Have Cowboy, Need Cupid

Today he would fight for himself and the preservation of Sugar Hill. Let Suzanne Hartwell have the city. Hopefully, she’d already gone back to Atlanta, with its fancy shops and smog and traffic, where she belonged.

“YES, JAMES, I’m almost there.” Cell phone in hand, Suzanne squinted through the high noon sun as she drove toward city hall. “I’m right on time for that town meeting.”

“Good. I want a full report so we know what we’re up against, especially if those small-towners protest the development,” James said. “Have you met Rafe McAllister yet?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he’s bending any?”

“It’s too early to tell.”

“Well, I know you, honey. You can charm the pants off any man.”

If he didn’t charm her pants off first. Annoyance hit her as James’ comment sank in. “James, you aren’t suggesting…?”

“No, of course not, that was just a figure of speech.”

“Good. Because I have no intention of seducing some man just to steal his property from him.” Of course, seducing him for pleasure had crossed her mind the night before.

Quickly, Suzanne tried to change the subject. “How about Forrest Anderson? Did he agree to sell?”

“Yes, but his neighbor Will Samuels refused. And we need both properties to have enough land to complete the proposed site.” James sighed. “Even if they agreed, neither piece of land is as nice as McAllister’s or as convenient to the interstate. I can already envision the houses we could build on that side of the mountain.”

“The property is pretty spectacular,” Suzanne admitted, although she still couldn’t imagine moving out to the country. She liked the bustle of midtown, the art shows and theaters and nightclubs. Although, the traffic definitely got on her nerves. Where would James want to live if she accepted his proposal and they married? His home in Buckhead was nice but cold, and far from homey.

The sapphire ring sparkled from her right hand where she’d decided to wear it until she made a decision. So far James hadn’t pressured her for an answer to his proposal. And she didn’t expect him to, not until this deal was settled.

Business always came first with James.

Not that she could blame him. He had a fortune riding on this project. She hung up with him and studied the fading chipped paint of some of the downtown area. Alison’s bridal shop, Weddings to Remember, had been freshly painted, and the Hotspot, Mimi and Rebecca’s bookstore/café had new awnings, but some of the other buildings desperately needed facelifts. The new development would definitely boost the economy and enable the locals to update their own businesses. She mentally added the argument to her list as she parked in front of city hall. Already cars, SUVs and minivans overflowed the parking lot. Slim Wallace, the head of the bank, raced in, yanking at his baggy trousers.

As soon as she entered the meeting room, she felt the tension in the air. Her uncle Wiley stood at the front of the room, clad in his signature lime-green jacket and checkered pants. Cousins Hannah, Mimi, Alison and their husbands occupied front row seats. Her sister Rebecca and Thomas sat behind them, and locals filled the other rows of chairs. A few she recognized from her short visits into Sugar Hill, but most were strangers.

The hair on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced to her left. Standing against the far back wall, looking tall and imposing in his dusty jeans, with his black Stetson tipped low on his head, stood Rafe McAllister. And from the dark stare he slanted her way, he didn’t look pleased to see her.

WHAT THE HELL was Suzanne Hartwell doing at a Sugar Hill town meeting?

Rafe glared at her, irritated that she’d gotten under his skin. She had no reason to be here, no right to get involved in the town’s business.

No right to stir his libido and make him want things he couldn’t have.

The mayor, Orville Lewis, a portly man with a bald spot as big as Rafe’s fist, called the meeting to order. “We’re here to discuss the future of Sugar Hill,” Mayor Lewis said.

“You mean the demise,” Carter Anderson, the owner of the local dry cleaners, yelled.

His comment started everyone talking and shouting and arguing at once.

“We have to put a stop to this land developer coming in and taking over our town!” an elderly man shouted.

“I moved here to get away from the city. There’s too much noise and traffic in Atlanta,” a middle-aged man in a gray suit said. “And now folks want to build a big mall that will draw crowds out here.”

“Cars’ll be clogging our roads, blowing exhaust into the air and bringing all kinds of derelicts around,” a frail woman in a pink knit dress exclaimed.

