Call Of The West. Myrna Temte
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Though Jake wouldn’t admit it on a bet, he’d read her last one and found himself sucked right into the game along with everybody else. Hope told an entertaining story, he’d give her that much.
But then, there was her appearance to consider. Her hair color changed on an almost daily basis, and he wasn’t talking your usual brown, black or blond. He was talking primary colors—fire-engine red, royal blue, grass green. Her long, talonlike fingernails were always painted to match her hair. And her clothes… He shuddered just thinking about them.
Earlier that afternoon Jake’s cousin, Dillon McBride, had married Hope’s famous cousin, Blair DuMaine. Hope had arrived at the Flying M Ranch twelve weeks ago. She’d been living in the guesthouse, helping with the wedding plans, working on her latest novel and chasing Jake like a buckle bunny after her favorite rodeo cowboy.
The woman could give lessons in perseverance to a badger.
Jake had no idea what she liked so much about him and didn’t care. She wasn’t his type. Other than a glance to check out what color her hair was that day and what bizarre outfit she’d chosen, Jake had done his best to ignore her, too.
Until today…
Blair and Dillon’s wedding pictures undoubtedly would make every entertainment magazine and TV show in the country. Jake figured Hope must’ve felt obligated as the maid of honor to pass up her regular “fashion statement” for Blair’s sake. The results were nothing short of amazing. Funny thing about it, all she’d done to achieve a near-magical transformation was to look sort of normal. For a change.
But it really went beyond normal. Far beyond it.
Aw, man, today Hope was downright gorgeous—a combination of elegant lady and hot sex. Her purple strapless gown faithfully outlined her figure, telling a man with one glance she was one-hundred-and-ten-percent female. Her smooth skin and short, shiny auburn curls made his hands itch to touch them.
Her vitality and the sheer delight she took in her cousin’s happiness made Hope’s smile sparkle brighter than the glittering baubles she wore around her neck. Her slender, kissable, tempt-a-man-to-nibble neck… Aw, damn, but he had it bad.
Marsh leaned down and said something close to Hope’s ear. She tipped back her head and uttered a soft laugh that carried easily on the warm evening breeze. Jake’s gut tightened and he found himself fighting an urge to curl his fingers into fists and sock Marsh in that perfect nose he was so proud of.
“Think Marsh is tellin’ the truth about just being pals with Hope?” Zack asked.
Cal shrugged. “He’d better be. Poor Sandy’s been in love with him forever, and I don’t know how much more of this she’ll tolerate. Has he even danced with her yet?”
“Nope. And if he keeps on flirtin’ with Hope like that, he’ll be sorry.” Zack turned his chair sideways, crossed one booted ankle over the other and braced his forearm on the table. “Jake, you’d better get out there and cut in. Save that poor fool from himself.”
“Marsh’s a big boy.” Jake gulped half his drink. “Let him figure out his own love life.”
“Since when did this family ever let anybody do that?” Cal demanded with a disbelieving snort of laughter. “Think about it, Jake. The rest of us are all married. You’re the only one free to get Hope out of the way so Sandy can move in and get her brand on Marsh before he does something real stupid. Again.”
“That’s right,” Zack agreed.
Marsh smoothly twirled Hope as the song ended. The non-dancers applauded. Hope laughed and dropped into a graceful curtsey. Jake had never seen anything quite so appealing, but he forced himself to look away before his brothers caught him staring at her like a starving dog watching his master eat the last bite of a juicy steak.
“Besides,” Zack continued, “why don’t you admit you kind of like having Hope flirt with you? Hell, she’s young, rich and beautiful. If I was single, I’d be flattered as all get-out—”
“Forget it,” Jake grumbled.
“Why?” Cal asked. “She’s funny, she seems real nice, and she’s gotta be darn smart to write all those books.”
“Looks like a good breeder, too,” Zack said. “Wouldn’t hurt the family gene pool to add another pretty gal—”
“Jeez, Zack.” Jake tossed back the rest of his drink and banged his glass down on the table. “Stop talking about her like she’s a damn heifer.”
“Aw, lighten up.” Cal chuckled and faked a punch at Jake’s shoulder. “He’s just having a little fun—”
Jake put a snarl into his voice. “You’ve all had enough fun at my expense. I’m not interested in Hope DuMaine, so get off my back and leave me alone.”
The band struck up a sweet country ballad. Claiming he had to make sure the beer and food were holding out, Cal took off. Zack’s very pregnant wife Lori crooked her index finger at him and he hurried to escort her onto the dance floor.
Jake sat back, hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of the black slacks of his rented tux and uttered a deep sigh. A waiter delivered a fresh drink, compliments of Cal. Jake thanked him, stretched out his legs and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the kinks out of his spine.
The dancers shuffled slowly in time to the music, and he soon found his gaze drawn back to Hope and Marsh. Jake had to admit they made a striking couple and danced well together. The urge to hit Marsh returned, stronger this time than the last.
Jake didn’t understand the impulse. He had no claim on Hope. He didn’t want one, either. No matter how gorgeous she looked today, Hope DuMaine couldn’t be more wrong for him. It wasn’t rational for him to feel jealous of Marsh or any other man who charmed her.
But he did feel jealous, dammit, and the lack of logic to it irritated him no end. Almost as much as did his family’s teasing and Hope’s dogged pursuit of him. Dang stubborn little woman could drive a strong man to drink.
Heavily.
He ought to know. Lifting his glass, Jake took a healthy swallow, then looked up and choked when he saw Hope standing alone at the edge of the dance floor, looking his way. He took another gulp and felt the whiskey sear a path down his gullet. Confident as any supermodel, she smoothly negotiated the step down to the ground and crossed the grass between them, slim hips swaying gently, the long side slit in the skirt of her gown flashing glimpses of her spectacular legs with each stride.
A sultry smile played at the corners of her sweet full lips, lips painted a rich burgundy shade that reminded him of chokecherries. He’d always loved the taste of chokecherry syrup—the perfect blend of tart and sweet.
A twinge of alarm pinched Jake’s gut. Aw, nuts, he had no business noticing her lips. Or her legs. Or that her gown fit her like the peel on an apple.
Damn, but she had lovely shoulders and collarbones and…he didn’t dare complete that thought. Or look where his and every other man’s gaze had been straying all day. While it covered all the necessary territory, that dress just didn’t leave a guy much guesswork when it came to judging a woman’s breast endowment. Hope’s appeared more than adequate for his tastes.
He had no damn business noticing that, either.
“Hey there, Jake,” she drawled as she approached, still managing to sound more like Rodeo Drive than Sunshine Gap, Wyoming. Stopping beside his chair, she leaned down and held out her hands in invitation. “Dance with me?”
His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he couldn’t have uttered a word if she’d pressed the barrel of a loaded .45 between his eyes. She leaned even closer. Her bosom swelled against that tight bodice, giving him an enticing view of creamy, rounded cleavage.
Damn, but he wanted more whiskey.
The scent of some subtle perfume wafted his way. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it