Bachelor Cowboy

All he wanted was Kate

Since the moment he’d met her with a shotgun in her hands, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind off her. Or his hands. A touch here, a brush there, each one leading to wanting more.

It wasn’t love. It was lust, pure and simple, and he found fighting it exhausting. Every night he battled the image his memory held of her, keeping him awake long after decent people slept.

Touching her was the same as sticking his hand in a flame, and still he ached to touch her. No, it wasn’t love. But he couldn’t deny it was the closest he’d ever come to it.

Grabbing her hands, he pulled her to her feet. As he looked into her startled eyes, saw her lips parted in surprise, an electric bolt shot through him. He’d have it over with, he thought—this kiss he’d been dying for….

Dear Reader,

For some people, falling in love is the last thing on their mind, so it’s a complete surprise when Mr. or Miss Right comes along. That’s how it is for Dusty McPherson, the bachelor cowboy hero of—well, what else?—Bachelor Cowboy! But he isn’t the only one not looking for love. Kate Clayborne has her life planned out, and falling in love—or getting married—isn’t part of her future.

There’s nothing quite as satisfying as watching two strong-willed people meet their match…and then tumble into love, no matter how many times they deny it or how much they fight it. Will Dusty and Kate give in and find their happily ever after? Do they really have a choice?

If this is your first visit to Desperation, Oklahoma, and the people who live there, welcome! If you’re visiting again you’ll find some familiar characters, and will have a chance to meet some new ones. I hope you love Dusty and Kate as much as I’ve loved learning and writing about them. And look for more Desperation romances in the future.

Happy reading!

Roxann

Bachelor Cowboy

Roxann Delaney

MILLS & BOON

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Roxann Delaney doesn’t remember a time when she wasn’t reading or writing, and she always loved that touch of romance in both. A native Kansan, she’s lived on a farm, in a small town and has returned to live in the city where she was born. Her four daughters and grandchildren keep her busy when she isn’t writing, designing Web sites or planning her high school class reunions. The 1999 Maggie Award winner is excited about being a part of Harlequin American Romance and loves to hear from readers. Contact her at [e-mail] or visit her Web site, www.roxanndelaney.com.

To my grandchildren, Scarlett, Alexandria, Gavin, Jaxon and Becca, who help me see the world through the eyes of children and who are just beginning to understand that Nana is writing books while she sits at the computer all day.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

“Keep your hands where I can see them, and back on down that ladder real slow.” The voice was soft and low. Distinctly feminine. And definitely not joking.

Freezing at the command, one foot above the other on the metal steps of the combine ladder, Dusty McPherson stopped breathing.

An ominous click shattered the silence, and he knew without a doubt that the woman had a shotgun in her hands, cocked and ready. Breathing again, but careful not to startle her, he didn’t question her as he eased back down the ladder. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, even though the late May Oklahoma morning sun hadn’t begun to heat the day. A woman with a gun could be dangerous.

“Okay, that’s good. Now turn around, but don’t make any sudden moves,” she said when he reached the ground. “And keep your hands up.”

Dusty made his turn slow and smooth, his nerves taut and ready in case she had an itchy trigger finger. Knowing he could meet his maker in the blink of an eye, he faced his opponent. His eyes zeroed in on the tip of the steel barrel pointed directly at a spot any man would protect. He could only hope he’d be quick enough if there was any indication he’d be shot. He might want to be a daddy someday.

Slowly raising his gaze to her face, Dusty found himself staring into eyes the color of a clear blue mountain lake. It was all he could do to keep from sucking in air at the sight, but he managed to control himself.

The blue eyes widened for an instant, but just as quickly narrowed, hard as granite. “Just what do you think you’re doing, cowboy?”

The urge to check out the rest of her was strong, but tempered by the fact that it could be the end of him if he did. Not wanting to spook her, he kept his voice low and even. “Put the gun down and I’ll tell you.”

“You must think I’m crazy.” Her gaze never left his. She took a step closer. “What are you doing messing around my machine?”

