Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys (3 page)

Judy frowned, her jewel-bright eyes telegraphing her annoyance at Trace's buddies. “It's top secret, and I can't trust either of you with my plan, so just never you mind about what Ava is up to.”

Ava straightened. “Me? Don't blame this—”

“If Ava wanted to tell you what she's up to, she would. Otherwise, it's rude to ask.” Judy patted Sheriff Durant on the leg. “Take a page out of her book and remain silent, that's my recommendation to you boys.”

“Well, now,” Steel said, “I'd say you should probably let us in on the fun, Judy. The more the merrier in a plot, wouldn't you say? Whatever it is, we can help Ava with her situation.”

Ava glanced at Harper and Cameron for assistance. Her new teammates shook their heads, staring at her with wide eyes. “I'm fine. Really.”

Declan shrugged big, beefy shoulders. “You see what's happened,” he said to Saint. “Judy's hired these girls to do a number on one of us. Perhaps all three of us.”

“I resent that, as a matter of course.” Judy glanced at Ava. “Did I put you up to do a job on these gentlemen, Ava?”

Ava shrugged. “Maybe a small one.”

“Aha!” Steel smiled. “You have to tell us now, Judy.”

“It's not hard to understand,” Judy said, “even for you hunks. I already told you: I'm trying to bring more women to this town.”

“By training bullfighters?” Declan shook his head. “Couldn't you open a kissing
booth like a normal woman? Saint and I would bring the gals running to Hell for a smooch.”

Judy rose. Ava, Cameron, and Harper followed. “Early to bed, early to rise, helps us whip you boys with the secret plan.”

“I'm actually scared,” Saint said. “And maybe a little horny, considering the bait, but mostly scared.”

Steel laughed. “You probably should be. But my gut tells me you're safe. The target is Trace, for the moment.” He kissed Judy, a loving, deep kiss that kept the cotton-candy-haired mayor from sweeping out of Redfeathers. “Am I right, love?”

“Maybe,” Judy said, “but I'll never tell. Even if Ava would.” She sent Ava a disgusted glance that made Ava smile.

“Don't pick on Trace,” Declan said. “My buddy's putty in the hands of a clever woman.”

“I'm not trying to do anything to him,” Ava said. Although there was plenty she might like to do to him, now that she knew he was such a dynamite kisser.

The problem was, he also used that mouth to talk—and when he did, it was clear he should stick to kissing.

Bad, bad cowboy
.

“That's a shame,” Saint said cheerfully. “He needs someone to do something to him. Something that involves—”

“Never mind,” Judy snapped. “We're leaving now.”

“Don't go in a huff,” Declan said. “We'd be willing to help you rope the cantankerous fellow if that's the plan. If it's not, I say the seven of us get to know each other better by going back to Steel's place and using a plastic Twister game sheet and some raspberry body oil to facilitate conversation.”

“Disgusting,” Judy said, and Ava nodded. She wanted no part of knowing any of them that well.

“I'll see you later, Judy,” she said. “Goodnight, everyone.” Ava left, heading into the chilly drizzle, startled when Trace's truck pulled up beside her again.

“I wondered how long you could bear to be around my buddies,” Trace said.

“No you didn't.” Ava kept walking toward the bungalow where Judy had
arranged for them to stay. It was clean and cozy, and suited the three riders fine.

“Okay,” Trace said. “I came back to buy a bottle of something wet from Stephen. Let me give you a ride.”

“No, thanks. I've already learned what's hiding in your truck.”

Trace idled alongside her as she walked, his window down. “Come on. You know you want to tell me what Judy's got up her fringed sleeve.”

Ava shook her head. “Ask her. I'm just here to learn to bullfight.”

“I've been pondering that.” Trace pulled up ahead of her, parked and got out, came back to walk with her. “There's no need for you to train with the Horsemen.”

Ava wondered why everyone in this town wanted in on Mayor Judy's drama. “Judy hasn't called the Horsemen, whoever they are. She told you that because she said it would make steam come out of your ears, and you were always most pliable when steaming like an old-fashioned kettle.”

