The Cowgirl's CEO

Cowboys Are Like the Circus: Too Many Clowns, Not Enough Rings.

He met her gaze again, one eyebrow arched.

“People ride their horses here at every time of the day,” Caro added, blushing. Well, now he knew how she felt about cowboys. Actually, not just cowboys, but men in general. “There’ll be competitors rolling in from every part of the country, at all hours. But it’s not just the horses and riders. What about the livestock?” She pointed to the pipe pens not far away, where bulls and steers were calling out to each other. “You’ll set them off, too.”

“Then we’ll film after the rodeo tomorrow. Surely the animals and competitors will be loaded up and gone by then.”

The enormity of his ignorance astounded her. She had no idea why she’d thought he knew anything about the sport. Because he seemed so in charge of everything, she’d assumed he’d done his research. Apparently, that wasn’t the case.

“This rodeo is three days long. It starts tonight and goes on through Sunday.”

“But you said you perform tomorrow.”

“I do. But there’s also slack. That’s a part of the rodeo fans don’t get to watch. So you have that going on in the early afternoons and then performances in the evening. The livestock will be here though Sunday, maybe even Monday, depending on the stock contractors.”

She saw Harrison’s eyes narrow. He glanced around, his chiseled jaw more pronounced from the side. He was handsome, if you were into city slickers. She wasn’t.

“I wasn’t aware of that,” he said.

“So I presume.” Terrific. Just what she needed. Not only would she be distracted by his film crew, but she’d have to educate Mr. Harrison, too.

“There’ll be people around here for hours. And if you turn on your snow machine, you’ll have a riot on your hands.”

“But we were told it was okay to film here.”

“Rodeo performers—or rodeo personnel—won’t care if you were given approval by the pope himself. And they’ll care even less when you start using fake-snow machines.”

“You’re probably right.”

Her shoulders stiffened when she saw Walt Provo, the rodeo’s manager, walking toward them, the series logo on his white shirt.

“Caroline,” he said, tipping his black hat.

“Walt.”

“You in charge here?” he asked her companion.

“Ty Harrison,” her sponsor said.

Ty? She wouldn’t have expected him to shorten his name, not with the way he looked and dressed. Like a Wall Street playboy. All he was missing was a pair of dark sunglasses.

“Mr. Harrison?” Walt said. “You one of the Harrison family?”

“I am.”

Walt didn’t seem very impressed, just nodded and said, “I’m Walt Provo. PRCA.”

Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association. Walt had worked for the organization as long as Caro could remember. The man was so wizened and stooped he resembled a candy cane stuck in a sugar cube standing there on top of the fake snow.

“Biodegradable rice flakes,” Ty said, following her gaze.

“Really?” she asked, surprised. It looked like fresh powder.

“Speaking of snow, we’ve had a few complaints,” Walt said.

“Caroline was just telling me that,” Ty said.

“Well, good. Then you know what the problem is.” Walt lifted his hands. “Before you say it, we know you were given permission by the facilities manager to film—” Walt’s radio squawked. He glanced down at the device on his belt and lowered the volume. “As I was saying. I know you were given permission to film here, but that’s typical. It’s the same story at every indoor sports venue. The city slickers who run the place don’t know squat, and tell people to do things willy-nilly, without giving a thought to the animals. We have to intervene from time to time—like now.”

“He has a snow machine,” Caro said. “He wants to blow his rice flakes around.”

“You have a what?” Walt asked, gray brows arching almost to the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Not over the whole set. Just right here, where Ms. Sheppard will be leading her horse for part of the commercial.” Ty pointed out a strip of pavement left pretty much uncovered, with bare asphalt peeking through. “The flakes come out of a hose, which we were attaching to the scaffolding up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. “It’ll look like it’s snowing when it’s on.”

Walt shook his head. “Not a good idea. Some of our animals might be used to television cameras, but I’ll wager none of them have seen rice flakes blown by a machine.”

“I see your point,” Ty said. Caro thought his eyes really were a pretty green. And intense. When he looked at her, she felt like he was seeing her through a telescope.

“Can you relocate farther away?” Walt asked.

