Rodeo Queen (38 page)

“Fine,” Derek sighed, dusting alfalfa leaves from his pants as he headed toward the van.

So far, he was pretty sure he didn’t like this new position as arena director. Since his brother Scott had stepped down recently, taking a behind-the-scenes role at the ranch after his recent marriage and birth of his daughter, Derek recognized it was time he “cowboy up” and help out more in the family business, even though he’d never been
that
guy. He was the fun-loving, irresponsible one and liked it that way. As the youngest in the family, he’d been mothered by his older sister after their parents died and she’d spoiled him rotten. They all knew it, and accepted it but, as Mike pointed out when Derek became an uncle, it was high time he “suck it up,” accept the responsibility, becoming the man they all believed he was.

As he walked by the trailer his sister Jennifer shared with her husband, Clay, one their rodeo pick-up men, she poked her head out and looked toward the back gate. “Another one?”

Derek tickled the foot of the newborn boy she held in her arms. It still surprised him that she attended the rodeo with his nephew but, knowing her devotion to Mike and their company, it probably shouldn’t have.

“Yes. I get so tired of this.” Derek complained.

He paused, mid-step, as the side door of the white news van slid open and revealed a firm, female behind encased in tight black jeans, as the owner bent over and searched for something inside. He arched a brow as a slight smile crept to his lips.
This interview just started looking interesting
.

He stood at the locked gate, crossing his arms over the top rail and leaning against the warm metal while waiting for her to notice him.

“Skip, hurry up!” called an impatient feminine voice. Derek heard equipment shifted and looked back at Mike over his shoulder, starting to grow impatient himself. As much as he might enjoy flirting with this reporter, he still had animals to ready before the rodeo started and she was wasting what little time he had. He jabbed the toe of his boot in the dusty driveway, kicking up puffs of dirt, willing her to hurry up

He leaned his body to the side, hoping for glimpse of the woman. Derek couldn’t help but chuckle at the way she’d tucked her pants inside the city-girl, high-heeled dress boots. He could see the back of a plaid Western shirt, some sort of rhinestone belt and, as she stood, she plopped a cheap, black cowboy hat on the back of her head. He grinned and wondered when a television station would send out a news crew who knew how to get dirty. His laughter died when she turned around to face him.

This woman was gorgeous.

Not in a fake, medically enhanced, airbrushed way, either. Her auburn hair caught the sunlight and shone like fire under the black hat and her large, emerald eyes pierced him as they met his. She had flawless porcelain skin, too light to have spent much time outside, and her body banished any coherent thought left in his brain. She was the kind of woman fantasies were made of, with curves that no real woman should have. Her long legs flared into rounded hips before tapering to a miniscule waist and rounding again at her . . .

“I’m up here, cowboy,” she warned, pointing a freshly manicured finger at her face. The man he assumed was Skip snorted and she cut those green eyes at him, glaring. He immediately headed back to the side of the van.

Derek swallowed and, regaining his composure, gave her a cocky grin, standing to his full six-foot-four stature. He adjusted his hat on his head before hanging his hands over the rail of the gate. “How might I help you, ma’am?” he drawled.

“I’m Angela McCallister with the Channel 12 News. I was hoping to talk with the stock contractor for a few minutes,”

Her lips were moving but he was having difficulty concentrating on the words coming out of them. He was too busy imagining kissing them - long, sweet kisses that made you savor the moment, forgetting the past or the future. Hell, her lips might make him forget his name. He dragged his thoughts back to the present, where he stood in a sweaty t-shirt, his face smudged with dirt and grime.

“Sorry, as much as I’d like to chat with you, we don’t have time for interviews this morning. Maybe later.” Derek winked at her, turning on the heel of his dusty boot.

She stopped him with her hand on his bicep. “Wait, couldn’t I just ask you a couple of questions?” Her voice was sultry, almost seductively sweet and she batted her long, dark lashes at him.

