An Intimate Bargain

“Nobody even has to know you’re advising me. It’ll be a secret,” Zach offered.

Abby was having none of it. “So you can blackmail me with it later?” she challenged.

He gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How is that ridiculous? You’re blackmailing me now.” Her voice came out more shrilly than she’d intended.

“There’s only one thing I want from you, Abby.”

“Don’t call me Abby.” That nickname was reserved for her family.

His gaze stayed on her, while he obviously regrouped. “How can we make this work?”

“You can go away and never come back.”

He strode toward her, his normally laid-back style instantly bold, confident, purposeful. “I’m definitely not going away, Abigail. And from everything I’ve learned in the past week, you’re the one person I need.”

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by the differing roles of family members and how those roles impact people’s lives. It seems once expectations are set, brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers feel honor-bound to meet them.

In An Intimate Bargain, Abigail’s family expects her unconditional support on the family cattle ranch. As an orphan, Zach doesn’t understand her obligations. He only wants her to be happy, so he pushes her to pursue her own secret dreams.

I hope you enjoy the further adventures of the Jacobs and Terrell families in book three of COLORADO CATTLE BARONS!

Enjoy!

Barbara Dunlop

About the Author

BARBARA DUNLOP writes romantic stories while curled up in a log cabin in Canada’s far north, where bears outnumber people and it snows six months of the year. Fortunately she has a brawny husband and two teenage children to haul firewood and clear the driveway while she sips cocoa and muses about her upcoming chapters. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, www.barbaradunlop.com.

An Intimate

Bargain

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For my husband

One

The last time Zach Rainer felt this level of anxiety, he was walking out of a Texas group home on his eighteenth birthday. Twelve years later, there was more than just his future at stake.

He’d been navigating the Interstate since dawn in his three-year-old Jaguar convertible with nothing but a stale truck stop sandwich and six cardboard cups of coffee to keep him going. His business partner, Alex Cable, had insisted the road trip from Texas to Colorado would clear his head. Zach should have known better. Thinking didn’t solve problems, action did.

Now he checked himself into the Caspian Hotel in downtown Lyndon, Colorado, and accepted his key to an eighth-floor room. While he pocketed his credit card, his attention was drawn to the mezzanine level that overlooked the atrium lobby. Sharply dressed men and glittering ladies circulated at the top of a grand, curving staircase, while chamber music sounded around them.

He put the room key in his pocket and left his bags with the porter. Tugging the sleeves of his travel-worn blazer, he took the friendly clerk’s advice and started for a sports-bar down the hall. The woman had assured him it would be a lot less crowded there. Though, given his wrinkled shirt and day’s growth of beard, he was guessing she thought he’d fit in better with the sports bar crowd. Not that he cared about making any kind of impression. He was too tired and too hungry to worry about anything more than a hot meal and a long night’s sleep.

Tomorrow morning, he’d drive up into the hills behind Lyndon to the Craig Mountain Brewery and take stock of the place. Craig Mountain was the weak link in DFB Incorporated, the microbrewery conglomerate that he and Alex had grown over the past twelve years. At the same time, Craig Mountain had suddenly become the potential salvation of the entire corporation and the hundreds of jobs that went with it.

At the end of the hall, he entered the dimly lit bar through a lighted archway. He blinked to adjust his eyes, then he zeroed in on an empty table across from the wide-screen television. A basketball game was playing, the announcer’s words scrolling in closed caption across the bottom of the screen, while an eighties rock tune came through speakers high in the corners of the room.

It was Lakers versus Celtics. Neither were teams he followed, but watching the action would help his mind rest up for tomorrow. Production at Craig Mountain was currently ten thousand barrels per year. In order to save DFB, he needed to triple that in the next six months.

As he rounded the polished bar, his attention was snagged by a startlingly beautiful, auburn-haired woman. Perched on a leather chair, she was alone at a table and looked seriously out of place in the casual atmosphere. She wore a low-cut, black cocktail dress with spaghetti straps over her smooth shoulders. It clung to her body in a drop waist, then layered out into a full skirt, ending at midthigh.

Her graceful, lavender-tipped fingers were wrapped around the martini glass in front of her. She was obviously deep in thought, her attention fixed on a spot on the far wall. The flickering light from the television highlighted her compelling hazel eyes. They were streaked with gold, mesmerizing and undeniably sexy. Her hair was pulled back in a wavy updo, a few loose strands artfully arranged at her temples, brushing against dangling crystal earrings.

Zach’s feet came to an automatic halt, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from gaping at her beauty. She glanced up and caught him, drawing back in surprise. He knew what she must be thinking, and immediately opened his mouth to apologize.

But to his surprise, she smiled and nodded a greeting.

Zach might be exhausted and starving, but he still had a pulse. He wasn’t about to walk away from a reception like that.

