How to Seduce a Texan Page 7

  She scowled at him. She was looking right at the person who was currently raising her ire. It wouldn’t be his neck she’d pretend she had her fingers wrapped around, though! Nikki squeezed and tugged on the teat, then another.

  At first, nothing happened. On the fourth pull a stream of milk squirted out, pinging against the side of the bucket. She jerked her hands away.

  “I did it!” She nearly fell off the stool in her excitement. She’d actually milked the cow. “Did you see that? And I hit the bucket, too.”

  “Yeah, I saw.”

  “Cal…”

  “Don’t get too excited about a little drop of milk. You still need to fill the bucket.”

  She pursed her lips as he turned away.

  “I’ll be back to check on your progress,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away.

  And she’d milk the damned cow even if it killed her. She’d show him! Fill the bucket, indeed! Not that she thought he was telling her the truth about that. It would take her all day to fill the bucket.

  Cal drew in a deep breath as he stepped from the barn. Why had he kissed her? That was easy to answer. When Nikki turned to look at him all he saw were those luscious lips tempting him. How the hell was he supposed to resist?

  He wasn’t immune to her even knowing she was a reporter and was here only to get a story. Damn it! He still shouldn’t have kissed her. If he didn’t watch out, he’d get himself into trouble because Nikki sure hadn’t seemed to mind his touch. But one thing had kept him from seeing just how far she’d let him go.

  He didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her.

  Not when he knew the story was all that mattered to her. He had the upper hand and planned to keep it. He didn’t care how she dressed or how much she flirted—he wouldn’t fall for her tricks.

  If she’d done her research, Nikki would know that she wouldn’t get her story that easily. He was a hell of a lot tougher than that.

  He strolled to the pickup, grabbed a sack of feed, and slung it over his shoulder before carrying it toward the barn. By the time he got there, he was back in complete control. As he set the sack just inside the door, he could hear Nikki mumbling.

  “Well, that’s just great!” Nikki jumped from the stool, taking her milk bucket with her.

  He leaned against a bail of hay and listened.

  “You couldn’t wait to go to the bathroom? It’s not as though you had all the time in the world before I sat down. I saw you and you were just standing at the fence doing nothing.”

  A slow grin spread across his face. She didn’t really sound angry, just put out. Damn, she was cute.

  “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you’d see to your bodily functions prior to being milked. Just because you’re a cow doesn’t mean you can’t have any manners.”

  Cal barely contained his laughter. She’d call it quits now. She might be The Barracuda, but this ranch didn’t have an ocean for her to swim in and it didn’t look like it would be that long before she’d go looking for bluer waters.

  But she didn’t leave.

  He quickly sobered when she repositioned the stool and sat back down. She had mettle, he’d give her that. There was no way she’d last, but yeah, she did have mettle. Odd, but his grandfather always told Cal that you could judge a person by how much spirit the person had.

  Well, she may have spirit but it was for all the wrong reasons.

  “Ugh! You stink.”

  Bessie turned her head and looked at Nikki, mooing an apology.

  “Those big eyes won’t get you anywhere, and I’m not going to forgive you—at least not for a while. You should be down here inhaling this obnoxious odor.”

  Cal grinned as he went back to his pickup for the other sack of feed. It was already proving to be an interesting day. And he had to admit, she was kind of fun to have around. He hadn’t minded kissing her, either. No, he hadn’t minded that at all.

  Chapter 7

  “At this rate, you won’t finish in time to start the evening milking,” Cal said as he came up behind Nikki.

  She jumped, almost knocking over the milk bucket, and she’d worked hard for that cup of milk.

  She stopped long enough to look over her shoulder and give Cal her freeze-you-in-your-tracks glare. He had the nerve to grin. A lesser man would’ve turned and run away as fast as he could. Now that she thought about it, that might explain why she hadn’t had sex in a while.

  Then his words sank into her brain. “What do you mean, evening milking?” she asked. Surely, he was joking. She looked at the cow’s bag. No, it wasn’t possible that it would fill up again that fast.

  “Bessie needs to be milked twice a day,” Cal said, confirming her worst fear.

  Well, hell.

  She glanced inside the bucket. “I thought I was doing pretty good,” she grumbled. She had enough for a tall latte, except now she thought she might start drinking her coffee minus the milk. It was a lot different when you actually saw where the milk was coming from.

  He motioned for her to get up. “Let me show you how a pro does it.”

  Gladly, and she didn’t even care that he was apparently better at it than her. Not that she thought he would get much more milk out of the cow.

  She stood, flexing her fingers, and moved out of his way. She would think on the bright side. If she had to milk the cow twice a day, she would probably drop a ring size by the time she had her story and was out of here.

  She eyed the three-legged wooden stool. On the other hand, her butt might get broader from all the sitting. Not a good trade-off. But when Cal pulled the stool under him, she noticed his butt looked pretty darn good from this angle. Not bad at all.

  “Sah, Bessie,” Cal spoke softly when Bessie turned to look at the newcomer. The cow quickly settled down as Cal began to milk her.