“But it would be nice not to have to drive two or three hours to buy school clothes for the kids,” Mrs. Ludwig, mother of five, argued.

Myrtle Lowercrust, the children’s church choir director stood up. “The kids won’t have the country air to breathe and the space to run and play.”

“Be a bunch of cookie-cutter houses and apartments everywhere,” her sister, Ethel, added.

“But we’ll have movie theaters and restaurants to choose from, and maybe even a nice dance studio that will offer some culture to this backward town,” another woman protested.

“Our town is not backward.” Hannah Hartwell Tippins placed a hand over her rounded belly. “We have good hometown values. And safe streets for the children.”

“Some progress is good,” Rebecca’s husband, Dr. Thomas Emerson, pointed out. “Maybe we could compromise and find a happy medium. I’m sure you people want the best medical care available.”

“We have a good hospital,” Alison pointed out. “And Brady runs the medical helicopter service for emergencies.”

“I want my kids to smell fresh air and see the wildflowers on the mountains in the spring,” Rebecca said. “Not have high-rises and concrete blocking the views.”

Wiley Hartwell flapped his arms like a peacock. “We don’t need strangers coming in, starting up businesses that will take away from our own. My car dealership, the local hardware store, they’ll all be run off by corporations and chains.”

“You men are just worried about your wallets,” Wanita Rivers, Rafe’s mother’s friend, said. “Maybe we women would like to dress in style for a change, not have to shop at the outlet mall for last year’s throwaways.”

“Think about the jobs a new mall would bring,” Vivian Hartwell said.

“Yeah, then all our kids wouldn’t have to leave Sugar Hill to find jobs,” a young mother shouted.

“My filling station would probably pick up business,” Eke Turner added.

“But with it comes more crime,” Jake Tippins, Hannah’s husband and now town sheriff, pointed out.

The mayor beat his gavel, yelling for order, but the women from the Prayer Wagon burst through the door, then stomped across the crowded room, bouncing homemade protest signs and banners in the air. “Stop the development! Leave Sugar Hill be.”

Jean Ann Tucker, spokeswoman for the group, raised a bull horn. “We don’t want this mall. It’ll bring sleazy nightclubs and strip joints and those awful bars where people get shot!”

Anita Haynes flopped a hand dramatically over her bosom. “There’ll be raping and pillaging in the streets!”

Rafe grinned to himself, grateful for all the drama queens. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion when Suzanne Hartwell suddenly shot to the front of the room. What the hell was she doing?

HEAVENS ALIVE! Suzanne had heard enough. These people were about to create a panic like nothing she’d ever seen. “You’re imagining the worst, when you should consider all the benefits this development will offer.” Suzanne kept her voice calm, well aware half of the town was shooting daggers at her while the other half nodded her on.

“Many positive things result from a new development. While petty crimes might increase slightly and a few nightclubs might spring up close to the mall, they’ll be so far out of town they won’t detract from the culture of Sugar Hill. The retail jobs the various establishments would offer and tourists they would attract would be invaluable. Just think of the tax revenues and employment opportunities. Construction, security positions, opportunities for web designers, buyers, decorating firms, the list is endless. And don’t forget that the town’s economy has been sliding the last few years. All the downtown stores need updating. More people moving to town would be a major boost to the economy. Consider the advantages you can give your children with added revenues. You can finally put computers in the schools and modernize the classrooms.”

Rafe McAllister stalked toward her, propped his hands on his hips and glared down at her. She was certainly passionate about her arguments, but she was on the wrong damn side of the issue. “You don’t even live in this town, Ms. Hartwell, so why do you think you have the right to tell people what to do?”

A few patrons in back amened his comment. Suzanne twisted sideways, jerking her head to stare into his eyes. He towered over her, but she refused to let him intimidate her. “Half of my family lives here, Mr. McAllister. Besides, I’m simply pointing out things to help everyone make an informed, rational decision.”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter,” Rafe said, jamming his face angrily in hers. “So why don’t you flit back to the city you love so much, and let the people who live in this town decide what they want?”

“Here, here,” a few angry locals shouted.