“Hello,” he offered, seizing the opportunity to ease closer to her table.

“Getting away from the crowd?” she asked, her deep red lips curving into a friendly, open smile.

He nodded. “They told me it would be quieter back here.”

“Well, a different kind of noise anyway,” she acknowledged with a wry glance at the speakers.

Zach had to grin at that. “Not my favorite, either.”

“At least the crowd is thinner.”

“Agreed,” he replied.

“My face was about to crack from all that smiling.”

“You’re smiling now,” he pointed out, taking the final couple of steps that brought him to the chair opposite her. He rested his hand on its back.

“I guess I am.” She tipped her head quizzically, and her beautiful, golden eyes narrowed. “I don’t remember meeting you at the reception.”

Zach knew he was about to be outed as a stranger. He also knew he had about two seconds to figure out a way to prolong the conversation. He boldly pulled out the chair and slid into it.

“That’s because you didn’t meet me.” He took a stab in the dark. “Are you a friend of the bride?”

“What bride?”

Damn. Okay, that was a huge miss. And he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go but the truth. “I confess. I wasn’t at the reception.”

“You mean you’re not here to celebrate Mayor Seth Jacobs’ election victory?”

“I am not,” he admitted, holding her gaze.

She squinted with suspicion. “You have anything against Mayor Jacobs?”

“I do not. I’ve never met the man.”

Her face relaxed at that. Her shoulders drooped a little, and she leaned back into the big, brown leather chair.

Zach knew he was about to get his marching orders. Too bad. He’d have loved to sit here and get to know this woman, even if it did mean forgoing the burger and fries he’d promised his empty stomach.

“So you don’t know who I am?” she asked.

“I’d like to,” Zach immediately put in.

She chuckled. “While I’d prefer it if you had no earthly idea.”

He didn’t miss a beat. His tone went low and intimate as he propped his elbows on the lacquered tabletop and leaned toward her. “I can live with that, too.”

She rested her own elbows on the table, leaning forward, a playful glint now lurking in her expression. “I wasn’t offering to date you.”

“I didn’t think you were.” He quickly backed off. Okay, he’d hoped she was. But a guy could hope without penalty.

“Are you lying?” she asked him.

“I am not.”

She contemplated him a moment longer. “I take it you’re not from Lyndon.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Passing through?”

“Essentially.” He hoped he wouldn’t have to stay long. He hoped tripling production at Craig Mountain proved to be a straightforward proposition, that he could leave the brewery manager with instructions for expansion then get himself back to his corporate headquarters in Houston. He’d left Alex to hold down the fort during a very critical time.

Her sexy fingertips drummed lightly against the table. “So, we could do this?”

“Do what?” He found himself hoping all over again, but he sure wasn’t going to presume a second time.

“Have a casual conversation about nothing that matters. You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed without hesitation. He could talk with her, or do absolutely anything else that she wanted.

Someone entered the bar through the archway, drawing her attention. She tracked the progress of a fiftysomething man as he headed for the bar. After a few seconds, she seemed to relax. She turned back to Zach.

“Waiting for someone?” he couldn’t help asking.

She emphatically shook her head.

His second guess would be that she was avoiding someone. He took a chance on his instincts. “You want to get out of here?”

She seemed to contemplate his words for a long, slow moment. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I believe I do.”

He gestured with a tilt of his head. “I saw an exit door at the far end of that hall. We can probably make a clean getaway.”

“What makes you think I need a getaway?”

He leaned across the table again, dramatically lowering his voice. “You’re acting like someone who needs to lie low for a while.”

She matched his posture once more. “You make me sound like a felon.”

“Are you a felon?”

She fought a grin. “Would it matter?”

“No,” he answered honestly. With her looks and sense of humor, it truly would not.

She chuckled low, drew back and rose from her chair, retrieving a small, black clutch. “Then let’s do it.”

He stood with her. She moved past him, and the exotic scent of jasmine teased his senses.

He inhaled appreciatively then affected a Chicago-gangster drawl. “Act natural, Doll-Face, and stick close to me.”

She matched his tone. “Right beside you … Lucky.”

He couldn’t help grinning to himself as they crossed the bar. He lowered his voice. “You want I should score us a getaway car?”

“We’re only half a block from Main Street,” she stage-whispered in return. “Plenty of hideouts there.”

They ducked into the hallway then hurried for the back exit. Zach pushed the heavy, steel door open, and they crossed the threshold into the late-summer night. The door clanged shut behind them.

“A clean break,” she breathed, pressing her back dramatically against the brick wall.

“Stick with me, Doll-Face,” he rumbled in return, making a show of checking both directions on the quiet street. “I don’t see any gumshoes hanging around.”

“Good to know. But I’m more worried about constituents.”

“Constituents?” He played dumb. “You mean the feds?”