“Negative,” he said, sounding every inch the executive. Definitely not her type.

“It took us half the morning to set up,” he said. “To move it would delay things beyond an acceptable parameter.” His gaze slid her way. “And we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to close the practice pen,” Walt said.

“But what about the people who still need to practice?” Caro asked. Like me.

“No worries,” he said. “Tonight’s slack doesn’t start for a few hours yet. We’ll move everyone inside for practice. You’ll have an hour until slack starts, to finish setting up. But once we let people back into the arena, you’ll need to stop moving things around.”

Caroline relaxed, at least until he opened his mouth again.

“Can you film your commercial now? It’d make it easier on everybody if we could get this over with today. Everything could get back to normal before the bulk of the competitors arrive.”

“Today?” Ty asked in obvious surprise, his expression no doubt mimicking her own. “That’s not doable. Not only are none of the camera crew on hand, the director isn’t due to arrive until later tonight.”

“I see.” Walt shook his head and sighed. “All right then, Mr. Harrison. We’ll do what we can to accommodate you.”

“Appreciate that, Mr. Provo.”

“Just out of curiosity, when were you planning on filming?” Walt asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Ty said, at the same time as Caro.

“Early,” she added.

“Then I’ll be sure to alert management. I’ll have someone close the practice pen in a moment or two, and then early in the morning as well.”

“Sounds good,” Ty said.

“‘Preciate your cooperation, Mr. Harrison.” He tipped his hat, talking into his radio the moment he turned away.

“Wait,” Ty said. “If by some miracle I do manage to get everyone lined up, how do I get hold of you?”

Walt clipped his radio back at his waist. “Caro knows how to reach me. Just let me know.”

“There’s no way we can film today,” Caro said after Walt had gone. “I have horses to unload and ride.”

“I realize that,” Ty said. “But it sounds like Walt would be happier if we did it today. And to be honest, Ms. Sheppard, my director had doubts that we’d be able to finish up in one day, anyway. If that happens, and we film on Saturday, we might be forced to do a second shoot at another rodeo, and I doubt you’d want that.”

“No, but—”

“Let’s try to get this done today.”

“But I—”

“I’ll let you know.”

He turned away, striding over to the guy in the ball cap who, she suddenly realized, had been waiting there the whole time.

Damn it. She hated bossy, autocratic men.

It’s only a couple of hours, Caro. It’s not the end of the world.

But she had a feeling she’d be dealing with this bossy, autocratic man for way longer than a day.

Chapter Three

She didn’t look happy.

Ty told himself he shouldn’t care. Ultimately, Caroline Sheppard was responsible for their current predicament. If they were on a tight schedule it was her fault. And if they were forced to do the shoot today, she would just have to deal with it.

But he did care.

He hated playing the heavy. Especially with Caroline. And that perplexed him.

He glanced her way again. Guy—the key grip—was waiting for instructions about the snow machine. “We’ll have to wait to test it,” he said, his eyes following her progress back toward the barn, her loose, beautiful hair, which swayed back and forth with every step. “They want to clear the arena.”

“Roger,” Guy said. “We’ll keep working on the lighting.”

“No, don’t,” Ty told him, his eyes still on Caro. “Wait until they clear the arena.”

“Will do.”

Caroline rounded the end of the barn, out of sight. Remarkable woman, Ty found himself thinking. Gorgeous. A champion barrel racer. College valedictorian.

If they’d met under different circumstances, he might have considered pursuing her.

He reached for his cell phone. “Get me Bill Clement,” he ordered his executive assistant, Annie.

“Certainly, Mr. Harrison,” she said from their office in Cheyenne. Ten seconds later his cell phone rang.

“Mr. Clement,” he told his director, “we have a problem.”

It turned out Bill was already in town. Even better, he didn’t seem to mind changing his schedule to accommodate Harrison’s Boots—not surprising, given the amount of money they’d paid the man. The camera crew was a bit trickier, but money always helped to motivate people, and it worked in this instance, too. Like the director, they’d chosen to fly in the day before the shoot, which, given their tight parameters wasn’t all that surprising. Once their flight landed, Annie got ahold of them and set everything up.