“Let’s have some order,” the mayor yelled, slamming his gavel down again. “I say we table this discussion for now. Everyone has brought up some interesting points. I’ll appoint a committee to explore all sides, and we’ll reconvene in a week to discuss it further.”

The crowd applauded, then began to disperse. Rafe pulled Suzanne outside. “Why are you nosing in here when this is none of your business? You don’t live or work here.”

Suzanne tensed, glancing down at her arm where his fingers held her. Had he figured out she was working for Horton Developers?

Part of her wanted to admit the truth about her intentions, to lay her cards on the table, but the other part wasn’t prepared for his wrath. She needed to focus before she revealed her part in the development. She needed to get to know him better and find that weak spot.

If he had one.

Landing this promotion would give her the independence and the financial security she wanted. And she’d make her father proud, something she’d strived for all her life. She couldn’t let Rafe interfere because he was too stubborn to realize that change was good.

“I suppose you’re so simpleminded that you’d return to the way the town was a hundred years ago. Forget the cars and electric appliances, let’s all drive wagons and wash our clothes by beating them on the rocks!”

“Simpleminded? You think ranching is simpleminded work?”

He stepped forward, planting the hard wall of his chest against her. Fury blazed in his eyes as he pinned her still. “Just who do you think you are? Do you even have a job or do you let Daddy pay your bills?”

Suzanne’s breath wheezed out, but she didn’t back down. “My father does not support me, Mr. McAllister. I work…in an office and raise money for charities.” Not exactly a lie. She did help her father host several charity parties.

“You have no idea how beautiful the mountains are around here, do you?” His gruff voice skated over her nerve endings, his words evoking images of him and mountain peaks, riding off into a sunset, bareback and bare chested.

Good Lord, what in the world was wrong with her?

“The mayor has given everyone a week to think about this. Did you know it’s my property that developer wants to destroy?”

“Really?” Suzanne played dumb.

“Really.” Rafe’s fingers were still wound tight around her arm. “I dare you to come out and see my spread, ride across the land, smell the air and the mountains and then advocate turning my ranch into a damn shopping mall.”

“All right, I will.” Suzanne aimed her seductive smile at him. The dare would be a piece of cake. While she was riding the land, she’d be able to point out all the advantages to selling. And before the week ended she’d have him eating out of the palm of her hand.

There was no way she’d lose a dare to this infuriating man. Or anything else.

No matter how sexy he was….

Chapter Four

Rafe stared at the puffy white clouds billowing in the velvety blue sky of North Georgia, breathing in the smell of the grass as his hand tightened around the wooden sign he’d just finished carving. After he and his ranch hands had finished their morning rounds, Bud had suggested boarding horses and offering riding lessons as a way to increase the cash flow. Although Rafe agreed it was a decent idea, the thought of teaching irked him. As a teen, he had spent endless grueling hours working on a dude ranch, aiding the snobby, rich girls who’d wanted to learn to ride but who had balked at the smell of a horse and the feel of his hands on them after hours. And asking them to muck out a stall had been the kiss of death.

That was what the hired hands were supposed to do. His hands.

Except for one blonde, Cecilia. She had a way of making a man want to do the dirty work for her. Cecilia hadn’t minded his hands on her at all. In fact, she’d liked playing with fire, and had danced the flame right underneath her father’s patrician nose, teasing her father and him with her bold defiance. But her walk on the wild side had burned Rafe. Bad.

He’d been weary of that type of woman ever since.

The noonday sun beat down on him as he grabbed a hammer and strode down his long driveway to the mailbox beside the road. He drove the post into the ground and angled it so anyone driving by could read it. The newspaper ad started today, as well.

Filling his lungs with fresh, clean air, he gazed out over the two hundred acres of green pastures. The scents of hay and horses and grass filled his nostrils like an aphrodisiac. The only thing that smelled sweeter was a woman.

Suzanne Hartwell.

He hadn’t slept for thinking about her all night. And that damn expensive perfume.

A perfume that would make a rational man senseless. He slammed the hammer against the post to dig it in more securely. Why the hell had she stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong?

Would she take him up on his dare?

