THEY PASSED THROUGH Cremation Creek on the way to the Double Ought, confirming Lucky’s allegation that Jude wouldn’t find anyplace to stay in the town—not that two structures could actually qualify as a full-fledged town, she thought. The movie theater was a grand two-and-a-half-story frame structure with old-fashioned round lightbulbs surrounding a marquee announcing an upcoming three-day Clint Eastwood festival.
“The Gilded Lily?” Jude murmured as she read the name painted in gleaming gold across the arched facade of the theater.
“Virgil thought if he named it that, Lillie Langtry’d be more likely to come. I’d have no way of knowing, but I’ll wager there are various versions of that name all over the west. This was lonely country, and there weren’t a lot of eligible women, so it probably wasn’t surprising that she’d inspire a lot of male fantasies.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Jude recalled the land they’d driven through on the way to the town and suspected that while many would still call it lonely, in a way she’d found it oddly peaceful.
He pulled into the huge parking lot across the street from The Gilded Lily, cutting the engine in front of the Feed and Fuel. The store had obviously expanded over the decades, ending up part gray stone, part log cabin and part aluminum siding. An oversize American flag flying outside the door proudly proclaimed that this was also the home of the Cremation Creek United States Post Office.
While Lucky pumped fuel into the tank of the dually pickup, Jude took the opportunity to run inside the store to use the bathroom, which she was more than a little relieved to discover was spotless and smelled like a pine forest.
The inside of the general store was like nothing she’d ever seen. It was unbelievably small—only about a quarter of the size of the compact urban markets she was accustomed to—yet crammed to the rafters with so many items it reminded her of the inside of a Fabergé egg. But not from Sotheby.
Perhaps a merger of Guns and Ammo and Wal-Mart, she decided, cringing as she noticed the stuffed animals lining the tops of the food shelves laden down with every junk food known to man. The animals bore no resemblance to the fluffy blue and white bunny she’d bought for Dillon when he’d been born, but were the type that had once been alive and now seemed to stare down at her with their wide, unblinking, yellow marble eyes.
On the far wall, next to a rack of plastic animal calls—which, according to the hand-painted sign, were guaranteed to draw wild beasts as varied as elk and varmints—she could see a padlocked display case with guns and knives for sale. Several of the guns were replicas of Old West sidearms of the types Jesse James or Billy the Kid or Wyatt Earp might have favored.
In front of the case, near the counter, was the most amazing item in the store. The chain-saw art.
The featured piece was tall—towering above her head—and depicted, exactly as Lucky had described, a bear holding a fish. The work, while crudely primitive, was strangely powerful. As was the amazingly exorbitant price, which also backed up Lucky’s assertion that the artist, Clint McLaury, was extremely popular.
It crossed Jude’s mind that she should question Lucky about McLaury, and if he was even reasonably attractive, perhaps she could use him in a future issue of the magazine. Not as a featured centerfold—although it might be an unfair stereotype, artistic hunks did not sell magazines—but as one of the “Real Guys We Love to Look At” filler pieces. A hunk with a chain saw would undoubtedly appeal to that same audience that had made the blue-collar issues such a success.
She bought a Hershey’s bar and a Coke from a thirty-something woman with long auburn corkscrew curls and a lush Sports Illustrated cover girl body Jude suspected Lucky would definitely appreciate. That thought brought up another: Cremation Creek was obviously a small community, which meant that Lucky undoubtedly knew the woman.
Had he ever dated her? Danced cheek to cheek at the local saloon, perhaps, while the jukebox twanged out a country-and-western tune about fickle women and faithless cowboys? Had they made out in the balcony of that movie theater that had been built in hopes of luring Lillie Langtry to Cremation Creek? Had he slept with her?
When she felt a twinge of something that felt too much like jealousy, Jude shook it off before she could think about it too deeply. She remembered to smile and thank the woman who told her, with a perky smile and obvious curiosity, to have a nice day. Jude noticed she put her money into an old-fashioned cigar box that apparently served as a cash register.