“I’m here about the job,” he answered with a calmness the clippity-clop of his heartbeat denied. “Agatha Clayborne hired me.”

Her lips formed a perfect pink oval. “Oh…well…”

Dusty noticed her finger ease up on the trigger and allowed himself to relax a little. But he didn’t let down his guard. Only a man with scrambled eggs for brains would do that.

Eyes narrowing again, she tightened her grip on the gun. “How do I know you’re not just saying that?”

“You needed some harvest help, right?”

Her chin dipped a fraction of an inch in a noncommittal nod. “But I expected somebody younger. Like one of the kids from the high school.”

“And I expected to get this wheat cut.” He watched her consider his statement. “Mind if I put my hands down now?”

Hesitating, she finally lowered the shotgun. “Aunt Aggie mentioned she’d put some fliers around town. Maybe you should have come up to the house first and introduced yourself.”

Before he could answer, she turned around, giving him a view of her backside and the long, copper braid that reached past her waist. The end of it swung between a set of slim but well-curved hips encased in a pair of tight blue jeans. Something about her was familiar, but he couldn’t put a finger on what it was. And he was sure he wouldn’t have forgotten the woman if he had met her before.

“You might as well come on in,” she tossed over her shoulder. “Breakfast should be on the table.”

Two strides brought him up next to her after he’d taken a long, breath-stealing look at the sashaying form in front of him. “Any special reason you came after me with that gun?” he asked, matching his longer gait to her shorter but strong one.

She slid him a look, but didn’t slow her steps. “I don’t like strangers poking around. Would you?”

“Guess not. But you didn’t need the gun. I’m pretty harmless.”

“You never know.” She gave him another quick glance when they stepped up onto the wide porch of the Clayborne farmhouse and proceeded around to a side door.

She reached for the door handle, but he stuck his hand out to grab it at the same time. When his fingers brushed against hers she looked up quickly, a warning blaze in her eyes. He couldn’t be sure if the sudden flash he felt was from the contact or the red light her eyes exhibited. He chose the latter and swallowed a chuckle. How was she to know she’d just issued him a challenge? Like waving a red flag at a bull. Or blue, like those eyes. With bulls, it didn’t matter what color the flag was, as long as it moved. And she sure could move.

When they entered a sunny kitchen, the aromas of a country breakfast nearly knocked him over. His mouth watered at the tantalizing smell of sausage sizzling in a pan and hotcakes fresh from a griddle. He had traveled the rodeo circuit for more than ten years, living mostly on concession-stand food and tavern burgers, with an occasional restaurant and truck-stop meal thrown in. Home-cooked meals would be a taste of heaven.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep, reverent breath. It had been too long. Too damned long.

“Duane McPherson? I hardly recognize you. I haven’t seen you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper.”

Dusty opened his eyes at the sound of the strong female voice to find Agatha Clayborne studying him from head to toe, and he smiled at the quaint phrase from his childhood. It had been years since he had seen her. Well past her youth, her ginger-colored hair was peppered with gray. His gaze quickly settled on the heaping platter of scrambled eggs she held.

“Folks call me Dusty, Miss Clayborne.”

“’Course they do. And I’m Aggie.”

“I found him out looking over the combine,” the redhead supplied from behind him.

Dusty felt Aggie’s sharp blue gaze and heard her grunt of approval. “Well, you look fit enough to me.”

“We expect an honest day’s work,” the redhead said.

His head snapped around at the words, and he looked back at her over his shoulder. Her eyes held skepticism, and he took offense to the statement and the inference. Never once in his life had he not given something his all. “You’ll get it,” he answered.

He slipped off his Resistol, noticing that when he did, Aggie’s expression softened. She gave a decided nod and set the platter on the table. “Pull up a chair,” she told him.

“You know how to drive a combine, don’t you?” came the next question from the redhead.