He hoped not. He hoped she climbed in whatever kind of fancy car she drove and hightailed it back to Atlanta, leaving him to deal with his troubles. He did not need a distraction like her around.

Yet, she was a Hartwell, and if he swayed her to his side, maybe she could convince the rest of the Hartwell clan to protest that developer’s ideas and keep that blasted mall away from Sugar Hill.

Not a bad plan.

He pounded the hammer again, but heard a motor and looked up, curious as to who owned the automobile zooming toward his place. With his ranch situated on the outskirts of town, he rarely had visitors. The composure he’d been trying so hard to assimilate disintegrated when he spotted sassy Suzanne Hartwell veering toward him in a sporty little silver Miata, her ebony hair blowing in the wind.

SUZANNE SCANNED the picturesque view of the mountain ranges that served as a backdrop for Rafe McAllister’s ranch, her mind already envisioning the hub of cars and visitors to the mall that would replace the old farmhouse and the shabby-looking barn. Adrenaline surged through her in a giddy roar as she imagined the designer shoe shops and dress boutiques. The barn would make a perfect location for the rustic outdoor company which would sell recreational equipment and clothing, camping, fishing, hunting and backpacking supplies as well as the climbing wall and skateboarding center already in the design phases.

And Suzanne’s favorite—an old-fashioned carousel with hand-painted horses and buggies, which would sit center stage to the eatery like a giant music box. In her mind’s eye she could see the beautiful swirls of color as the horses spun around, the excited shrieks of the children as they climbed onboard for a ride. And of course, the huge eatery would offer a wide variety of meals and refreshments to entice customers to spend more time and money, which equaled more revenue for the town. Everyone would benefit.

On closer scrutiny, the house’s wraparound porch—with its swing and rockers—looked idyllic, like a Norman Rockwell postcard, but the house obviously needed repairs. Perhaps the construction company could renovate the house, turn it into a restaurant that served country meals, adding small-town ambience to the tourist’s day of shopping. She made a mental note to add the idea to her list of suggestions to give James as she stopped in front of Rafe McAllister’s mailbox and the homemade sign advertising for boarders and offering riding lessons.

He must be seriously distressed over his finances or he wouldn’t have resorted to such lengths to make a dollar. She had to convince him that Horton Developers had come to rescue him not destroy his life. She pumped the brake, and the Miata rolled to a stop beside him. Tucking her windblown hair behind one ear, she smiled and said, “Hi.”

He tipped his battered black Stetson, those dark enigmatic eyes skating over her with less than approval.

Suzanne wet her lips. “I came to take you up on your invitation.”

“Excuse me?”

She jutted her chin up in the air. “To see your place. I believe it was a dare.”

A small smile tugged at his firmly set lips. Rafe McAllister might be attracted to her physically, but she sensed that for some reason, he didn’t like her or particularly welcome the attraction.

The realization stung, but she shrugged it away. She hadn’t come here to get him to like her, anyway; she would simply schmooze enough to parlay the heated discussion they’d begun at the town meeting into a congenial business deal that would leave everyone happy and satisfied.

And elevate her a rung on the corporate ladder.

“Then drive on up to the house and we’ll get started.”

Suzanne gestured toward the passenger seat of her car, stuffing the tags to her new designer Stetson lying on the leather seat into the console. “Climb in, cowboy, and I’ll give you a ride.”

He shot a skeptical look toward the gray leather. “Take longer for me to fold my legs in and out of that matchbox than it will for me to walk.”

And just like that, he expressed his disapproval of her car as well. Suzanne barely resisted the urge to gun the engine and spit gravel and dust in his face as she cruised behind him. He walked up the drive with long easy strides, ignoring her. However, she noticed the occasional tightening of his mouth and realized the slight limp she’d detected at the bar that night was real. It obviously still caused him pain.

Instead of retaliating against his rudeness, though, she opted for saccharine sweetness and pure male flattery. “You do have long legs. How tall are you, Rafe?”

He smirked as if he knew what she was doing and didn’t intend to fall for it. “Six-three.”

“With the boots.”

“Without.”

Big hands. Big feet. Big everything. Including a big bad attitude.