“Well?” Lucky asked as she rejoined the two men. His eyes were literally dancing with anticipation as he waited to hear her reaction.
“I never realized they made so many kinds of cheese puffs,” she said as he gave her another boost up onto the high seat. “And the natives seem friendly.”
“Dixie’s always been a sweetheart. We had ourselves a lot of fun back in high school.” His easy words caused the green-eyed monster living inside her to stir again. “And Lila’s just as nice.”
“Lila?”
“Her twin sister.”
There were two of them? Terrific. Jude slouched down in the seat, unwrapped the candy bar and assured herself that she didn’t care who Lucky O’Neill had slept with.
* * *
JUDE HADN’T REALLY given any thought to the O’Neill ranch house. If asked, she supposed she would have expected something rustic, created of hand-hewn logs, perhaps. Something the Cartwright boys would have felt at home in.
That being the case, the white clapboard two-story house with forest green shutters and a wide, screened-in porch that seemed to run around all four sides, came as a distinct surprise. Although, with occasional trips to Chicago, she’d only ever flown over the Midwest, she suspected Lucky’s house would have fit in just fine at the edge of an Iowa cornfield.
“It’s lovely,” she murmured, gazing out beyond the house to the acres of grass and gold hay. “Homey.”
If she’d gone into advertising instead of publishing, this was just the kind of house she’d want to use for a soup commercial. Or a Hallmark home-for-the-holidays special.
“It’s a money pit,” Lucky said. “Every time we turn around something’s gotta be fixed or replaced. But you’re right about one thing. Seventy-five years of O’Neills living here have definitely made it a home.”
“Got yourself some good pastureland, too,” Zach noted.
“We had a lot of early summer showers, so the grass is staying green longer. And for the most part the grasshoppers have left us alone this summer. Unlike last year when they just about wiped us out.”
“I remember when I was a kid, about sixteen or seventeen, we were hit with them real bad,” Zach said. “Damn things nearly put us out of the ranching business.”
“Surely you’re not serious,” Jude said, looking back out at what looked like an endless sea of green. Certainly mere insects couldn’t do so much damage?
“You grew up on a ranch?” Lucky asked at the same time.
Zach answered Jude’s question first. “Didn’t you ever read Little House on the Prairie when you were a girl?”
“I don’t think so.” She decided not to mention that her father, on the rare occasion that he’d tolerated fiction, had insisted upon the classics by such authors as Dickens or Jonathan Swift.
“Well, if you had, you’d know those gluttonous devils can wipe out a year’s worth of grain in an afternoon. It is not,” he said dryly, “a pretty sight.” He turned toward Lucky. “My family’s got a place in the Snowy Range area.”
“Nice country,” Lucky said as he pulled up in front of the house. “I knew a Kayla Newman who was from that part of the country, I don’t suppose—”
“Kayla’s my little sister,” Zach said. “My folks died in a car accident up around Jackson Hole a couple winters ago, so now she’s running the ranch with her husband, who used to be a foreman on a place up in Montana. They have two kids and a third on the way.”
“I remember Kayla bein’ a real pretty gal. And smart as a whip.” Lucky said. “And wasn’t she also a pretty good barrel racer?”
“State champ three years running,” Zach said with obvious brotherly pride.
Lucky gave a nod of approval. “It’s good you were able to keep the place in the family. Lots of folks around here have been losing their ranches to developers or big conglomerates.”
“I would have come home from New York before I’d have let that happen.”
Zach’s quiet, yet determined tone made Jude realize yet again that he was obviously not exactly what—or who—he appeared to be at first glance.
Lucky nodded again and Jude took his grunt for grudging approval. She wondered if perhaps, since they obviously had so much in common, Zach might be able to succeed where she’d failed in convincing Lucky to cooperate.
“Don’t even think it,” the photographer murmured into her ear as Lucky went to retrieve the trunks from the back of the truck.
“Think what?” she asked with feigned innocence.