  Milk immediately pinged against the sides of the bucket. Okay, so he was better at milking than she’d been. She frowned. But that wasn’t all. Bessie seemed more content that Cal was the one doing the milking. It would seem he was good with animals, and women.

  Well, except Cynthia. Which reminded her that she was here to get a story.

  “You’re a lot faster,” she told him.

  “Years of practice.”

  “Are you partners with your brother?” she asked, keeping her words casual. For a moment, she wondered if he was going to answer or if he had even heard her. He seemed pretty intent on finishing the milking.

  “No, I’m just visiting a few weeks,” he finally spoke.

  Had the pinging of the milk against the side of the bucket gotten a little faster? Maybe he’d been asked so many questions in the past that he was leery of answering more. But then, she was good at making people feel at ease. It usually didn’t take long for them to open up to her.

  “It’s good that you can visit him.” She casually leaned against the fence. “Do you live in Texas?”

  “All my life.”

  That told her absolutely zip. Again, something still didn’t feel quite right. It was as though he was evading her questions. She wondered again if he knew her real reason for being here.

  “I play football,” he said.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course he didn’t know she was trying to get a story. She really had to stop being so paranoid. Being out of her element was really doing a number on her, and she was so out of her element here in the country.

  “Football?” she asked.

  “Professional. Do you watch the games?”

  “No, sorry. Do you enjoy tossing a ball around?”

  “It’s a living.”

  Her ears perked up. “You don’t like it?”

  “I still enjoy the thrill of competition, but the hard knocks I can do without.” He stood, bucket in hand. “That and the nosey reporters. They have a way of taking things out of context. They look at one part of my life and blow it out of proportion.”

  Yeah, she felt much more confident about prying a story out of him. H
e needed to look at it from her angle. She was reporting what people needed to know: the dirty politicians, corporations skimming from their shareholders, corruption and fraud in the government.

  Except that wasn’t exactly the case this time. Not even close, and guilt didn’t sit well with her.

  “But then, I don’t have to worry about reporters out here,” he said, drawing her attention back to him.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she glanced inside the bucket. Her eyes widened. Okay, now he’d impressed her. Frothy white milk came up to the rim of the bucket. “How did you fill it so fast?”

  “It just takes practice. I was raised on this ranch and I grew up milking cows.”

  This was much safer than talking about reporters and she could get a little background on him. “Your parents owned it?”

  “No, they were killed in a car wreck when my brother, Brian, was just a baby.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she meant it. She couldn’t imagine growing up without her parents. They were great, even though time with them had been at a premium, but the moments they’d shared together had been quality time.

  Even now, they made a point of meeting once every two months on the second Saturday. They always went out to eat at her favorite restaurant and caught up with each other’s lives. It worked out well all around.

  “It was a long time ago,” he continued. “Our grandparents more than made up for the fact we were orphaned. They kept the memory of our parents alive while giving us all the love we could ever need. They were very special.”

  “They’re gone?”

  He nodded. “But what they taught us lives on. They had a strong code of ethics.” He opened the gate, then waited for her to pass. “Like truth, being fair, causing no harm to others, and giving more than you get.”

  Nikki had a feeling liars would rate low with him. Well, she wasn’t a reporter because she was trying to win a popularity contest. People wanted the news and she gave them what they asked for.

  She chewed on her lower lip. Except she usually didn’t do fluff pieces. She would much rather go after crooked politicians.

  They walked out of the barn and up to the house. The air was still cool and crisp as it caressed her skin.

  “Did you like growing up here on the ranch?” she asked.

  “There was a lot of stuff to do.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “Chores: milking, feeding the animals, fixing fence. We hauled a little hay. The usual things that people do on a ranch.”

  “It sounds like hard work.”

  “Some of it was.” He stopped at the porch and looked around. There was a faraway expression on his face. “But we had good times, too.”

  She wondered what he saw that she didn’t. As she looked around, she thought it might have been nice knowing the young Cal as he galloped across the pasture with his brother.

  Damn, now she was starting to sound maudlin. Was this what the country air did to a person? She needed a shot of the city to take her back to reality! Maybe she’d call Marge later and see what was happening. Nikki was already starting to feel disconnected.

  Once inside the kitchen, Cal set the milk on the wooden counter; no fancy granite here.

  “There was a strainer in one of the boxes,” he told her. “Do you remember where you put it?”

  She went to one of the drawers she’d cleaned out and got it. She’d wondered why he’d brought it. Made her wonder about some of the other things she’d put away.

  He slid a large glass jar closer and put the strainer on top. “Hold it in place and I’ll pour the milk.”

  She did as he asked, her nose wrinkling when she caught the scent of warm, fresh milk.

  “It doesn’t smell like store-bought. It’s a lot richer, too.” Cal set the empty bucket in the sink and covered the milk with a cloth.

  “I noticed. Shouldn’t we put it in the icebox?”

  “Not until the cream rises to the top. Then you skim it off so you can make butter.”

  “I don’t really need butter.”

  “How can you write a story if you can’t describe making butter?”

