Damned bad!

Jeez! Did no one pay county taxes out here? A little asphalt would be nice right about now.

How much farther was it? Her teeth had been rattled for at least twenty miles. The old man at the gas station had said “a fair piece.” Whatever the hell that meant.

And it was so isolated. She hadn’t seen a barn or house for miles. It was more than a little creepy. Surely it wasn’t that far now. She was hungry, hot, and tired-in that order. All she’d had to eat today was Texas dust, and a lot of it.

Her hands choked the steering wheel. This story had better be worth it. Hell, Cal Braxton had better be worth it. But then, if he looked anything like his picture, he would be.

A smile curved her lips. She’d get her story and her man. She never lost. The word wasn’t even in her dictionary, not that she planned on losing.

She hit another pothole.

Dammit! They came out of nowhere. As soon as she got home, she’d need to take her car in for realignment. And she’d send Marge the bill.

She topped a rise and slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailed, spewing a thick cloud of dust behind her. Her heart felt as if it had taken residence in her throat. She skidded to a stop, barely missing the cow that languidly stood in the middle of the road looking unconcerned that it had almost been splattered across her windshield.

Nikki’s heart pounded inside her chest and her hands shook. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, the black and white cow looked at her with total unconcern. This was so not how she wanted to start her vacation slash investigative reporting.

“I almost wrecked because of you.” She glared at the cow. Her cold-eyed, steely glare that she’d perfected over the years. If it had been a person rather than a dumb animal, it would’ve been frozen to the spot.

The cow opened its mouth and bellowed a low, meandering, I-was-here-first moo.

She didn’t think the cow cared one little bit that it had almost become hamburger. Damned country. She’d take city life and dirty politicians any day.

“Move!” She clapped her hands.

The cow didn’t get in any hurry as it lumbered to the side of the narrow road and lowered its head. The four-legged beast chomped down on a bunch of grass, then slowly began to chew.

She shifted into park, then waved her arms. “Shoo!”

Nothing.

She honked the horn.

Nothing.

The hot sun beat down on her. A bead of sweat slid uncomfortably between her breasts. She judged the narrow road, wondering if she could maneuver around the cow without going into the ditch.

Before she decided to attempt it, another sound drew her attention. She glanced down the dirt road, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun as a cloud of dust came toward her. The cloud of dust became a man on a horse.

Correction. A cowboy on a horse.

Hi-ho, Silver, the Lone Ranger, she thought sarcastically.

But the closer he got, the more her sarcasm faded. The Lone Ranger had nothing on this cowboy. Broad shoulders, black hat pulled low on his forehead…

Black hat. Bad guys wore black hats. Right? Things were looking up.

At least until he brought the horse to a grinding halt and dust swirled around her-again. She coughed and waved her hands in front of her face.

“Bessie, how the hell do you keep getting out?” he asked.

His slow, southern drawl drizzled over her like warmed honey, and she knew from experience warmed honey drizzling over her naked body could be very good. Sticky, but oh so sexy.

Did he look as good as he sounded?

She shaded her eyes again at the same time he pushed his hat higher on his forehead with one finger. Cal Braxton’s tanned face stared down at her. His cool, deep-green eyes only made her body grow warmer with each passing second.

So this was the infamous playboy star football player. The man who had a pretty woman on his arm almost every night of the week-at least until Cynthia Cole had come into his life.

“I almost hit your cow,” she told him as she slipped off one of her high heels and rubbed the insole with her other foot. It didn’t stop the tingle of pleasure that was running up and down her legs. He could park his boots by her bed any day.

“Sorry about that. Bessie thinks the grass is greener on the other side of the fence.”

He pulled a rolled-up rope off the saddle horn and swatted the end of it against Bessie’s rump. The cow gave him a disgruntled look before ambling down the road.

His gaze returned to her…roaming over her…seducing her. “Are you lost?”

“On vacation.”

He easily controlled the prancing horse beneath him. “Staying nearby?”

“At the Crystal Creek Dude Ranch.”

His grin was slow. So, he did have all his teeth, and they were pearly white. She ran her tongue over her dry lips.

“My brother owns it,” he said. “I’m helping him out. It looks like we might be seeing a lot of each other. Name’s Cal-Cal Braxton.”