“I saw that look flash in your scheming silver eyes. That let’s-make-a-deal look you get when you’re plotting something out. I’ve liked working with you, Jude. A lot. You’re sharp as barbwire, efficient as all get out, you’re great to look at and you smell real good, too.
“But I’m not real convinced this is the best thing for O’Neill to do.”
“Isn’t that for him to decide?”
“Of course. But I could tell by the gleam in your eyes that you were thinking of enlisting me in your campaign to get the guy to pose. And even if I didn’t have my personal doubts about the wisdom of this idea, nothing I could say would change his mind.”
“You sound awfully certain of that.” Jude had gotten the same impression, but had been hoping she might be wrong.
“Honey, I know guys like O’Neill. I grew up with them. Hell, I used to be one. Believe me, it’d be easier to turn a steer back into a bull than make your potential hunk go against his own personal code.”
As Zach went to help Lucky with the camera equipment, Jude decided that she was really beginning to hate the Code of the West.
Although she was certain he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison, Buck O’Neill reminded Jude a little bit of Gabby Hayes. He was a short, spry man, lean as a whip and, despite his age, looked as hard as the huge granite boulders they’d passed on the drive from Cheyenne.
A lifetime working outdoors had weathered his face to the hue of a hazelnut, an iron gray mustache fringed his top lip, and his eyes, as they skimmed over her, were as bright as the sky overhead. She also suspected, from the appraisal in his gaze, that the man was sizing her up and not particularly approving of what he found.
Tough.
“Hello, Mr. O’Neill.” She held out her hand and gave him a friendly smile meant to charm. From the way Lucky had spoken of his grandfather, she assumed he respected the older man’s opinion a great deal. Which meant that she’d best get Buck on her side as soon as possible. “My name is Jude Lancaster. I work with your granddaughter in New York and have heard a great deal about you.”
“From Katie?” he asked.
“No. Kate and I mostly talk about work when we’re at the office. But your grandson certainly quotes you a great deal.”
“He does, does he?”
“He certainly does. Why, he made you out to be a modern-day Mark Twain or Will Rogers. In fact, I was thinking that we should interject some of your pearls of western wisdom into the article.”
“Article?”
She’d succeeded in getting his attention. “Kate didn’t explain when you spoke with her?”
“Said Dillon was fussing,” he grumbled. A guarded look came across his face as he studied her the way he might study a man sitting across the table holding a card hand close to his chest. “Didn’t have any time to get into details. The gal just wanted me to know that Lucky was bringing company.”
“I see. Well, I’m managing editor of the magazine we both work for and I was hoping to do a profile on a cowboy. Sort of a day in the life of a rancher.” Her vague description was meant to entice, her warm smile designed to coax compliance. “Our readers do so admire independent western men.”
“Gotta be independent to survive out here, that’s for sure.” He folded his arms over the front of his black-and-red striped western-cut shirt. “This ladies’ magazine you and Katie work on, don’t I recollect it’s published pretty much all over?”
“In every state. And we’ve recently gone international. We’re currently in five countries. With plans to expand into the former Soviet Union next year.”
“Imagine that.” He ran a finger over his mustache. “Russkies reading about life on the range.”
“I believe it could be our most popular issue.” Since she was leaving out a great many pertinent facts, Jude was extremely grateful for an opportunity to tell the unvarnished truth. “After all, the myth of the Wild West is popular all over the world.”
Buck cut another look toward Lucky, who’d been rudely rolling his eyes during most of Jude’s sketchy explanation. “So, the little lady’s gonna be writing about you instead of recipes and housekeeping hints, huh?” His question told Jude that Kate hadn’t exactly filled her grandfather in about the editorial content of the magazine. Which wasn’t all that surprising. She certainly didn’t feel moved to correct the elderly man’s misconception.
“We’re still in the negotiation stage. I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“Why the Sam Hill not?” Buck looked at his grandson as if suspecting he’d been fed locoweed on the plane. “It’d be good publicity for the Double Ought. And should make those bankers sit up and take notice. Damn easterners,” he muttered darkly. Then, as if realizing his mistake, he turned back to Jude. “No offense meant, ma’am.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “None taken, Mr. O’Neill.”