They were in business.

Ty tried to alert Ms. Sheppard via her cell phone. No answer. He wondered if she’d decided to ignore him—again. If so, she’d have a rude awakening. Left with no other choice, he went in search of her, walking up and down the rows of stalls. No luck. Next he tried the indoor arena, but she wasn’t there, either. When he finally located her, standing alongside her horse trailer, his blood pressure had hit an all-time high.

“Why aren’t you answering your cell?” he snapped, startling her, by the looks of it. She held a rope attached to her horse’s halter. A man squatted near the back end of the animal, one of its rear legs in his lap.

“My cell phone?” she asked, pulling the thing from her pocket. “It hasn’t even rung.”

“Maybe it would if you turned it on,” Ty said curtly.

“It is on,” she retorted. Ty recognized the combative look in her gray eyes.

He could see she was right. The phone might be closed, but the digital display showed it was powered up.

He took the phone from her. “Well then, why—”

“Hey!” She tried to snatch it back.

“No bars,” he said, after flipping the thing open.

“Oops.”

“Is there a problem?” The man working on her horse straightened. Worn chaps covered the front of his legs, and he held a rasp in one hand.

“No,” Caroline said quickly. “Mr. Harrison here was just being his typical, high-handed self.”

“Excuse me,” Ty said, shocked that she would talk to him that way.

“It’s true,” she said, raising her chin. “But since you’re here, I can only assume we’re a go for the commercial.”

“We are,” he said, scanning her up and down—the T-shirt tucked into her jeans, the sparkling belt accentuating her narrow waist. Yes, under other circumstances he would have enjoyed bringing her to heel. “And since it took me nearly half an hour to find you, you now have less than an hour.”

“I don’t need an hour. I don’t even need five minutes. I can wash up inside my trailer,” she said, pointing at the rig, which, Ty noticed, was some sort of RV-horse trailer combination, complete with motor-home-type tinted windows near the front.

“I’ve arranged for a local makeup artist to assist you.”

“I’d rather do my own.”

He felt his blood begin to pound again. “Caroline, I know you’re less than thrilled about our change of schedule, but it’ll make it easier on everyone—myself included—if you’d just go with the flow.”

He could tell she wanted to protest, but something held her back. Probably his subtle reminder that he was her sponsor.

“Dale, can we finish up later?” she asked.

“Sure. I was just filing the hoof around the new shoe. I can do that on my own.”

Caroline sighed. “All right. Gimme a sec.”

But she didn’t seem in a big hurry to tie her horse to the side of the trailer. And she took more than five minutes to wash her face—or whatever it was she did inside her trailer.

Brush her hair, he realized when she returned. Her most stunning attribute, he noted objectively, it looked like a collection of silk threads, each a different color, the whole mass so thick he’d have thought it fake if he didn’t know better.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Lead the way.”

He turned, but not before noticing that she wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her hands shook.

“Caroline,” he said, stopping abruptly. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“Aren’t you?”

She took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders and said, “All right. I’ll admit it. I’m terrified.”

“There’s no need to be. The thing about filming a commercial is that we can do it again, if we need to.”

“Yeah, but everyone has their limits. Your director won’t be happy if I keep messing up, and neither, I suspect, will you.”

“I won’t mind.”

“You’ll mind if we end up having to reshoot the whole commercial. I imagine this is costing you a pretty penny.”

No more so than she’d cost him. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

He saw her swallow. “It’s not just flubbing it that I’m worried about.”

“It’s not?”

She tugged her T-shirt down. “This is big. Once the commercial starts airing, my life will change. I know. I’ve seen it before. One of the bull riders got a big sponsorship deal. He started filming commercials, too, for some rental car agency. Suddenly he was being stopped for autographs, girls were calling out his name, people were writing him letters. He had to hire an assistant to deal with it all. I don’t have time to hire an assistant.”

“Harrison’s Boots can handle the fallout, Caroline. You just concentrate on winning the NFR.”

“Caro,” she said. “Only my mom calls me Caroline.”

He nodded. “And besides, I have a feeling you’ll take to stardom well.”

Stardom. When he said the word he saw her wince. “All I want to do is ride my horses, not sign autographs or do public appearances.” She brushed a hand through her hair, the long strands catching in her fingers. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“You want to pull out?”

She looked him square in the eye. “What would you do if I said yes?”

He’d like to tell her hell no, they had way too much money invested in her to allow that. Then he’d tell her to call an attorney.

But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t an insensitive ass, as much as she might think otherwise. It was apparent by the way she braced herself that that’s exactly what she thought he’d tell her.

“If you’re truly uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to do it.” Ty placed his hand on her shoulder and immediately felt her stiffen. Her cheeks filled with color. Her eyes ducked away from his.

“Thank you,” she said to the ground.

He pulled his hand away. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.

A horse neighed in the distance. Ty could hear voices on the other side of one of the trailers.

“Let’s go,” she said, still not looking him in the eye.

Yes, they probably should go. Another moment and he might…What? Just what did he think he’d do?

Nothing, he reassured himself.

Chapter Four

Contrary to her belief that she’d muff it, Caroline could tell from the moment she said her first line that she’d been worried about nothing. Talking to the camera seemed as natural to her as riding a horse, maybe more so. She was able to smile, walk and talk, all at the same time, and without stumbling or bumping into the power cords and coaxial cables that hooked everything together.

And the whole time, Ty watched her, just as he had that first day, and she had no idea why that bothered her so much.

Afterward, Caro had a pounding headache. But she had to admit the commercial looked great. So authentic it seemed surreal—as if she really had walked her horse along a snowy lane.

“Caroline, that was fabulous,” Bill, the director said, coming out from behind the camera after they’d filmed her saying her line “Harrison’s Boots…the footwear of champions,” from the back of Thumper. “If you ever want to change vocations and become an actress, I know an agent who’d be thrilled to have you.”

“No thanks,” she replied. That was the last thing she needed—a second career. She already had her hands full riding the rodeo circuit.

“Now that we’re done with the vocals, I’d like to get some shots of you riding,” Bill said.

Caro nodded, feeling Ty’s eyes on her yet again as she led her horse toward the arena. He sat on the perimeter of the set in a dark green director’s chair, sunglasses on and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. The black belt around his dark gray slacks accentuated his toned stomach.

Good-looking. Go ahead. Admit it again, she told herself. But remember what happened the last time your head was turned by a handsome man. David. She only had to think his name to have all the same emotions come flooding back. Regret. Sadness. Humiliation. Never again.

“Come on, Thumper,” she said, happy to go for a ride. Grasping the leather reins, so worn and supple they felt like satin ribbons, she swung up into the saddle.

They’d attracted a crowd, she noticed once she mounted. People sat in chairs around the nearby stalls, watching the proceedings.

“Go, Caro,” someone yelled, probably Mike. She could see his wide shoulders and big grin from a mile away.

“Just get on and ride around,” Bill called through a bullhorn.

The scaffolding outside the arena didn’t thrill Thumper at first, but Caro soothed him, looking up and catching Ty’s gaze again. Damn it. Why did she keep doing that? She was like a stickpin near a magnet.

She kicked her horse forward. Someone yelled, “Yee-haw!” Probably Mike again. She felt self-conscious and silly. With a thick coat of makeup on her face and a fancy silver saddle on her horse—she had no idea where they’d gotten that from—she didn’t feel like a barrel racer, but a freak.

“Okay, we’ve got a good camera angle here,” Bill said, perched with his cameraman on one of the towers they’d erected. The long lens followed her faithfully. “If you could run now, that’d be great. Pretend you’re headed toward one of those things you run around.”

Barrel. It was called a barrel. But she did as asked, pressing her calves against Thumper. Her horse responded by lowering his neck and stretching out. Faster and faster they flew, the wind catching her hair and whipping it back, and soon she forgot everything. There was no camera, no audience, no Ty…just her and her horse and the rush of air against her face.

“Cut,” Bill called, bringing Caro back to reality. Her headache also came crashing back.

A few people applauded. Caro pulled Thumper up, her temples pounding with every beat of her heart. It was all she could do to slip off without throwing up.