His thumb idly stroked the rope. For a moment, she was mesmerized as she watched the hypnotic movement.

“You know, you shouldn’t drive with the top down in this heat,” he said.

She almost laughed. It wasn’t the heat from the sun that had momentarily stolen her wits. Cal was good. Ah, yes, he knew all the moves that made a woman yearn for him to caress her naked skin. And he made those moves very well.

She drew in a deep breath. “I’m Nicole Scott. You can call me Nikki-most people do.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms against the saddle horn. “The one who likes it rough.”

He’d remembered. Her pulse sped up a fraction.

He glanced down the road. The cow was trotting off completely unconcerned that she wasn’t supposed to be out of her own pasture. Before he decided to chase after the cow, Nikki spoke.

“You have something against liking it rough?” She certainly hoped not.

He straightened, reining in his prancing horse. “No, but I never would’ve expected it from someone like you.”

Now what did he mean by that?

“Bessie, damn it, not that way!” He glanced at Nikki once more and smiled. “The ranch is just up the road on the left.” He pointed toward an intersection. “Watch for the signs.

“I should be up there before you get signed in and I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.” He whirled the horse around and took off after the cow.

She smiled to herself, liking the idea that he’d remembered she liked it rough. Maybe she should’ve told him she didn’t like to give up control, either. She preferred being the one in charge, no matter what she did.

But then, why scare him off?

She laughed and shifted gears. Tonight should prove interesting. But first, she wanted to soak in a hot tub of bubbles and wash off the layer of dust it felt like she wore.

Did they have spa treatments at the ranch? She could certainly use a massage and a facial. Maybe she’d splurge and have a pedicure, too. After all, Marge was paying for it. She might as well get her money’s worth.

This was going to be the easiest assignment she’d ever had. A little rest and relaxation, and from the way Cal had looked at her, a whole lot of hot sex.

Yum…this was too, too sweet.

Man, this was sweet. Cal wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Nicole Scott had left the top button of her white blouse undone. But had she left it unbuttoned to let the wind cool her skin or because she knew it would stir a man’s blood to the boiling point?

Sex appeal had oozed from her. From her long, lingering looks to her full, pouty lips. His gut told him Nicole was the kind of woman who didn’t play for keeps. And that was just the kind of relationship he wanted-the kind he was used to. No strings attached. He’d learned his lesson about getting even a little serious. He’d dated Cynthia for a couple of weeks and he still hadn’t shaken her loose. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word no.

His cell phone rang as he herded Bessie back into the pasture. He pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. Jeff? What did he want?

“Yeah?”

“You’re about to have a visitor, buddy.”

Cal’s eyes narrowed. He and Jeff went back a long way. They’d roomed together in college and been friends ever since. Jeff was one of the few sports reporters who actually cut him a little slack.

Cal scanned the open pasture, not liking the sound of Jeff’s dire prediction, then shook his head. Paranoia didn’t sit well with him.

“Who?”

“A reporter.”

A sour taste formed in his mouth. The press had labeled Cal the bad boy of football. Maybe he hadn’t been a saint, but they’d painted the picture blacker than it was. That, and Cynthia, were the reasons he was at his brother’s ranch. He’d needed a change of scenery so he could get his head screwed on straight.

But it seemed they’d found him.

“Who is he?”

“Not a he. A she, and they call her The Barracuda.”

“Great.” This was all he needed. “Talk to me.”

“Nicole Scott. She goes by Nikki.”

His eyebrows rose. That hot little number in the black sports car? He shook his head. Nah. Sexy, yes. Hot, yes. But a hard-edged reporter? Not likely.

“I’ve met her. She doesn’t look like a sports reporter.” Jeff had to be pulling his leg. And his brother was probably in on the joke.

“She’s a looker, isn’t she?” Jeff asked. “I’ve had a few daydreams about her myself, but the one time I asked her out she gave me a cold stare that practically froze me to the spot. Then she informed me that she made it a policy to never date coworkers. But she’s definitely hot looking.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Jeff’s cynical laugh came through the phone. “Don’t make the same mistake I did and let her sexy looks fool you. She didn’t get the tag Barracuda for nothing. Her parents are two hotshot lawyers. Remember the Snyder case from a few years back?”