Buck turned to Zach. “Damned if you ain’t the spittin’ image of an old friend of mine who used to be on the board of the Cattleman’s Association, back in our younger years. Name of Jed Newman.”
“He’s my granddaddy.” Zach shook Buck’s hand. “I’m Zach Newman. I’ve been working back east for the past few years.”
“Not a lot of cows to wrangle in New York City, I’d imagine.”
“No.” Zach laughed. “I’m a photographer. I’m hoping to work with Jude on the magazine article.”
“The one about the Double Ought?”
“I haven’t agreed,” Lucky reminded everyone in the room.
Buck ignored him. “Reckon your grandpappy will be real happy to have you back home.”
“I imagine he will,” Zach said. “He’s living on the ranch with my sister and her husband and kids. According to Kayla, he still rides every day with the little mutt collie who’s gotta be near as old as him in dog years. I thought I might try to drive up there while I’m here.”
“Bet he’d like that. Not that he doesn’t have a lot of company already, sounds like. I’ve got one great-grandson—that’d be my granddaughter Katie’s baby boy, Dillon—living clear across the danged country. And this one here—” he tilted his head toward Lucky “—doesn’t seem real inclined to do his part to fill the house with kids anytime soon.”
“I thought it might be a good idea to find myself a wife first,” Lucky said neutrally.
While the men were verbally sparring in a way that had her thinking it was not the first time they’d discussed the subject, Jude took the opportunity to glance around the front room, taking in the well-worn bark brown leather sofa and matching chairs, the pine tables that looked to be handmade, the monk’s cloth curtains at the windows.
It was a room designed for comfort, for relaxing in after a hard day’s work. It was also definitely a man’s room. The only touches of femininity were the copper pot filled with daisies sitting on the coffee table and the needlepoint renditions of deer and elk grazing in mountain meadows hanging on the gleaming pine-paneled walls.
“I love your home. It looks so comfortable.” Another absolute truth. Jude decided she was on a roll.
“The place has seen a lot of living in the past seventy-five years,” Buck agreed with obvious pride. “Things are slower to change out here than what you’re used to, I reckon. In fact, I’m still sleeping in the same room I was born in.”
“Imagine that.” Jude was suitably impressed. “I may have grown up in New York, Mr. O’Neill, which might make you think we wouldn’t have all that much in common. But I can appreciate roots. And now that I’ve seen your home, I can certainly understand why your grandson was in such a hurry to get back here.”
Once again Buck looked over toward Lucky who’d been grinding his teeth as Jude had proceeded to do her best to charm his grandfather.
“By the way,” Buck informed his grandson, “Katie did manage to say, before hanging up, that there’d been a little misunderstanding about Jack deserting her and Dillon.”
Lucky rubbed his jaw. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.” Jude was relieved that he didn’t mention his sister’s not-so-white lie on her behalf.
“So, she and my great-grandson are okay?”
“They seem to be. So far, anyway.”
Lucky studiously avoided glancing over at Jude, who experienced a twinge of guilt that she’d used his loyalty to his little sister as leverage. Then again, she hadn’t really been lying. Although she had no concrete proof that Kate’s job would be in danger if she was fired, Tycoon Mary certainly hadn’t shown any signs of being open-minded since taking over the publisher’s office. Kate had vocally backed Jude on every issue; that alone would have put her career in jeopardy.
“Glad you made that banker she married see the light,” Buck decided, apparently satisfied with Lucky’s less than revealing answer.
Jude found it interesting that the older man had obviously trusted Lucky to fix whatever problem Kate might have had. Such automatic confidence had her experiencing a vague tug of envy. After all, she’d struggled her entire life to win her father’s approval. Unfortunately, although she’d managed to escape criticism as she’d gotten older and gained more experience, she couldn’t recall her father ever congratulating her on a job well done. That he’d never acknowledged her dedication to the empire he’d created was one of the few failures of her life. And one that continued to hurt.