“Nice,” Ty said, appearing suddenly by her side.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I think we can call it a day.”

“Good,” she breathed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead.

He stepped in front of her, forcing her gaze up. “You okay?” he asked softly.

And there it was again, that look in his eyes, the same one she’d noticed out by the trailers. Concern mixed with compassion.

“Fine,” she said, walking Thumper forward. “Did we get everything done? Or will we have to shoot some more tomorrow?”

“I think we got it all,” he said, walking beside her. Thumper’s sides were expanding and contracting, after his impromptu workout. She’d have to cool him off.

“When will we know?” she asked, glancing over at the snow-covered ground. Rice flakes. Who’d have thought?

“Bill will review what we’ve got tonight. If it’s okay, he’ll let me know.”

She nodded, her head throbbing even more. She winced.

“You’re not all right, are you?”

“Just hungry,” she said.

“You have any lunch?”

“No time.”

He didn’t look pleased. She was about to tell him to let it go, that she missed meals all the time. Part of life on the road. Fast food made you fat, and there was little or no time to cook. But Ty cut her off before she could open her mouth.

“Bill, we’re going to Ms. Sheppard’s trailer,” he called.

“What’s the matter?” The director peered into a monitor, reviewing the tape he’d just recorded.

“Caro needs an aspirin.”

“I don’t need medication,” she said, stepping aside. “I need to cool off my horse.”

“Don’t give me that,” he said. “I can tell you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine.”

“You need to sit down,” Ty said when she tried to get away.

“You’re the one giving me a headache.”

And a truer statement had never been uttered.

He frowned. “My mother had migraines, and I can tell yours is bad.”

“It’s not a migraine,” Caro said. Thumper stopped abruptly, pulling her arm back and further jarring her head. She gasped.

“Migraine,” Ty repeated.

“It’s just stress. My head feels this way after I compete, too. Once an event is over, my temples start to throb.”

“You’re going back to your trailer.”

“Ty—”

“No arguing, Caroline,” he said, taking her by the arm again. “You need to sit down.”

“Fine. But after I take something, I’m cooling down my horse.”

“I’ll do that for you.”

“You don’t know anything about horses.”

“Actually, I do. I grew up on a ranch.”

Caro was shocked, her eyes scanning his in an effort to discover if he was telling her the truth. For the first time she noticed how tanned he was. And that he appeared in excellent condition, his biceps straining against his dress shirt. She glanced at his hands.

They were a worker’s hands, long and strong, with fine hairs bleached by the sun, and calluses mixed with tiny scars.

“You grew up on a ranch?”

“The Rocking H,” he said. “We raise Herefords. Or my dad does. I haven’t had much time to do anything since taking over the reins of Harrison’s Boots, but I still get back there from time to time.”

She felt her jaw begin to drop. She snapped it closed before she looked like a complete idiot. How had she not known this? Why hadn’t anybody told her?

Why would someone tell her?

Harrison’s Boots was a household name, just as a certain type of bread was well known, or a particular brand of TV. But she knew nothing about the long-time owners of the company. And their commercials offered no clues. Until now they’d featured big, burly men holding jackhammers or climbing skyscrapers, not riding horses. But now that she stepped back and looked at him—really looked—she recognized the signs of someone who spent a great deal of time out-of-doors.

The CEO was a cowboy.

“Come on,” he said, obviously misinterpreting her silence for acquiescence. “Let’s go.”

Actually, now she really did need to sit down.

They made it to her trailer, Caro silent the whole time. “Go on inside,” he said, taking Thumper’s reins. “Sit down. As soon as I’ve unsaddled your horse, I’ll be back.”

“No,” she said, having regained some of her composure. “Thumper needs to be walked. And you don’t know where his stall is. It’d be better if I did it myself.”

“Then tell me where to get the aspirin.”

“It’s in the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom,” she said, wincing as she reached to loosen the girth.

Bong. Bong. Bong.

Her head felt like a Chinese gong whenever she bent down.

“Here,” he said a moment later, bounding down the aluminum steps of her trailer. He held out two white tables and a bottle of water.