  He was right—dammit. “I didn’t mean I didn’t want to make it, only that I won’t need much,” she quickly backtracked. “I can’t wait to get started making butter.”

  “Of course.” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. “Exactly what kind of book are you writing, anyway? You never really said. Just that it was about how pioneers lived. Is it a straight history piece or what?”

  “I’m covering from the statehood forward. It’ll be like a textbook. I’m up to the nineteen twenties.” That sounded good, believable. She looked him right in the eye, never wavering her gaze even though her body tensed.

  “I’d like to read it.”

  “Now?” Her pulse sped up.

  “When you get it finished.”

  Nikki breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. I don’t like anyone to see my work until it’s completed. Stifles the creativity and all.”

  How many lies could she tell in one day? Apparently, quite a few. But he looked as though he bought every word. And why shouldn’t he. She was damned good at what she did.

  Cal watched for a sign that Nikki might feel an ounce of remorse for lying through those pretty white teeth. He didn’t see even one spark of guilt.

  It was time to bring out more artillery. No, he wasn’t even close to finished with her yet. “You ready to gather eggs?”

  She paled just a little. “Will the rooster be there?” She ran her hands up and down her arms as if there were a sudden chill in the air.

  What was it with the rooster? He had a feeling it might have something to do with why the bird was acting funny. “I’m sure he’ll be around somewhere. He usually watches over the hens.”

  She drew in a deep breath and nodded as though she were about to face a firing squad and knew she deserved to be shot. Yeah, it was a strange reaction.

  And she didn’t look any better once they were standing in front of the chicken coop. He was starting to feel a little sorry for her. Especially when the rooster came lurching around the corner. The bird took one look at her and began to flap its wings and squawk.

  “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said as the rooster flapped and squawked back around the side of the barn and out of sight like a bat out of hell.

  “It won’t return, will it?” She hugged her middle and eyed the direction the bird had gone.

  He couldn’t blame her for being nervous. The rooster acted as though it were possessed or something. “I don’t know. I wonder if a rattler might have gotten him.”

  Her face paled. “Rattler, as in rattlesnake?” Her gaze darted to the ground.

  “We have them sometimes. They’ll let you know when they’re around. The sound of a snake’s rattle is like nothing you’ve ever heard before.”

  “Oh, that makes me feel a lot better.”

  “Just stop in your tracks and look around. Most of the time, they’re only warning you to keep your distance.”

  “And what about the other times? Do snakes have really pissy days and strike for no reason whatsoever?”

  “I’m sure women who lived on the range had to put up with a lot more than rattlesnakes and a goofy rooster.”

  Her shoulders squared. “And that’s exactly why I’m writing this book.”

  Cal bit back the words he wanted to say, but it took a lot of effort on his part. Nikki wasn’t nearly as good as she thought she was. Even if Jeff hadn’t told him she was a reporter, Cal had a feeling he’d see through her act. She might be good with sleazy politicians, but his granddad didn’t raise any fools.

  But he’d play her game a little longer and see what happened. Maybe because she was so damned easy on the eyes. “Then you’d better gather the eggs.”

  For all her bravado, she timidly stepped forward, stopping in front of the wooden bins where the hens nested. He had a feeling she di
dn’t back down from much. Not and have a nickname like The Barracuda. She was out of her element and in way over her head at the ranch.

  But that didn’t make her any less sexy. He caught a whiff of her perfume, savoring the heady scent as it wrapped around him, tempting him to step a little closer, to do more than kiss her this time.

  “Now what do I do,” she asked, breaking the spell.

  It was probably a good thing she had, too. “Just stick your hand inside and get the eggs. This first one is easy since the chicken is out roaming around.”

  “She’s not going to come back and see me stealing her eggs, is she? I don’t want to be on her hit list or anything.”

  “I doubt it. Didn’t you ever hunt Easter eggs?”

  “No, my parents didn’t want to fill my head with a lot of nonsense.”

  “Nonsense?” He readjusted his hat and stared at her. “What about Christmas and other holidays?”

  “We each exchanged one gift, but they made sure I knew there was no such thing as a fat, jolly man in a red suit.” She glanced his way and apparently noted his stunned expression. “You think it’s better to lie to a child? Let the child believe in something that doesn’t truly exist?”

  “I think it’s better to let children have fantasies and dreams—let them be children and not force them to grow up, to become little adults.”

  “Apparently it didn’t hurt me.”

  He begged to differ, but for now, he kept his thoughts to himself. One of his best memories was waking up on Christmas morning to the aroma of fresh-baked pumpkin bread, the Christmas lights twinkling on the tree, and scratchy Christmas songs playing on the old record player.

  His grandmother would have the table set with the china that had been passed down from her grandmother. There were a few chips and dings, and it hadn’t been a complete set of dishes in years, but the set was priceless to her. His grandmother said each plate had a story, and every year she would tell them one.

  He and Brian had discussed her stories once and come to the conclusion that she more often than not made them up, but she was really good at telling them, and they enjoyed listening to them, so they never said anything.