“I’ll bet you’re hungry after that long flight,” Buck said to Zach and Jude, breaking into her unhappy thoughts. “Since I wasn’t sure when you all would get up here from Cheyenne, I made up a mess of my five-alarm chili.” He winked. “The good thing about chili is the longer it sits, the better it gets.”
“Five-alarm chili?” Jude wondered how many rolls of Tums it would take to put out those particular flames.
“Sounds great,” Zach said.
“Buck’s chili wins the grand prize ribbon for the hottest every year at the state fair,” Lucky assured her. His grin suggested her trepidation hadn’t gotten by him. Then again, despite his outwardly laconic attitude, she suspected very little did.
“Is that so? How wonderful.” She certainly didn’t want to insult Buck O’Neill before she could garner his complete support for her project.
“We think so.” Lucky took off his hat and sent it flying across the room where it caught on the wooden hook exactly as he’d planned. The fact that he was enjoying himself immensely at her expense wasn’t lost on Jude. “My grandmama Josie used to say it was perfect for stripping paint off the side of the barn.”
“My Josie was a real teaser,” Buck countered. “Just like her smart-mouthed grandson.” He shot Lucky a fondly warning look before turning back to Jude. “Mebe you should put me in your magazine, instead.”
Beside her Zach made a sound somewhere between a choke and a laugh.
Feeling she was losing control of the situation again, Jude managed a faint smile. “I think an interview with you would add a lot to the article.” It was her turn to slant a wicked grin Lucky’s way. “You can tell us all about what kind of boy your grandson was.”
“A hellion, pure and simple,” Buck said. “Near drove his mama and daddy crazy with his cockeyed stunts. Why, I recollect this one time, when he was six, when he drove the old pickup right through the side of his grandma’s henhouse. You’ve never seen so many feathers fly. We were havin’ stewed chicken for weeks after that little adventure.”
Jude laughed as she was supposed to. “I’ve never had an award-winning dinner before, Mr. O’Neill. It certainly smells wonderful.”
“It’ll clear your sinuses, that’s for sure,” Buck said with gusto. “I’ll let Lucky show you two upstairs to your rooms so you can freshen up while I spoon it out. Oh, and call me Buck. We’re not real formal in this neck of the woods.”
This time her smile was sincere. “Thank you, Buck. I’m looking forward to your dinner.”
Okay, so it was another lie. As she watched his eyes light up with satisfaction, she assured herself that it was also a harmless one.
Zach nodded to Buck and also turned to leave. There was a little jostling at the foot of the stairs as Lucky, playing the gentleman, stepped back so Jude could precede him and Zach. She, not wanting to give Lucky such an up close and personal view of her bottom, insisted he go first. Unfortunately, he proved more stubborn, and although she was grateful for him not saying a word, she imagined she could feel those brown eyes watching every movement of her hips.
He opened the first door at the top of the stairs. “It’s not fancy,” he told Zach. “But the bed’s firm and the sheets are clean.”
“It’ll be great.” Zach entered the room and tossed his camera onto the bed. “Thanks.”
“Yours is right across the hall,” Lucky said. “I figured you wouldn’t mind staying in Katie’s room.”
Jude’s first impression was that the bedroom had been frozen in time. It was obviously the room of a teenager. Colorful plush stuffed animals covered the canopied bed, photographs were stuck into the white frame of the mirror and a bubblegum-pink-and-white striped comforter covered the mattress. Frilly lace curtains hung at the wall and skirted an antique dressing table.
“My mama’s kind of sentimental,” Lucky explained as he viewed the obvious surprise on Jude’s face. “She’s kept it the same as it was when Katie went back east to college.”
“I think that’s sweet.” She paused in front of a blurred photograph of Lucky wearing an American flag shirt and sitting—just barely—atop an enormous Brahma bull. “I’m also impressed.”
“Don’t be. A second after that picture was snapped, I landed flat on my ass in the dirt.”