Dusty gave the young woman a quick glance to let her know he’d heard her. She might be more than easy on the eyes, but she struck him as being one bossy woman. Just like his mother. He would rather deal with Aggie, who might have a bit of bossiness herself, but she had earned it. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” he answered, focusing on the older woman. “I’ve handled machinery since I was a kid.”

Again, Aggie nodded and looked past him toward the redhead. “He spent summers with his grandparents and then—” She turned her gaze on him. “You lived with them for a few years, too?”

“Four years,” he answered. “All through high school in Desperation.”

“They were good people. So was your mama. I was sorry to see her move to Tulsa after she married your daddy. Sorry they split up, too. How’s she doing?”

“Good,” Dusty said, although he didn’t really know. He wasn’t on good terms with his mother. Never had been. And his daddy had left when he was four.

“Families are a blessing, even when they’re no longer with us.”

He guessed she was referring to her brother. Tom Clayborne and his wife had been victims of an Oklahoma twister a year before the big tornado that hit Oklahoma City. It was obvious the redhead was Aggie’s niece, and one of the two daughters they’d left behind.

And then he remembered where he had seen her. Only she hadn’t looked like she did now. Not in high school. She was younger than him by three years and had been a new freshman his senior year. Yeah, he remembered her, although he didn’t recall ever speaking to her. Back then, she was a lanky girl, all arms and legs, with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and a haircut that would scare the britches off any guy. At the time, he’d had a girl, and he’d married her as soon as they both graduated. The marriage lasted all of six months. Like his father, rodeo and bull riding had called to him. And like his mother, that hadn’t settled well with his new wife.

Movement across the room caused him to glance in that direction. In another doorway stood a blonde with a hesitant smile on her sweet face. The other Clayborne sister.

“I found the butter.” Her anxious gaze bounced from the redhead to Aggie.

“Just put it on the table,” Aggie said. She took a seat at the table and frowned at the others. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get to this breakfast.”

Dusty stood, waiting, while the blonde took the chair directly opposite him and next to her aunt. He also noticed the diamond ring on her left hand, a clear sign she was taken, and he wasn’t one to move in on another man’s woman. Which left him the redhead. He couldn’t decide if that was good or not, but he had plenty of time to find out. The summer he had thought might prove dull and wasted, while he waited out the time until he was released by his doctor to return to rodeo, might not be so boring after all.

KATE CLAYBORNE TOSSED her long braid over her shoulder and took her usual place at the table. Unfortunately, it was next to where their new hired hand was taking his.

He was no stranger to her. As soon as he had turned around on the combine ladder and she could see him clearly, she knew exactly who he was. But it was just as clear that he’d had no clue who she was. Not that she was surprised. Half the girls in the school had had a crush on him. Too bad she had been one of them.

The initial view of his backside hadn’t been bad when she’d caught him on that ladder, either. She would have paid more attention, but she’d been too afraid he was a transient ready to steal the machine or strip the interior. One good look at him had been all she needed to recognize him, but she hadn’t allowed her somersaulting stomach to overrule common sense and caution. Just because she knew him didn’t mean she could trust him. And he obviously hadn’t recognized her, even when his bourbon-colored gaze had met hers.

“Girls, this is Dusty McPherson.” While she spoke, Aggie’s attention was on the biscuit she was slathering with butter. Nodding in the direction of each of the girls, she introduced them. “These are my nieces. That one’s Kate and this one’s Trish.”

Dusty looked up to smile at Trish. “This is great,” he said, pointing at his plate with his fork.

“Oh, I didn’t—”

“Kate did the cooking,” Aggie said from across the table.

Kate felt Dusty’s gaze on her, but pretended she didn’t.

“You cooked this breakfast?” he asked.

Across from her, Kate saw Aggie’s go-ahead nod, encouraging her. She knew what her aunt was thinking. It wasn’t the first time she had tried her hand at matchmaking. But Kate wasn’t interested.