“And she's usually right.” Trace laughed. “So why are you being honest?”

“I prefer it.”

She reached the Honeysuckle bungalow, pulled her key from her jeans. “Thanks for walking me home, although I didn't really need you to.”

“You're staying here?” Trace looked at her, surprised, and Ava sighed.

“You're going to tell me that there's some deep dark secret about this innocent-looking cottage. That Judy has plotted something devious by putting us here.”

“No,” Trace said. “It's just that I own it, and I have no record of anyone renting it from me.”

“That sounds like a topic for you and Miss Judy. I'm going to bed.”

She went inside, closed the door without looking back at Trace. Possibly she was being rude. Okay, she was being rude. But she had a mission here, and she was sticking to it. Just training, doing her job, getting paid for it, so she could send money back home. That was it.

Nothing more.

No hot cowboys.

She opened the door, not surprised to see Trace still standing outside. “What do you want?”

He looked at her for a long moment, tall and dark and mysterious—yet not approachable. “You, in the short run.”

She didn't say anything.

“In lieu of that, I'd like the truth.”

“I've said all I'm going to. The rest you'll have to get from your small-town sources.” Ava didn't close the door, though. She waited to see what Trace really had on his mind.

Trace considered the slight woman standing with determination in his rental house. “Where did you say you were from?”

“Richmond, Virginia.”

“You bring a horse with you?”

“A beautiful, opinionated thoroughbred named Mack that barrel-races and wants to get back to doing what he does best.”

Trace sighed. “I'm going now.”

She nodded. “Fine.”

“The thing is, I can't help you. Declan and Saint can't, either. We're not set up for females.”

“I didn't ask you to give up your principles.”

“It's not really a principle,” Trace said. “It's more of a belief system.”

“Whatever you tell yourself when you refuse paying customers,” Ava said. “We'll find somewhere else to train.”

“That's what worries me,” Trace said. “Common sense tells me this is going to become my problem.”

“It's not,” Ava said. “Clear off my porch, please, before my housemates come back and leap to conclusions.”

He glanced around the house he owned, realized Judy had gone to a lot of trouble to set this deal up. There was more here than these girls had shared. He knew Judy too well not to be impressed with whatever she was up to. “I don't suppose you can tell me why this project is so important.”

Ava shrugged. “I didn't sign a confidentiality agreement. Judy wants to train us to bullfight because we'll be one-of-a-kind, a novelty act. ‘Special,' she said, as befits her
idea of what Hell should be. We're trying to get ready for a charity rodeo.”

“Charity rodeo?”

“Yeah. It's her first strike at getting the word out about us.” Ava began to close the door, obviously serious about getting to bed for early training. “We'll do a series of small rodeos as goodwill. This time next year, she's hoping we'll be ready for the big deal.”

He put his boot in the door. “Which is what?”

She looked at him strangely. “You know. The Hell rodeo.”

There was no Hell rodeo. Such a thing would have been talked about by the city elders—Judy and Steel, among others—and the planning would be massive. This was a small town; there wouldn't be enough hands on deck to pull off a rodeo here. He shook his head. “I think you've been told a story, doll. There will never be a rodeo in Hell.”

She edged the door a little, obviously shutting him out. “Never's a long time, cowboy. Goodnight.”

He tipped his hat to Ava, walked off into the night. The door closed behind him, and Trace congratulated himself for not trying to kiss her again.

It would be so easy to fall into Mayor Judy's well-baited trap
.

* * *

“Maybe we ought to rethink this,” Declan said.

Trace tensed. His buddies lounged around the training center's office the next day, occupying a leather sofa and an old leather chair that had been his father's. It was a hot afternoon, and Trace figured if his business partners wanted to discuss his rejection of Mayor Judy's team, it was likely going to get a bit hotter.

Saint raised a beer to Trace. “That much beauty should not be sent to the Horsemen without great forethought. Could you have that on your conscience?”