She shifted away from the wall and started down the short block toward Main Street, her high heels echoing on the pavement. “I mean the good people of Lyndon. I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“So I’m hiding you from the entire town?” he asked with mock incredulity.

“Only from the people I know.”

“How many people do know you?”

“Several thousand.”

He fought what seemed like a natural urge to fold her hand into his. “You don’t make things easy on a guy,” he grumbled instead.

“You seem pretty good at this,” she responded, glancing up. “You sure you’re not a real criminal?”

“I’m a businessman.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized they made him sound like a character from The Godfather. “A legitimate one,” he added. But that wasn’t much better. “I don’t have so much as a parking ticket,” he finished, hoping he hadn’t scared her off.

“What kind of—” But then she determinedly shook her head. “Nope. I don’t want to know what you do.”

The wind had picked up, lifting the loose strands of her hair. He resisted an urge to reach out and smooth them back. “Can we at least trade first names?”

She hesitated, a look of consternation crossing her face. Then, just as quickly, she grinned. “Call me Doll-Face.”

He paused as they reached the curb, half turning to offer a handshake. “Call me Lucky.”

She glanced at his hand briefly, then reached out to wrap her delicate fingers over his rough skin. “Hello, Lucky.” Her sweet voice seemed to touch a place deep inside him and settled there.

He let their handshake lengthen, having absolutely no desire to let her go.

Abigail Jacobs didn’t usually flirt. She rarely had the inclination and, lately, she certainly hadn’t had the time. But tonight was different. Her life was about to take a dramatic U-turn, and she didn’t want to face the change just yet. Joking with Lucky was keeping the future at bay.

After tonight, she’d no longer be Abigail Jacobs, sister and campaign manager to mayoral candidate Seth Jacobs. She wouldn’t be running the campaign office, picking up the phone to call business owners and reporters. She wouldn’t polish speeches, organize events, manage budgets and head off crises. Tomorrow morning she’d pack away her dressy clothes, turn in her office keys, give up the leased Audi and leave Lyndon City in a dusty, ranch pickup truck.

Growing up, she’d loved her ranch life, the freedom, the fresh air and open spaces. But somewhere along the way, the city had sunk its hooks in her, making her wish for things she couldn’t have. With her sister Mandy recently engaged to their former neighbor Caleb Terrell, and similarly, her other sister Katrina engaged to Caleb’s brother, Reed, her father and mother in Houston working on his stroke recovery and her brother Seth now the mayor of Lyndon, she couldn’t abandon her other brother, Travis, to manage the ranch alone.

Like it or not, the ball was ending, and tomorrow morning Cinderella was going back to the dust and manure of the real world.

“Hungry?” asked Lucky beside her, his coffee-colored eyes warm in the glow of the streetlights.

“Sure.” It had been quite a while since Abigail had eaten. In a rush this morning, she’d skipped breakfast, and she’d been too nervous to eat all day. When the polls finally closed at dinnertime, the entire team had waited with bated breath for the vote count.

Of course, there’d been food at tonight’s victory party, but there she’d been too busy fielding congratulations and questions about her future plans to eat anything. She’d told everyone she was looking forward to going home to the family ranch. After about the hundredth lie, she’d made her escape to the hotel sports bar.

“Steak?” Lucky asked with a nod toward the glowing red sign for Calbert’s.

She shook her head. “Too many people I’ll know in there.”

“Thai?” he suggested, zeroing in on a smaller, lower-key restaurant a few doors down.

“How about a burger from the drive-through?”

Bert’s Burgers, half a block down in the other direction, catered mostly to a teenage crowd. Much as they’d tried to get out the youth vote, Abigail doubted anyone under the age of twenty-one would recognize her.

“We don’t have a car,” Lucky pointed out.

“We can walk to the drive-through and take the burgers down to the lake.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “You sure?”

She nodded.

There were some picnic tables on the lawn by the beach. The election party fireworks finale was planned for later on the waterfront. But it would take place on the wharf at the opposite end of the bay. This time of night, their only company in the picnic area would be the mallard ducks that slept in the marsh.

“Not much of a date,” he noted as they took advantage of a break in traffic to cross in the middle of the block.

She couldn’t help smiling at that. “This is a date?”

“Not in my book.”

“So why are you worrying about the aesthetics?”

They stepped up on the sidewalk on the other side of the street.

“Because you’re wearing a two-thousand-dollar dress, and I’m buying you a burger and fries.”

“Who says you’re buying?”

“I’m from Texas.”

She smacked her hands dramatically over her ears, signaling her unwillingness to learn where he was from. “La, la, la, la—”

He playfully pulled one of them away. “You can already tell that by my accent.”

“Just because you grew up in Texas doesn’t mean you live there now.”

“I do.”

“Quit breaking the rules,” she warned him.

“There are rules?”

“Yes, there are rules. We agreed.”

“Well, the rule in Texas is that a gentleman always buys a lady’s dinner.”

“This is Colorado.”

They came to a halt beside the drive-through window, and he peered up at the lighted menu board. “And this isn’t exactly dinner.”

A teenage girl in a navy-blue-and-white uniform, her hair pulled back in a ponytail revealing purple beaded earrings, slid the window open. “What’ll you have?”

“A mountain burger,” Abigail decided. “No onions, extra tomato and a chocolate shake.”

“Same for me,” said Lucky, extracting his wallet. “But I’ll take some fries with that.”

Abigail decided not to press the issue of payment. What point would she be making? That she was an independent woman? That this wasn’t a date? Date or not, she doubted a five-dollar dinner would make any man feel entitled to so much as a goodnight kiss.

Not that she’d necessarily mind kissing Lucky. She found herself stealing a glance at his profile while he handed the girl a twenty. He was an incredibly attractive man. As tall as her brothers, easily over six feet. He had gorgeous brown eyes, thick, dark hair, full lips, a straight nose, with a square chin that was slightly beard shadowed. He wasn’t cowboy. She’d call it urbane. With an edge. She liked that.

“Cherry turnover?” he asked, turning to catch her staring.

She quickly blinked away her curiosity. “No, thanks.”

“We’re good,” he said to the girl.

The cashier rang their purchase through the register, handing him the change, while another employee appeared with a white paper bag of food and a cardboard tray holding two milk shakes and paper-covered straws.

Lucky took the bag in one hand, the milk shakes in the other. “Lead on.”

“You want some help?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Texans don’t let women carry things?”

“No, ma’am.”

Abigail couldn’t help wondering what he’d think of her hauling hay bales and lumber, and hefting saddles back at the ranch. Then she compressed her lips, determinedly banishing the image. That would be her life tomorrow. For tonight, she was going to be a girlie girl, with makeup, jewelry, horribly impractical shoes and a Texas man who insisted on buying her dinner.

“This way,” she told him with determined cheer.

They headed for the lighted, bark-mulch path that led from the side of the parking lot down to the beach and picnic area. They made their way beneath the glow of overhead lights and the rustle of aspens and sugar maple trees. Her narrow, three-inch heels sank into the loose bark mulch of the pathway. After stumbling a few times, she moved to one side, stopped and slipped off the shoes to stand barefoot on the lush lawn.

Lucky halted to check on her. “You okay there?”

“I’m fine.” She picked up the sandals, dangling them from the straps, the grass cool and soft against her soles.

“Is it safe to walk barefoot?”

“The park’s well maintained.”

He frowned in obvious concern. “I could give you a lift.”

“Is that how they do it in Texas? Haul their women around over their shoulders?”

“When necessary.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ve been running barefoot through this park since I was two years old.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” She began walking, passing him. “But thank you,” she added belatedly, turning to pace backward so she could watch him.

He had a long, easy stride. His shirt collar was open. She could see the fabric was wrinkled, but his blazer was well cut, delineating broad, and what she guessed were well-muscled, shoulders. She wondered if he also had a six-pack.

“You grew up in Lyndon?” he asked.

“I did.”

Technically her family’s ranch was two hours west of Lyndon. But she wasn’t going to fret over the details. Tonight she was a city girl through and through.

“Brothers and sisters?” he asked.

“Both. You?” She didn’t think the question would take them too far down the road to revealing their identities. Mainly, she didn’t want him to know she was the mayor’s sister, and she didn’t want him to know she was really a ranch hand.

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“You were an only child?”

“That’s right. Watch where you’re going.”

She turned her head to discover they were only a few feet from the first picnic table. The grass was about to give way to sand.

“Perfect,” she pronounced, dropping her sandals to the ground and stepping up on the wooden bench seat, intending to perch on the tabletop facing the lake.

“Hold up there.” Lucky swiftly set down the burgers. Stripping off his blazer, he laid it down like a blanket for her to sit on. The simple gesture made her chest tighten.

“Gotta love Texans,” she joked, taking in the breadth of his chest beneath the thin, white cotton shirt. The fabric was tight over his biceps, and she was more willing than ever to lay a bet on him having six-pack abs.

“Can’t have you ruining your dress,” he said.

“So we’re going to ruin your jacket instead?” But she sat down on the warm satin lining.

He shrugged, plunking down beside her, placing the burgers and shakes between them.

A couple of fat mallards splashed and waddled their way out of the water, crossing the pebbles and sand to investigate their presence, obviously on the lookout for bread crumbs.

Lucky handed her a foil-wrapped burger. “The jacket will clean.”

“So would the dress.”

He simply shrugged again.

The wrapper crackled as she peeled it halfway down the thick burger. Then Lucky was handing her a shake with a plastic straw already sticking through the lid.

She transferred the burger to the opposite hand as she accepted the drink, taking a sip of the icy, smooth treat.