She was going to have her hands full with this one.

Seconds later she parked beside the house and climbed out, chasing after him as he headed toward the barn. The pointed toes of her spit-shiny, red-and-black handcrafted boots pinched her feet as she dodged the pockets of horse dung scattered along the fence and tried to keep up with him.

HOW THE HELL could one saucy little woman make him feel like horse manure? Especially one wearing too tight, brand-spanking-new designer jeans, and a fifty-dollar red-and-black-plaid shirt that matched those silly looking dress-for-show snakeskin high-heeled boots? She probably had a Porter Wagner fringed jacket in the trunk of that pea-size thing she called a car.

And while she smelled like sweetness and jasmine, he smelled like dirt and cattle.

Damn it, he’d seen the look of condemnation on Suzanne’s face as if she thought his home was an eyesore that should be bulldozed down and landscaped with cookie-cutter condos and manicured lawns. Lawns barely big enough to hold a lounge chair much less house a neighborhood barbecue. He’d read about cul de sac parties in the suburbs where the homeowners congregated with cheap grills so they could watch their kids play in the streets because they didn’t have anyplace else to do so. He would not allow his property to be turned into one of them.

No, the Lazy M wouldn’t become a cluster of department stores, chain restaurants, gas stations catering to endless yuppies stealing out to the country to pollute the air with the exhaust from their overpriced SUVs.

Had she noticed his limp?

Hell, it shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t care about impressing Suzanne Hartwell with his manliness. He simply wanted to prove to her she was wrong about what the town needed.

Trying to gather his wits and cool his temper, Rafe led her out into the pasture to show her firsthand one of the many wonders of ranch life—the beauty of horses running in the wild before a natural backdrop of lush green mountains covered with dogwoods and wildflowers. A palomino and a black-and-white paint galloped across the hills, their long manes dancing in the wind. His own black stallion raced behind them at a thunderous pace. Rafe stopped and leaned on the edge of the fencepost, a peacefulness enveloping him as he watched the animals chase across the open space.

“They are beautiful,” Suzanne said in a breathy voice that startled him. A voice that was breathy from running to keep up with his gait, not from wanting him, he reminded himself.

He steeled himself against a reaction. “Just got the palomino and the paint in to break. The Stallion’s mine. Name’s Thunder.”

“Figures.”

He arched a brow.

“Big man needs a big horse.”

He chuckled, but the breeze lifted her hair and tousled it across her face, bringing with it a softer fragrance than the perfume she’d worn the evening before. Must be her daytime perfume.

“I guess you’ve ridden horses all your life.” She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling, as if she was oblivious to the torture she rendered men.

“Since I could walk.”

“I wanted a pony when I was small, but my dad said they were too dangerous.”

“They are that.”

“Dad was slightly overprotective.” She leaned her chin on the top of her hands, which were resting on the wooden fence slats. “I always figured it was because my mom wasn’t around, but maybe it was his nature.”

He cut his gaze toward her, waiting to see if she offered more, remembering how his own father had encouraged him to get right back on that horse after his accident.

“Mom died when I was young.” She frowned as she watched the horses. “Cancer.”

He shifted on the balls of his feet, wincing at the hint of pain in her voice and ignoring the stab of muscles contracting in his lower left leg. His mother might not be in the best of health, but at least she was alive. Hell if he knew what to say, though. He wasn’t good at comfort or talk. “I’m sorry.”

Her thin shoulders lifted slightly. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

Only, it felt like yesterday, he thought, detecting a hardened edge to her voice. An edge that warned him not to cross the line and pry.

An edge that made him want to.

She was tough, he realized, not the weepy sort. Independent to a fault. Like the horses he tamed.

His admiration for her rose, as well as protective instincts that he had no business feeling.

“My grandfather used to say that a man’s job was to protect a woman,” he offered. “Guess your father was just doing his job.”

Suzanne laughed, a light throaty sound that brushed his nerve endings with desire. “You were born in the wrong time period, Mr. McAllister.”

“Why’s that?” Irritation sliced through him as he pulled himself up straight. “Because I believe in tradition.”