Cowboys Are For Loving

  How to Photograph a Cowboy…by Brianne Gainsborough

  Get permission from his father to follow him around for two weeks. Never ask the cowboy directly—they tend to be loners.

  Find out what time the cowboy gets up in the morning, then wake up a half an hour earlier. Be ready and waiting with your camera—but tread lightly, even cowboys can roll out of bed on the wrong side.

  Keep up with the cowboy’s every move—and never, ever let him see you sweat. He’s just itching for you to throw in the towel and hightail it back to the big city—don’t give him the satisfaction.

  And finally, make sure that you and your brooding cowboy get a chance to spend a night in the wilderness under the star-spangled sky…and don’t forget to make a wish!

  Dear Reader,

  I got a speeding ticket once. Okay, okay, I’ve gotten speeding tickets twice. Unfortunately, neither ticket turned into a romance with the cop who stopped me. All I ended up with was a court date (much less fun than a dinner date, I promise you) and a fine. Author Patricia Hagan clearly has better things in mind for her characters, though. Pick up Groom on the Run and you’ll see what I mean. Because when policewoman Liz Casey stops Steve Miller for speeding, all sorts of interesting and exciting things ensue. Like sparks, like romance…and like a very difficult working relationship when she discovers he’s a cop, too. Pretty soon you can forget misdemeanor speeding and go straight to love in the first degree!

  You’ll love our second book for the month, too—Marie Ferrarella’s Cowboys Are for Loving. This is the second in her miniseries THE CUTLERS OF THE SHADY LADY RANCH. Kent Cutler is a cowboy through and through, and he’s flat-out not interested in having any city girls hanging around the ranch. Although there’s something about Brianne Gainsborough that…well, as you’ll see, even the toughest cowboy can be roped and tied when the right woman comes along.

  Enjoy them both, and rejoin us next month for two more Yours Truly novels, books where Mr. Right is just around the corner.

  Yours,

  Leslie J. Wainger

  Executive Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

  Cowboys Are for Loving

  Marie Ferrarella

  To John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Ty Hardin and all those other wonderful cowboy heroes who filled my childhood with fantastic dreams

  Dearest Reader,

  I have always loved cowboys. When I was a little girl, the TV was full of them. From John Wayne to Lash LaRue to the Cisco Kid, I loved them all. I learned how to speak English (with a Western twang) by watching early John Wayne Westerns and knew the opening theme song to perhaps a hundred Westerns. (I can still sing the “Zorro” theme song at the drop of a hat—ask my kids.) There was just something so terribly romantic about a strong, silent man who would ride to your rescue. (My husband maintains that any man would be silent in my company, since I talk faster than most people can think, but we won’t go there.) Of course, at the end of the show, the hero would ride off alone with the lady standing in the distance, watching him go. In my mind, I’d be right there, riding off into that sunset beside him. I didn’t believe in hanging back demurely.

  For me, the romance continued even after Westerns and I both grew up. The Westerns got more realistic, grittier, and the cowboys are a shade less heroic and more than a little dirtier, but I still love them.

  After reading about Kent Cutler, my hero in Cowboys Are for Loving, I hope you will, too.

  With all my love,

  1

  “No, absolutely not. I am not letting some strange woman into my life.” Kent Cutler’s voice, usually so low-keyed, was raised, filling every corner of the spacious living room.

  Jake Cutler glared at his middle child. With five children, you would have thought that at least one of them wouldn’t have been born stubborn to the bone. But even as a child, Kent had had his own mind. At eight, he had already staked his claim by carving his initials on the baseboard by the living-room fireplace and taken the first step toward the rest of his life.

  Jake huffed his annoyance. “If you ask me, you could do with a woman in your life, strange or otherwise.” Glancing at his wife, Zoe, Jake saw her reproving look, but pretended not to. “Hell, boy, I’m beginning to worry about you and your horse.”

  The remark didn’t bother Kent. His hide had grown thick over the years, by necessity. He’d endured much worse from his siblings and given back as good as he’d gotten. But this was his father, so he shrugged off the dig.

  “Well, don’t be. The horse is spoken for.” His temper drew a coarse, dark line beneath his easy humor. “And as for me, I should have been spoken to, about this crazy idea.”

  Not, he added silently, that it would have done any good. There was no way in hell he would have ever agreed to let some woman dog his tracks, camera in hand, no matter how diplomatically his father had broached the ridiculous idea.

  Because it meant so much to Zoe, Jake attempted to hang on to the frayed ends of his own temper. “You are being spoken to about it.”