“That must have hurt.”
“Not as bad as when the stupid bovine stepped on my shoulder.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Here.” He reached out, took hold of her hand and brought it to the shoulder in question. “Amazing what they can do with plastic these days, isn’t it?”
She could feel the lumps beneath her fingertips and marveled at how much pain he must have been in. Then, against her will, she couldn’t help noticing the warmth emanating from his skin through the cotton twill.
“Your mother must have been frantic.”
“Nah. She knows injuries come with the territory. After all, she met my dad at a rodeo.” Lucky chuckled in a way that Jude knew would have strummed innumerable sensual chords if they hadn’t been here in a room radiating Kate O’Neill’s youthful innocence.
“She was the nurse working the medical tent,” Lucky continued. “He took a dive off a bull and gave himself one helluva concussion. Later he swore he did it just to get her attention.”
“Did he?” If Lucky’s father had even half the natural charisma Lucky possessed, Jude figured he definitely wouldn’t have needed to go flying off any bucking bull to get a woman’s attention.
“Mom’s always liked to claim that she thought he was too brash, too arrogant and too damn chauvinistic.” Lucky’s grin touched his eyes, turning them to that lustrous amber gold again. “But they’ve been together ever since that first day. In fact, in thirty-five years, they’ve never missed a night sleeping under the same roof.”
“That’s amazing.”
“If you could see them together, you wouldn’t find it so amazing. There was a time, back when I was in high school, that it was downright embarrassing to have parents who were so crazy about each other.”
His smile turned reminiscent. “There was this one time, during my junior year, when they were roped into chaperoning the homecoming dance. You have no idea how it feels to have all the other kids see your parents slow dancing cheek to cheek.”
“No,” Jude said softly. “I don’t.”
The little girl, who’d grown up wishing for two parents who’d love each other and adore her, experienced another little tug of envy. The grown woman struggling to save her career was wondering how she could talk all three O’Neill men into appearing in the article.
Oh, she’d keep the clothes on the older two, of course. But the charisma, not to mention the legacy of the Double Ought that each father had passed on to his son, could make a powerful story.
“Well,” he said when a little silence settled over the room, “I’ll leave you to your freshening up. This is one of the two bedrooms in the place with its own bathroom. Mom and Dad had it added on when Katie turned thirteen because no one could get into the main one. It’s right through there.” He tilted his head in the direction of a snow-white door bearing a red-and-white Laramie County High School Mustangs banner, then left the room.
Alone for the first time since she’d gotten up hours earlier, Jude allowed herself a moment to succumb to her exhaustion. She sank down onto the pink-and-white mattress, absently picked up a worn, obviously well-loved stuffed Saint Bernard, and hugged it to her chest as she studied the photo of Lucky hanging on to that huge, bucking bull.
She’d never, in her entire life, met a man like Lucky O’Neill. And she’d certainly never met one who made her feel as if she belonged in this room—as if she were a confused, easily flustered seventeen-year-old girl. Which was strange, because even at seventeen she’d never rattled. Her father had once commented on her having ice water in her veins. That single statement had been the closest thing to a compliment she’d ever received from the larger-than-life man she’d tried so hard to emulate. To please. To, dammit, impress.
“Oh, Kate,” she murmured into the Saint Bernard’s silky fur, “you were so right. He is absolutely perfect.”
He was also too appealing for comfort. He had her thinking things she was better off not thinking. Wanting things she’d forgotten she wanted. Deep down, primal things.
When her stomach growled, triggered by the scent of chili that had drifted upstairs, Jude shook her head in self-disgust, tossed the stuffed dog back onto the bed, stood up and marched with a long purposeful stride into the bathroom.
As she washed up and repaired her makeup, she reminded herself that this trip was about Hunk of the Month magazine. She’d never allowed herself to mix work and pleasure and she wasn’t about to now. Which meant, she warned herself firmly as she followed the appealing tendrils of simmering meat and chili back down the stairs, that a brief hot affair with her next hunk was out of the question.