“You’ll find dinner filling, too,” Aggie said, frowning at her. “We’ll be cutting wheat in the field here at home to start, so we’ll eat here at the house. When we get farther away, Trish brings it out to the field.”

“And you’re on your own for supper,” Kate added to set the record straight.

“But I’ll bring sandwiches in the evening,” Trish chimed in. “We wouldn’t want anyone wasting away.” Her smile produced the twin set of dimples she was famous for, second only to her sweet disposition.

Dusty looked to Aggie. “Who’s your truck driver?”

“I am,” Kate answered sharply. What did he think she did, anyway, besides pointing shotguns at strangers?

His penetrating gaze fell on her again. “Any other talents? Other than cooking and firearms experience, I mean.”

Ready with a hot retort, Kate looked up to see a spark of mischief in his eyes and knew better than to take the bait. Feeling his gaze slide over her, she lifted her chin to deny the warmth that went through her. “If worse comes to worst, I can drive a combine, change the oil, grease it and do minor repairs.”

He rewarded her with a slow grin. “Multitalented.”

“She really is,” Trish agreed. “I wish I had her talents.”

Dusty turned to her. “Each of us has our own.”

“His or her own,” Trish corrected and blushed fiercely.

“Trish is a teacher,” Aggie explained. “Second grade. We all get corrected at one time or another. She’s a writer, too. Just sold her first children’s book.”

Kate only half listened to the conversation around her, relieved that the subject had turned away from food. She loved cooking and baking, but it was a part of herself she didn’t understand. She didn’t know where her cooking flair came from. Her mother had been a good cook, but nothing spectacular, and Aunt Aggie was much the same. Somehow Kate had taken to it and added her own touch. She had even been providing pies and cakes to the local café and barbecued beef to the local tavern for the past few years. But it wasn’t something she liked people making a big deal about. Farming was and always would be her first love.

Aggie pushed away from the table and stood. “When you’re finished, Dusty, go on outside and I’ll show you around.”

If he had been anyone else, Kate would have offered to show him the farm and machinery, but because it was Dusty McPherson, she was glad she wouldn’t have to. She had never reacted to any man the way she was reacting to him. Until she could get some control over that, being around him wasn’t a good idea, but there wasn’t much she could do about it until harvest was over.

Dusty laid his fork on the plate and rose from the table. “I can go out right now,” he said, but his gaze lingered on the stack of biscuits.

“No need,” Aggie said with a wave of her hand. “But Kate can add those biscuits to a basket. No reason why you can’t enjoy them while driving the combine.” She stepped into the hallway and turned around. “Kate, I need to speak with you.”

Following her, Kate suspected her aunt had a few words to say about her rudeness. It wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes. Kate knew the routine well. She would apologize for being too outspoken and Aunt Aggie would forgive her.

Aggie waited until they were alone in the hall to speak. “I didn’t want to say anything to Trish yet, as it doesn’t affect her as much as it does you.”

“What doesn’t?”

Rubbing a fist across her forehead, Aggie hesitated for a moment before she met Kate’s gaze. “I’ve decided to lease the farm after this harvest.”

Kate couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “You what?”

“I’m leasing the farm.”

“No, you can’t!”

“I have to, Kate. Fuel costs are up, and fertilizer, too. Repair on the machinery is costing a bundle, and getting a loan for new is out of the question. Even without those expenses, there aren’t enough of us to do the work. With Trish getting married—”

“She doesn’t have that much to do with the farming,” Kate pointed out quickly, her heart hammering in her chest. The farm meant everything to her.

“Someday, you’ll be doing the same.”

Kate had no intention of getting married. “Then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did,” she said through lips stiffened by the panic she felt.

As if she hadn’t heard her, Aggie continued. “I’m not getting any younger. I know we’d planned on you taking over the farm, once I retire, but you can’t handle it on your own, Kate. Farming needs to be self-sufficient, otherwise it’s nothing more than a hobby. And an expensive one, at that.”

“We can find a way,” Kate answered, determined not to let go of the farm. It had become her life.