Trace's conscience was screwed either way. “It's not a financially expedient plan. It's not even a good plan, and Judy knows this.” The problem nagged at him. Judy knew the position she was putting them in, but she was doing it with an angelic smile.

Trace leaned against the wide mahogany desk, aware his buddies thought he was
being a hard-ass. “Let Judy and her girls go to the Horsemen. They'll quit fast enough once those weasels try to get in their jeans.”

Saint and Declan stared at him like they didn't know him.

“I don't know if I can do that,” Declan said. “As the thinker of the bunch, and a gentleman beyond compare, I don't think I'm comfortable setting those thieves on such unsuspecting, innocent ladies. It'd be like taking candy from babies. Real darling, sweet-cheeked babies.”

Saint nodded. “Agreed. We're thinking about overruling you, bro.”

Trace looked around at his good friends, men who'd had his back in many a bad, bad place. “Overrule me?”

Saint and Declan nodded.

“Look, meatheads,” Trace said, “we can fight about a lot of stuff, but not women. Women aren't worth the aggravation.”

His friends didn't say anything, and Trace realized something of a coup was being staged against him. “You're serious.”

They nodded. Trace shook his head. “After five years of running a profitable, successful business, after all our hard work, after busting our asses together in the military, you want to draw a line over women.”

“I can't think of a better reason to draw a line,” Declan said. “Think of it as a gentleman's curse.”

“Not that we have our eye on any of the girls,” Saint added. “We just can't bear the idea of what the Horsemen might do to them. They for sure won't train them. They'll string them along, thinking they're getting a great deal, and all the time, they'll lie in wait for when their darling little guards come down for some reason.” Saint's face was haunted. “You act tough, Trace, but you know it'd kill you, too.”

It would, but he wasn't going to admit it. Someone had to think with his gray matter around here—his brothers were thinking with other parts of their bodies—and someone had to be the bad guy. “We built this business from nothing. We're not going to become a laughingstock over some pretty faces.” He tried not to think about Ava's face, but she popped into his mind all the time. In fact, he'd dreamed about her last night, and the dream had been so hauntingly sexual he'd awakened soaked in sweat.

Sheriff Durant walked in, his face solemn as he slung himself into the desk chair. Trace noted the drawn expression around Steel's eyes. “Judy got to you, didn't she?”

Steel glanced around the room, clearly debating how much to say. “It's hell, boys,” he finally said. “That woman's got me by the short ones, and as you know, and as I freely admit with some pride, I love being twisted around her delicate little pinkie. But I don't like it when she's unhappy with me, and at the moment, she wants me to defend her honor.” He looked around the room. “I fear that's going to put me awry with you. And I hate being awry, you know I do. But Judy's my girl.”

Trace gazed at Steel with sympathy. “Beautiful women are like sticks of dynamite to a man's peaceful existence.”

“It's not just that she's beautiful,” Steel said, “it's that she's so damn …” He gulped. “Judy's my best friend, even when she's trying my patience, and right now, she's trying my patience real bad.”

His confession elicited some chuckles from the men, Trace included. “Sheriff, we just can't give in, no matter how much Judy's raking you over the coals.”

“I wish she'd just rake me over some coals,” Steel said. “It'd be warmer than my empty bed.”

They all groaned for Steel's sake, and the sheriff looked gratified by the shared commiseration. Trace sighed. “Steel, the problem is that you know Judy's not playing with a fair deck. She's playing you with a set of trick cards, and us with another set of cards, and what we have to do is figure out what she's really up to.”

“I don't care if she's trying to marry every single one of you off to those babes of hers,” Steel said, his tone desperate and a bit mercenary. “I'd gladly throw each and every one of you to the wolves to have my woman smile at me again.”

“Wait a minute,” Trace said, “no one said anything about marrying anybody. Where'd you come up with that, Steel? Did Judy say something about matchmaking?”

Steel shook his head, his face woeful. For a big, good-looking tough guy that everyone respected, Trace thought the man turned to marshmallow at the mere thought of Judy deserting his bed. It was a shame to watch the tough-guy sheriff practically grovel at a woman's feet.