He paused as warning bells sounded in his brain. This woman was trouble and, as much as he might want to spend a few minutes causing “trouble” with her, he couldn’t let Mike or the rest of his family down. He’d already been conned by Mike’s daughter, Liz, and that stupid move had nearly ruined his family. He wasn’t about to fall prey to another conniving woman. He was determined to prove to them he could work just as hard as Scott and take care of the family business just as well as he had. That didn’t include wasting time flirting with reporters.

“You’d look good on camera, you know.” She circled her finger over the back of his hand and wrist. “What’s your name?”

Derek wondered how Scott would’ve handled this situation. He frowned, torn between following his natural instinct to have fun with this incredibly attractive woman or become the dependable rock for his family the way his brother had always been. Responsibility won out. “No interviews,” he repeated. His voice was gruffer than he’d intended and he cleared his throat, feeling like a jerk.

“Okay,” she agreed, holding up her hands, acknowledging her defeat, “I just thought that maybe I could get a behind-the-scenes look at the rodeo. It might be good publicity for you,” she suggested, glancing at him coyly, batting her lashes dramatically.

Derek had a hard time keeping his laughter at bay as he forced himself to be stern. She was a terrible flirt. She couldn’t possibly think this act was working. “Our publicity is just fine. If you want to see the rodeo, you’ll have to buy a ticket like everyone else.” He glanced back to the
stock trailer and saw Mike watching him. He couldn’t waste any more time when the early events were due to begin soon.

“There’s no need to get fired up, cowboy. I just wanted to talk to you.”

She leaned toward the fence, giving him a bird’s-eye view of her ample cleavage since she was at least eight inches shorter than he was and pouted. A sizzle of heat shot through him and centered in his groin. Derek arched a single brow and gave her a lopsided grin. He knew Mike needed him but he couldn’t help but enjoy the redhead vixen’s awkward attempt at seduction.

“About what?”

“If you open this gate, I have some coffee in the van. We could chat over a cup.” She ran her fingers over his forearm before playing with the frayed edge of his t-shirt where it stretched over his bicep.

Derek couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer. “That’s the best you’ve got? I’d have thought that someone who looks . . .” He eyed her well-endowed frame. “Well, like you, would at least know how to flirt better. You’re gonna have to work harder than that to get me to do an interview.”

She narrowed her eyes as they flashed with emerald fire, her full lips pinched together with fury at being thwarted. All pretense of seduction disappeared. “Look, I have a press pass your boss issued our station last week.” She jabbed her finger against the hard wall of his chest. “Are you going to honor it or not?”

“That press pass entitles you to attend the rodeo, not to distract me from my job. Feel free to come back when the gates open and watch the show. Interview the cowboys then. Hell, I’ll
even give you a
private
interview if you want,” he added, wiggling his brows and laughing at her.

She wrinkled her pert little nose at him and rolled her eyes. “No thanks. Dust covered, manure-jockeys aren’t my thing.”

Normally, he’d have been offended by her insult but right now he couldn’t help wanting to kiss that smart-mouth of hers. He glanced at the Skip waiting for her orders at the van. This uptight, city-girl was probably used to men lining up to do her bidding but out here, she was on his turf and, desirable or not, he wasn’t letting her have the upper hand.

Derek chuckled, jerking his chin at her clothing. “By the way, your urban cowboy look is going to make you stick out like a sore thumb. You might want to do some research on what to wear to a rodeo before you come out later.” He walked away, glancing back at her over his shoulder. “Although, I must admit, those pants do make your butt look great.”

“You might want to pucker up, cowboy, because the next time you see me, you can kiss it,” she yelled after him.

Angela eyed his retreating back. No man outsmarted her and she wasn’t about to let a smelly cowboy have the last word. She wasn’t normally a violent person but, if she’d seen a rock nearby, she’d have thrown it at the cocky redneck. She wasn’t buying his “good ole boy” act any more than he’d believed her coy ruse to get through the gate. She certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge the electric jolt of pleasure she felt when her hand touched his or again when his bicep had flexed beneath her fingers.