Aggie laid a hand on her arm. “If the time comes when farming pays off again, you can end the lease.”

“But—”

“No buts. I’ve made up my mind, as hard as it was to do. I don’t mean to break your heart, but I don’t want to lose the land, and that’s what it could come to. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Kate knew things had been getting worse over the past few years. After all, she did the bookkeeping. But she’d never dreamed her aunt would stop farming and lease the land to someone else. “If I can come up with a new financial plan for the farm, will you reconsider?”

Putting her arm around Kate, Aggie hugged her. “If you can do that, I will. It’d make that college diploma of yours worth its weight in gold. But I’ll need to know at the end of next month.”

Kate nodded, understanding that time was of the essence. Anybody leasing would want to start after the crop was harvested. But all it really meant was that she had little time to put together a plan.

Trish was the only one in the kitchen when Kate returned, and she didn’t look happy. “This is going to be a mess. I don’t know how you’re going to pull off the cooking and driving the truck. Aggie has always done the driving—”

“It won’t be that hard.” Kate gathered dishes from the table and scooted past her sister to the sink, her mind still numbed by her aunt’s news. Not only had Aunt Aggie turned over the cooking to her long ago, but this year she’d had to give up driving the truck, too. If only Kate had paid attention, she might have seen the signs that her aunt might be thinking of retiring.

Starting the water, Kate added the dish soap before facing her sister and turning her mind away from her worries about the farm. “First off, this’ll go much faster if you give me a hand with these dishes. I’ll wash, you dry and put them away. And please put them where they belong, not just anywhere. I waste more time looking for stuff.”

“But you can’t cook dinner and drive the truck at the same time,” Trish pointed out.

Kate gave her a withering look. “Of course I can. But if I have to waste time hunting for utensils, I won’t get it done. And you know how Aunt Aggie prides herself on a smooth-running operation. Unless, of course, you’d rather listen to her rant and rave when dinner isn’t ready on time.”

Trish’s usually sunny smile was turned down in a frown. She sighed, grabbing the silverware from the table. “I’ll try to do it right.”

“Good.” Kate nodded and returned to the dishes. “I’ll just have to come in after I’ve taken a full load of wheat to the elevator. It won’t be a problem.”

“I hope it works.” Trish sounded unconvinced.

“It will.” But Kate mentally crossed her fingers. She didn’t mind doing double duty, but they’d all have to work together even more to make that happen. Time was of the essence during harvest. If it rained—and it usually did at some point—wheat cutting would come to a halt until the ground was dry again. A thunderstorm with hail could completely wipe out all of a small crop. She hated thunderstorms more than anything.

Trish reached into an upper cabinet to put away the plate she’d finished drying. “I wish I could drive.”

“You have a license.”

“I know, but it makes me nervous. And the thought of trying to drive that big old truck just scares me to death.”

“It did me, too, the first few times,” Kate admitted. “It’s slow going, and takes a watchful eye to make sure someone isn’t going to try to run you off the road because you’re driving too slow. Can’t drive too fast, either, or you could lose part of the load.”

“Or turn the truck over in the ditch,” Trish added. “I remember Aunt Aggie warning us when you first started driving it. She scared me to death.”

Kate laughed at the memory. “Me, too, but that happening is pretty unlikely in these parts. I worry more about getting it stuck when rain moves in.”

“Like that time when we went out to help at the south quarter and it started to rain. We nearly didn’t make it home, and the truck was almost full. Aunt Aggie nearly slid off in that deep ditch.”

“That was a nightmare,” Kate said, “but we managed, just like we always do.”

Hearing Aggie’s and Dusty’s voices outside, she hurried to the door, dripping water from her hands, and peeked out to see the pair moving across the yard to the combine. Walking back to the sink, worry started to nag at her. Maybe they wouldn’t be able to do this. Scrubbing at a pot, she remembered that “maybe” was all she might have when it came to the farm. When her sister didn’t say anything, Kate looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing.