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A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy
Blake was way out of her league.
But boy howdy, that man was a looker, Cindy thought as he sauntered toward the porch.
He’d inherited the absolute best his German and Comanche bloodlines had to offer. And eight years on his own, riding the rodeo circuit, had made him more handsome than ever.
He carried himself with that lean, cowboy swagger, looking like a buckle bunny’s dream come true. And Cindy’s, too, if her pillow could talk.
Blake looked at Cindy with a heart-stopping grin. “Hey, aren’t you going to give me a welcome-home hug?”
She fought the urge to give him a great big hug—like she’d always done when she was younger. Because now she wanted him to see her as a woman.
A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy by Judy Duarte
Flirting with Fireworks by Teresa Carpenter
The Sheriff Wins a Wife by Jill Limber
Her Gypsy Prince by Crystal Green
Dear Reader,
It’s two days before Christmas, and while the streets of New York City are teeming with all the sights and sounds of the holiday, here at Silhouette Romance we’re putting the finishing touches on our July schedule. In case you’re not familiar with publishing, we need that much lead time to produce the romances you enjoy.
And, of course, I can’t help boasting already about the great lineup we’ve planned for you. Popular author Susan Meier heads the month with Baby Before Business (SR #1774), in which an all-work Scrooge gets his priorities in order when he discovers love with his PR executive-turned-nanny. The romance kicks off the author’s new baby-themed trilogy, BRYANT BABY BONANZA. Carol Grace continues FAIRY-TALE BRIDES with Cinderellie! (SR #1775), in which a millionaire goes in search of the beautiful caterer who’s left her slipper behind in his mansion. A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy (SR #1776) introduces Silhouette Special Edition author Judy Duarte to the line. Part of the new BLOSSOM COUNTY FAIR miniseries, this romance involves a tomboy’s transformation to win the cowboy of her dreams. Finally, Holly Jacobs continues her PERRY SQUARE miniseries with Once Upon a Prince (SR #1777), featuring the town’s beloved redheaded rebel and a royal determined to woo and win her!
Happy reading!
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor
A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy
Judy Duarte
Blossom County Fair
Books by Judy Duarte
Silhouette Romance
A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy #1776
Silhouette Special Edition
Cowboy Courage #1458
Family Practice #1511
Almost Perfect #1540
Big Sky Baby #1563
The Virgin’s Makeover #1593
Bluegrass Baby #1598
The Rich Man’s Son #1634
*Hailey’s Hero #1659
*Their Secret Son #1667
Their Unexpected Family #1676
*Worth Fighting For #1684
*The Matchmakers’ Daddy #1689
Silhouette Books
Double Destiny
“Second Chance”
JUDY DUARTE
An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte always wanted to write books of her own. One day she decided to make that dream come true. Five years later, she sold her first book to Silhouette Special Edition.
Her unpublished stories have won numerous awards, and in 2001, she became a double Golden Heart finalist. Judy credits her success to Romance Writers of America and two wonderful critique partners, Sheri WhiteFeather and Crystal Green, both of whom write for Silhouette.
When she’s not at the keyboard she enjoys traveling, spending romantic evenings with her personal hero and playing board games with her kids.
Judy lives in Southern California and loves to hear from readers. You may write to her at: P. O. Box 498, San Luis Rey, CA 92068-0498. You can also vist her Web site at www.judyduarte.com.
To Chad Duarte, who has been a good sport about his mother’s writing career—most of the time. In spite of what you might occasionally think, Mom doesn’t love her computer more than she loves you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
When Blake Gray Feather agreed to compete in the upcoming rodeo, the Blossom County Fair Board had practically danced in the town square.
After all, Blake’s fame and his local-boy status would bring in the crowd—and the revenue—they desperately needed. And since the rodeo was the kick-off to the fair, they hoped the community enthusiasm and attendance would carry over.
But Cindy Tucker had her own reasons to be excited. The good-looking cowboy with the rebel grin would be staying at the Tumbling T with her and Grandpa for a couple of weeks. And that’s all she needed to put her plan into motion—a plan that had been stewing since the first of the year. Or maybe even beyond that, if truth be told.
Several times throughout the morning, she’d wandered into the living room, peered out the big bay window and searched the long graveled driveway that led to the ranch house.
But Blake had yet to show up.
She really ought to be helping Grandpa fix the south fence, but she’d been so eager to see Blake that she’d puttered around the house all morning, doing the odd jobs she’d been neglecting. But at least she’d finally fixed that leaky valve in the toilet tank and replaced the lightbulb in the hall closet. And now she was removing the cracked P-trap under the kitchen sink.
As she adjusted the wrench, Shep, the cattle dog barked, then got up from where he’d plopped onto the kitchen floor and trotted into the living room.
Had Shep heard Blake’s truck?
Cindy set down the tool and climbed out from under the sink.
Yep. That was definitely an approaching vehicle. She brushed her hands against her denim-clad hips and hurried to the front door, where she spotted a black truck pulling a fancy horse trailer and kicking up dust as it headed toward the house.
Recognizing the driver, she blew out the breath she’d been holding. Gosh, it was good to have Blake home in Blossom. And for more than a quick visit.
Ever since he’d come to live on the ranch as a teenager, he’d become part of the family.
Of course, as a ten-year-old who’d had her grandpa to herself for five whole years, Cindy hadn’t been too happy when fourteen-year-old Blake had first arrived. He’d been a surly adolescent in need of her grandfather’s guidance and a real thorn in her backside. But over the next few months, he’d evolved into a friend. And by the time he was ready to move on, he’d become the occasional romantic lead in the midnight dreams of a goofy preteen.
But that was just between Cindy and her pillow.
Blake, who’d always been a ladies man, was way out of a tomboy’s league—at least, in a romantic sense.
But Cindy had a big favor she intended to ask of him, a favor she’d cooked up right after finding out he was coming home to stay for a while. And she wasn’t beyond begging, either. Unless, of course, he teased her about it. Then she’d be fighting mad.
She swung open the front door, letting Shep dash outside with his tail a-waggin’ like crazy and barking to beat the band. But Cindy stood just inside the house, watching as Blake got out of a black, dual-axle Chevy pickup wearing a white shirt, black Wranglers and an expensive pair of boots.
Boy howdy, that man was a looker. The kind that made a girl or a woman take a second gawk.
And a third.
He’d inherited the absolute best his German and Comanche bloodlines had to offer. And eight years on his own, riding the rodeo circuit, had hardened the boy right out of him and announced him all grown-up and more handsome than ever.
As he shut the driver’s door, he adjusted his black Stetson, allowing the afternoon sunlight to glisten off coal-black strands of hair.
Shep howled, and when Blake glanced at the doorway and spotted Cindy, he slid her a heart-stopping grin. “Hey, Sprout. What’s up?”
“Not much.” She stood rooted in the doorway, fighting the urge to race outside and give him a great big hug—like she’d always done when she was younger. But now that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two and gotten a new attitude about a few things, she wanted him to see her as a woman, and not the awkward little red-haired girl of his youth.
He carried himself with that lean, cowboy swagger and sauntered toward the porch, looking like a buckle bunny’s dream come true. And hers, too, if her pillow could talk.
Blake gave Shep a hearty rubdown, then looked up at Cindy. “Hey, aren’t you going to give me a welcome-home hug?”
“Sure.” She pushed open the screen door, letting it slam behind her, and met him halfway.
As she tiptoed and wrapped him in a warm embrace, she savored the feel of his arms around her, the musky masculine scent of cologne that smelled as brisk and fresh as a mountain stream.
She couldn’t help wondering if Robby Bradshaw’s hug would feel as nice. She hoped and prayed it would, but doubt niggled at her.
Still, she knew better than to let her imagination get away from her. Some crushes, like the ones teenyboppers had on Hollywood movie stars and rock musicians, were just dreams to carry a young girl until someone more suitable came along. Someone who wasn’t out of reach and who would be happy to remain in Blossom and raise a family.
Someone like Robby.
As Blake released her, those whiskey-brown eyes that had always mesmerized her—if she’d let them—glimmered with sincerity. “You’re looking good.”
“Thanks.” But she knew the difference between looking good and being pretty.
Which brought her to the subject she wanted to broach. All she had to do was figure out how to slide it into the conversation as if it belonged there.
As Blake strode toward the fancy horse trailer that looked brand-new, he said, “You have no idea how badly I need a little peace and quiet. I’m really looking forward to my stay here as a much-needed vacation.”
“Good.” She was glad he’d be around for a while. Well, thrilled was more like it. In the past, he’d only come for brief visits. So two weeks seemed like forever to her, and it ought to be plenty of time for what she had in mind.
She watched as he unloaded a chestnut gelding, the kind of mount a skilled cowboy deserved. “That’s a fine-looking horse.”
“Thanks. He’s one of the best cutting horses in all of Texas. His name is Cutter.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip as she tried to rustle up the courage to spring her request on him.
“Blake, I…uh…want to ask you a favor.”
“Sure. What is it?”
That was easy enough. It sounded as if he’d made a commitment to help, and she hadn’t even told him yet.
“Last winter, when Robby Bradshaw was home for Christmas break, I ran into him at Twin Oaks Lake, where he was fishing. And he…uh…” Ah, shoot. Robby hadn’t exactly spit out the words, yet somehow, she’d figured out what was on his mind. And his obvious interest in her had set off a flurry of excitement.
Blake’s movements stilled. He tensed and his brow furrowed. His eyes hardened. “What the hell did that guy do to you?”
“Oh, no,” she said, realizing he might feel the need to defend her honor or something, although it was kind of nice to think that he might, if she needed him to. “It’s just that he sort of…well, he’s in Colorado and will be graduating from CSU soon, and we’re probably going to go out on a date. And stuff.”
“A date and stuff?” Blake arched a brow in a big-brotherly way.
She kicked at the ground with the scuffed toe of her boot. “Well, it’s not like I have a ton of experience with men or with romance. You ought to know that. So I could use a little coaching on how to act around him. And since you’re such an expert on…well, that sort of thing, I figured you’d make a perfect tutor.”
Blake couldn’t help the grin that stole across his face. Little Cindy Lou, with her red hair wrapped into a knot on her head, her flannel shirt rolled to her forearms and a black smudge across her freckled nose, was growing up. And she wanted him to give her some pointers about men.
She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing. I’m just glad to see that you’re finally interested in the opposite sex. That’s all.”
“You, of all people, ought to know how tough it is for me. I can hardly remember my mother, let alone my grandmother.”
“I know that, honey.”
She’d never had too many girlfriends, either.
Blake had never been sure if that was because she was stubborn and difficult to get along with, or if she felt some damn obligation to stick close to her grandpa and the ranch. Before Blake had come to live with them, the old rodeo cowboy and his granddaughter had been close. And more than once, Blake had suspected that Cindy had wanted to be the son Tuck had lost when her daddy died.
It hadn’t taken Blake five minutes on the Tumbling T to realize the red-haired girl was a dedicated tomboy. But then again, maybe that was because she didn’t stand a chance of developing into a lady and knew it.
Benjamin “Tuck” Tucker was a darn good cowboy. And he’d done a fine job straightening out Blake, a troubled teenage boy who’d been shipped off by his own grandfather to live on the Tumbling T. But Tuck didn’t know squat about raising little girls. So it wasn’t any wonder Cindy was a bit backward when it came to womanly things, like cooking and sewing, primping and flirting.
“So what do you say?” she asked.
He countered with a question of his own. “What would you have done if I hadn’t come back home?”
She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one booted foot. “I’d have fumbled and stumbled my way through it, one way or another.”
He didn’t doubt it. Cindy had a lot of gumption.
But Blake wasn’t sure what he could do to help, other than encourage her to buy some dresses. Maybe fix her hair differently. That would be a good start.
Cindy had never been what you’d call pretty. But that was because she didn’t do anything to help her looks. She didn’t use makeup, perfume or body lotions. And as far as he knew, she’d never worn anything other than denim and flannel.
The small-town tomboy was definitely going to have to change her style.
Of course, it wasn’t as though Blake knew how to coach a woman through that sort of thing. But Cindy was a special friend who was like a kid sister to him. And catching Robby’s eye obviously meant a lot to her.
He tossed her a sympathetic grin. “You’re going to need a makeover, Sprout.”
She brightened. “So, you’ll help me?”
“Sure.” He’d give it a try—if he could. And if she’d let him have a free hand.
She smiled at him, with glistening eyes that were the color of new-mowed hay. He hadn’t noticed before, but they were actually pretty. And far more expressive than he’d remembered.
When she blinked, he realized her long, spiky black lashes curled naturally. Hey, that was a plus. She wouldn’t need to use any of that black goop women brushed on them.
He looked at her hair. She always plaited her long curly red mop in a single braid that hung down her back or in that slick granny-type topknot she was wearing now. On some women, the style looked sexy when they let wispy strands hang free and loose.
He began to pull out the pins that held her hair in place. If she was going to wear it up, she needed to fix it differently.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing what this looks like down.”
She touched the side of her hair with a dirty hand. “Now it’s a mess.”
He had to agree, as he used his fingers to comb out the clumps of curls. But as the sun lit upon golden highlights, his hand slowed.
Wow. He hadn’t realized how thick, how rich…how shiny her hair was.
He dropped his hands to his sides. God knows he couldn’t coach her on how to style a new hairdo. “Our first stop will be at the Cut N Curl.”
“Oh, no,” she said, taking a step back. “Not there. Grandpa took me once or twice when I was a kid, and they tugged and pulled on my hair something awful. After that, I refused to go and have been trimming it myself for years.”
No one needed to tell Blake how stubborn Cindy could be when she set her mind to something or dug in her heels.
So he played her game. “If you’re all fired up for a makeover, you’re going to have to do something different with it. And God knows I can’t coach you on how to come up with a new hairstyle.”
She tugged at one of the wavy strands, pulling it taut. “You think someone there can actually get this bush to obey a comb and brush?”
“Sure.” He offered her a smile. “We can talk about it more in the house. Just let me put Cutter into the corral so he can stretch out his legs.”
“Mind if I help?” she asked.
“Not at all. It’ll be nice to have your company. I’ve missed you, Sprout.”
And he had.
She’d been a pest when he’d first come to live here. But a sweet pest who’d actually grown on him. And now, eight years after he’d moved away from the ranch, it was his job to help her attract the attention of Robby Bradshaw, a guy who’d better treat her right, or he’d have a fight on his hands.
Blake wouldn’t stand by and let anyone hurt the young woman he cared about.
As he led Cutter to the corral, he watched as Cindy strode ahead to unlatch the gate. He couldn’t help noticing the natural sway to her gait, the nice curve of her hips.
Years ago, she’d been all knees and elbows.
But she’d sure grown into those jeans.
Dinner at the Tumbling T Ranch was the usual, no-fuss, no-muss fare. Ever since the old cowboy’s wife had passed on and kitchen duty had fallen on Tuck, he fixed easy meals that required very little time at the stove.
Tuck couldn’t cook a lick, but he was a whiz with a can opener, lunch meat and two slabs of bread.
“Can I get you some more beans?” Tuck asked.
“Nope. One helping is plenty for me.” As a teenager, Blake had gotten pretty sick of canned food, especially pork and beans, which had to be Tuck’s all-time favorite filler.
“How about you, Cindy Lou?” The gray-haired man lifted the pan from the stove, as though willing to carry it to the kitchen table and serve her.
“No, thanks, Grandpa. That bologna sandwich filled me up.”
After spooning a hefty third helping into his bowl, Tuck returned to the scarred oak table and took his seat. “It sure is good to have you home, boy.”
Blake grinned, his chest swelling just from sitting at the familiar kitchen table and knowing he was welcome anytime. “It’s nice being back.”
As a teenager, he’d been sent to live on the Tumbling T because his grandfather, who’d been Tuck’s old army buddy, had hoped the tough-as-leather cowboy could give Blake some direction. And after butting heads with Blake more than a time or two, Tuck had done just that.
“So what’s the latest town gossip?” Blake asked, knowing there was always something going on in nearby Blossom.
“Just the ruckus that’s brewing between the fair board and the Committee for Moral Behavior.”
“The Committee for Moral Behavior?” he asked. “What’s that?”
“A group of fussbudgets who don’t think people should have any fun,” Tuck said, digging into his bowl of beans. When he looked up, spoon held high and overflowing, he added, “But no one is going to tell me when and where I can drink. Or what I can spend my money on.”
“What have they got against the fair board?” Blake asked.
Tuck had his mouth full, so Cindy explained. “Two years ago, at the county fair, a gypsy fortune-teller told some of the townspeople they would strike it rich. Then, when a slick-talking shyster came to town, selling stock in a real-estate venture, a lot of folks blindly jumped in and lost more than their shirts in the phony land deal. So blaming the carnies as a bad element, the fair board decided not to allow the carnival people to set up their rides and games along the midway last year. Needless to say, attendance was way down.”
“And the fair was a complete bust,” Tuck added.
Blake imagined it would be. People from all the neighboring dry counties had flocked to the fair in the past, and not just because Blossom County was wet and the beer garden had been a big draw. The kids had a ton of fun at the carnival and along the midway. And they’d dragged their parents to the fair time and again.
“The county coffers are still suffering,” Cindy added.
“Aw heck,” Tuck said with a frown. “The fuss has gotten so big and out of hand that a body can’t step foot into Blossom without listening to the squabble. Everyone has been taking sides, and I swear a brawl is going to break out one of these days.”
Blake thought people ought to be held accountable for their own foolish business ventures. “What kind of nut would listen to the advice of a fortune-teller they met at a carnival?”
“Some folks don’t have the sense of a turkey gobbler,” Tuck said, as he scooted his chair away from the table, rubbed his belly and stood. “Well, I’m going to walk off my dinner, while I have a chat with Mary Ellen.”
Blake and Cindy watched the old man head for the service porch, take his hat from the peg by the door and go outside, Shep trotting along after him.
Cindy tore at the edge of the paper towel she’d used as a napkin and studied the closed back door. “It always makes me feel kind of sad when he does that. He sure must have loved my grandma something fierce.”
Blake nodded. The old man probably did miss his wife. But as a teenager, Blake had followed Tuck enough times to believe his real reason for the after-dinner walk was because the canned beans he consumed at all three meals played havoc with his digestive system.
But other than a crooked grin, Blake kept his thoughts to himself.
“Hey.” Cindy elbowed him. “Let’s put the dishes in the sink and let them soak while we have a bowl of rocky road ice cream.”
“Sure.” Blake never could turn down dessert, especially anything chocolate.
A few minutes later, they carried their bowls and spoons out to the back porch, where they took a seat and enjoyed the night sounds of crickets chirping and bullfrogs croaking down by the creek. Cutter nickered in the corral.
“It’s pretty tonight,” Cindy said as she studied the new moon that rested in a star-studded sky.
“It sure is. I’ve missed the Tumbling T. It’s great to be home.”
That was nice to know. Cindy liked the fact that Blake still considered the ranch his home, because the truth was, even if she couldn’t have him in a romantic sense, she appreciated his friendship. And right now, she looked forward to his expertise and getting his sage advice.
Shoot, who else could coach her about romance? After all, he’d had more experience than men twice his age. At least, that’s what she’d always suspected.
He’d had his pick of any of the girls at Sam Houston High. And from what she’d overheard, there’d been quite a few young ladies who’d been blessed with his kisses, if not a whole lot more.
Cindy had always felt a stab of envy when she thought about the girls he’d dated back then. But that was because she hadn’t had to do anything more than look in the mirror or check inside her bra to see that she couldn’t compete—at least not that way—with any of them. And even though she filled her bra a little better these days, she still couldn’t compete with the cutesy women, many of whom still wore their blouses too small and their pants too tight.