She needed this story and she was going to get it, no matter what. She wasn’t about to let some Podunk, backwoods hick stop her from scooping this story for her reel and getting the hell out of this town, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous he was. This exposé about the abusive treatment of rodeo stock was her ticket out of this small time, local gig. Petty events and feel-good pieces were getting her nowhere and she couldn’t stand reporting another grocery store opening or ribbon cutting ceremony.

She couldn’t even think about what would happen to her and her father if she wasn’t able to get him away soon. If he stayed much longer, his guilt was going to eat him alive, leaving her alone. She had to protect him, even from himself. He was all she had left. She needed this story to change their circumstances and no redneck cowboy was going to get in her way.

She spun on her heel, nearly tripping over the clunky cowboy boots, and yanked open the passenger door. A blush heated her skin, rising from her chest to her cheeks and she prayed he’d missed her less-than-graceful exit. She tossed the microphone to the floor and slammed the door as the sound of his laughter carried to her ears.
So much for prayers
.

She wasn’t even sure why she was letting this guy get her so worked up. She’d never been one to lose her cool - not with businessmen, politicians, or actors - so, why in the world would a
cowboy
, no matter how sexy he was, get her flustered? And why was a fake dalliance causing her mind to conjure up images of their bodies pressed together, sending heat coursing through her veins? It’s not like she was really flirting with him. She shook her head, trying to clear the image from her mind.

“What was that all about?” Skip asked, turning the key in the ignition.

“Just shut up and drive,” she muttered. “Go to the diner on the corner so I can figure out our next move.” She pulled a laptop out of her bag and powered it up. “First, I need to find out
more about this particular stock contractor and the idiots he has working for him.” She pulled the hat off and tossed it behind her, recalling his parting words. “On second thought, let’s go find something else for me to wear.”

“Didn’t research that?”

“Who researches rodeo clothes?” She slid her eyes over to see him trying to hide a grin and glared at him. She knew what they called her at the station behind her back. She’d deliberately kept herself closed off to most of her co-workers. It was easier to undercut them, backstab or bail on them completely if she didn’t feel a connection. It was a cut-throat industry and she might hate herself later, but right now, being a cold-hearted witch was the only way to survive. If that meant being the Channel 12 Ice Princess, then so be it. But most of them would love to see her fall on her face like this. She probably should have put more thought into what to wear but she’d been in such a hurry to get her animal rights information in order that she hadn’t studied rodeo wear trends.

“If you mention this again, I’ll make sure the only videos you take will be home movies, got it?” she threatened. She felt guilty as she glanced at the wedding ring on his hand but she wasn’t going to let him spread word that some cowboy had beaten her at her own game.

“Done already? Why don’t the reporters that interview me look like that?” Mike winked at him and pulled the cinch on the saddle tight.

“I didn’t do an interview.” Derek frowned, deciding in an instant he didn’t like being the guy in charge. It made him feel like an egotistical ass.

“Something wrong?”

Derek wasn’t sure how to explain his frustration to Mike. The man raised him after his parent’s died and could read his every emotion like Derek was his blood. He shook his head, hoping to clear the vision of the redheaded spitfire from his mind. “Just getting my head in the game for today.”

Derek didn’t want to admit that a woman he’d only met minutes ago had him second-guessing his ability to do this job. He could barely focus on the rodeo that was about to start because he was second-guessing his decision to not kiss her sassy mouth.
Great,
now I’m as bad as one of those randy bulls.

“So, what’d she want?” Mike bent over to clean the horse’s hoof. “Did you even find out?”

“Not really. She was a snob.”

Derek regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. It was a fair assumption given her insult, but he’d been a jerk, taunting her. It wasn’t fair to be so judgmental of her because he was thrust into a roll he didn’t feel prepared for. He should’ve ignored the van from the start, or asked Jen talk to them. Instead he’d flirted with her and tormented himself with glimpses of creamy skin where the buttons of her shirt pulled. He wrenched his thoughts from the tantalizing path they were taking.

“She had a press pass so she may be back later. You can talk to her next time.”

There was no way he was getting caught within ten feet of that succubus again. She was too much of a distraction and he needed to prove to his family he was capable of handling this responsibility. Unlike the last time they’d trusted him.