a bounty hunter or something. It was in all the papers.”

“If this reporter is so tough, then why is she here? I’d think my story would be the last thing she’d want to cover. Are you sure she’s not here to just relax and take a nice vacation?”

“I don’t think she would have agreed to do the story if the boss hadn’t talked her into taking it. I bet that’s exactly what happened, too, because Marge came to me first and asked about you, and believe me, there were dollar signs flashing in her eyes. I told her I didn’t have any idea where you were, but apparently, she did some research. And as long as I’ve been at the paper, Nikki Scott has never taken a vacation. If I were you, I’d hightail it to an island far, far away.”

Cal looked at the cloud of dust Nikki’s car had made. It was just settling back down to the road.

Nikki had set him up, and what was worse, he’d fallen for it. She was probably laughing her ass off at his gullibility.

His jaw began to twitch. “No, I won’t be running away.”

“I don’t like the sound of your voice.”

Cal chuckled, but his laughter held little humor. “Maybe I’m tired of being crucified by the press-present company excluded. It’s time I gave a little back.”

“I almost feel sorry for her.”

“You should.” Cal said good-bye and closed the phone before slipping it back inside his pocket.

He’d had his fill of people who lied through their pretty, white teeth. Finally, he had the upper hand. He’d give Nikki her story, but she’d damn well earn every word she wrote about him.

He was going to enjoy this.