Last of the Red-Hot Cowboys Read online

  The first hurdle was getting Trace to train them, but Ava was pretty certain Trace wasn’t the kind of man who changed his mind. He even looked stubborn, with his lean-planed cheeks and square jawline. Judy said that Trace was the platoon leader for the Spec Ops group the three men had been in, and because of that alone, he got respect from almost every man around, including Declan and Saint. The platinum-haired mayor had said that Trace had probably killed more men than most, and saved plenty of his own men. He was known for being hard and decisive in Spec Ops, which made him perfect for Judy’s mission.

  Trace’s arm brushed Ava’s, and she tried to scoot closer into Judy’s space. He hadn’t really looked at Ava, but she had a feeling he was paying close attention to her, like a hawk watching a rabbit—seemingly not watching, but radar-intense all the same.

  “You fellows turned my girl down?” Steel asked.

  Trace shrugged beside her. “We have no way of helping the team with its goals. We’re not set up for it.”

  Ava bit into a veggie quesadilla, wondering if Steel had any sway with the men Judy called the Outlaws. She didn’t think so. Trace didn’t strike her as the kind of man anyone could sway. He appeared remote as he sipped his beer and ate nothing, and seemed to be the one in control of the decision-making.

  “That’s it, then, love,” Steel said to Judy with a jovial smile.

  “Not really,” Judy said. “The Horsemen are going to train us.”

  Ava waited to see how Steel would take this news. Trace hadn’t seemed too keen on it, and his buddies certainly hadn’t—but since Miss Judy was telling a whopping fib and they hadn’t even approached these so-called Horsemen, Ava waited to get the sheriff’s reaction.

  “Ah, hell, Judy,” Steel said, making the mayor sit straight in the booth, radiating annoyance. “You don’t want to be over there with those jackals.”

  “We have to train somewhere,” Judy shot back.

  “I’m going,” Trace said, getting out of the booth. He tipped his hat to the group. “It’s an early morning for me. Ladies, Sheriff, goodnight.”

  He ambled over to Stephen, paid his tab. Ava watched as the cowboy left, his dark face unreadable, his lean body taut as he moved through the doors.

  Judy dug her hard in the ribs.

  “What?” Ava asked.

  “Now’s your chance,” Judy said under her breath so that the chatting group around them couldn’t hear. “Go after him. Get him to say yes.”

  He didn’t look like he’d be too open to anyone intruding on his schedule and solitude. “Maybe it’s not a good—”

  “It’s good,” Judy said. “Don’t be fooled by all that loner persona. It’s baloney. Trace can be convinced, if you do your convincing right.”

  Ava blinked. Why follow a man who professed little interest in being sociable? “Maybe he’ll warm up in a day or two.”

  “We don’t have a day or two. We need to start training now,” Judy reminded her.

  This was true. The first rodeo they wanted to attend was in December, only four short months away.

  Reluctantly, Ava got out of the booth. “I’ll be right back,” she told Cameron and Harper, “I’m going to get some fresh air for a minute.”

  Ava walked out of Redfeathers, glancing around in the darkness. It was only nine o’clock on a crisp August evening, but the darkness was inky. She rubbed her arms, not sure how to follow Trace. She had no idea which direction he went and she didn’t feel comfortable in this place. Maybe it was the dark, rain-threatening sky.

  Then again, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the mission Judy had her on. Trace wasn’t going to be easy to corral, and she wasn’t sure she was the best one to do it.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Ava turned to look at the middle-aged man with the frizzed, long white hair and the scar over one eye. He was tall and thin and a little scary-looking, though probably harmless. Still, she didn’t want to spend too much time with him.

  “I was looking for Trace,” Ava said.

  “Went that way.” He pointed down the street.

  “Thank you.” It started to mist, tiny dots of moisture glazing the air as she walked on the cobbled sidewalk. She was only going to the end of this block, and if she didn’t see Trace, she was going back to the bar, where it was warm.

  A shiny black truck pulled up next to her.

  “Hey,” Trace said. “Where are you going?”

  “I needed fresh air,” Ava said, wondering why Judy had picked her to be the one to try to corral Trace. Her excuse sounded really stupid—he had to know she’d been trying to follow him.

  He glanced up at the sky. Thready gray clouds covered the moon, and the mist was turning into an icy drizzle. “Helluva way to get fresh air, but whatever,” Trace said. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” she said, shivering a little and trying not to look like she was frozen.

  He studied her. “Are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Trace shrugged. “Come on, Miss Independence, before you drown,” he said, his tone aggravatingly amused.

  The rain fell harder. Her dark blouse molded to her body, sticking to her icily. “I can walk back,” she said, throwing up a barrier.

  “I know.” Trace got out of the truck, pointing to the open bench seat. “Get in.”

  She slid in without arguing, trying not to sigh with relief in his truck. It was warm and it smelled like him, a comforting blend of spice and man and leather. “Cold rain for August.”

  “Yep.” Trace turned the truck in the direction of Redfeathers.

  She wiped water from her eyes, knowing she looked like a little girl with her short hair plastered against her face. The Plan would just have to wait until she felt more attractive.

  He pulled in front of Redfeathers. “Here you are.”

  “Thanks.” Ava scooted to the other side, surprised when Trace pulled her hand, drawing her back across the seat. He kissed her, his lips warm and hard and demanding, and Ava was so shocked she didn’t move for a moment. He tasted so good, so warm, his velvety strokes melting her.

  But this wasn’t part of the Plan.

  “Hey,” she said, pulling away. “Mind your manners, cowboy.”

  He looked at her, studying her dog-wet hair and soaked clothes. “All right,” he said, his tone measured, disinterested—stunning her by pulling her back to him with one hand at the back of her neck, right to his mouth, sweeping her with his tongue, tasting her. Touching her cheek, tracing her skin, sending shivers all over her. He pulled her close against him, one hand pressing against her back. Ava melted, only then realizing he was no longer holding her to him.

  No, she was pretty much plastered against that nice, big, hard chest all on her own.

  When was the last time she’d had such a hot, sexy kiss?

  Never.

  Ava felt herself giving in, felt her resistance crumbling. This was bad, really bad. She was basically falling into his lap—no, she was in his lap. She wanted more, her fingers burying in his hair, cradling his slightly unshaven face between her palms, shocked by how much she wanted him to keep kissing her.

  Judy had warned her about Trace’s raw sex appeal. All of the Outlaws were sex on a stick, and ladies threw themselves at them.

  Just like me.

  Pushing him away, Ava got out of the truck, slamming the door. She went inside Redfeathers, annoyed with him, more annoyed with herself. No doubt Trace’s sex appeal was part of his reluctant, rugged charm.

  I’m not falling for it. I know cowboys—and red-hot ones like that are guaranteed to break the most cautious heart.

  Safe, steady, cool-blue is my kind of guy.

  Chapter Two

  Mayor Judy smiled when Ava walked back inside Redfeathers. “Did you get him to change his mind?” she asked as Ava slid into the circular booth.

  “Change his mind about what?” Declan asked, demonstrating that he had the excellent hearing a SEAL probably needed.


  “Who are we talking into something?” Saint raised his beer to Judy. “Poor bastard, whoever he is. He’s already lost, though he doesn’t know it.”

  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 ti
me 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.”