  Brows the color of wheat browned by the sun drew together over an almost flawless nose, an unintended gift from his father’s side of the family. Kent looked darkly at his father. “One day before she’s supposed to arrive is cutting it a little short, don’t you think?”

  The timing had been intentional, Jake silently admitted. A man knew his own children. Knew, too, all their bad habits. Temper gave way, temporarily, to a smug smile. “Gives you less time to stew about it,” Jake told his son.

  The expression on Kent’s chiseled face was deceptively mild. Both parents recognized the storm brewing beneath.

  “I don’t have to stew about it. The answer’s still no.” Kent saw his father open his mouth to retort. He leaned over the shortest of the Cutler men, bringing his face directly before Jake’s. “No,” Kent repeated with emphasis.

  Flaring tempers and dueling temperaments were nothing new to Zoe. She’d put up with displays of both for most of her married life. She’d even entered the fray a time or two herself, although this time all she wanted was to see the flag of truce run up the flagpole.

  With a gentling hand on her son’s arm, Zoe intervened, hoping to make him come around. “Kent, she’s the daughter of an old family friend—”

  There was little Kent would deny his mother, but his privacy—his space—was very precious to him. If he were to give it up, it would not be to acquiesce to the whims of some woman he’d never met and, as far as he was concerned, didn’t care to meet.

  “Fine.” With a sweep of his hand, Kent indicated his father. “Let Dad show her around the Shady Lady. He’s got the time for it. Me, I’m too busy.”

  Jake spoke up before Zoe had a chance to. He didn’t like being put in a position where he had to go back on a promise. A man’s word still counted for something in Jake’s world. And Kent, like it or not, belonged to that world.

  “She doesn’t want to be ‘shown around.’” His friend had made that quite clear. “She wants to see what a working ranch is like, firsthand. She wants to take pictures of you sweating.”

  That was probably how she had put it, too, Kent thought in disgust. “See the cowboy sweat.” Typical urban thinking. Ranch life was something that fell under the heading of entertainment to people who drank their water from a fancy bottle instead of from a tap.

  Kent leveled a gaze at his father. “Seems to me the girl needs help.”

  This needed a woman’s touch, Zoe thought. Much as she loved Jake, he had a tendency to be heavyhanded, pounding s
omething into the ground with a rock where a light tap would do. She moved in front of Jake, as if to physically block his next words.

  “Yes, she does. She needs your help, Kent,” Zoe insisted, and made a personal appeal. “Brian Gainsborough used to be the dearest friend your father had in the world. He was best man at our wedding.” As naturally as breathing, Zoe slipped her hand into her husband’s. “When he called out of the blue, asking if we’d help his daughter and put her up while she’s out here in Montana, doing a magazine series on ranching, we saw no harm in saying that we would.”

  “There isn’t any harm in it,” Kent agreed amiably. He heard his father sigh with relief. In the next breath, Kent snatched victory back. “But the ‘we’ includes you and Dad, not me.” Putting on his tan, sweat-worn hat, he pulled it low over his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got an appointment with a branding iron, several skittish head of cattle and a couple of new hands who need some training.”

  With an air of finality, Kent turned and headed for the front door.

  It was Jake’s turn to raise his voice, calling after his son, “This isn’t settled yet.”

  “Yes,” Kent tossed over his shoulder, never breaking stride, “it is.”

  And, in his innocence, he really thought it was. This wasn’t the first time he’d bucked his father and he didn’t intend on being railroaded into agreeing to go along with this.

  They were talking about his privacy, something he valued right up there with life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Happiness to Kent Cutler meant being left alone to go his own way, do what needed doing. It meant not being interfered with.

  But Kent hadn’t counted on Brianne Gainsborough. Hadn’t counted on the fact that ever since she was a little girl, Brianne always had managed to get what she set out to get once she put her mind to it. Hadn’t counted on the fact that Brianne could talk faster than a high-priced auctioneer in a fever pitch. And Kent definitely hadn’t counted on the fact that she’d turn out to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, on or off the TV, an item he didn’t much have time for and even less use for.

  No, he hadn’t counted on any of that.

  Which was why, when Zoe Cutler sent one of the hands to bring her son to the main house, Kent responded in person rather than sending an excuse, mistakenly feeling invulnerable because he was wrapped up in his own confidence.

  Slightly put off by having to put in an appearance while in the midst of his day’s work, and believing that this was only going to take a few minutes, he arrived at the house without bothering to change or even shake the dust off his clothes.

  The first thing he heard when he opened the door was his father’s booming voice. The lady on the receiving end of his oration had her back toward the doorway and Kent. Taking stock of the enemy while still standing safely hidden in the hall, Kent was immediately aware of blond hair, falling straight as a waterfall to the woman’s waist.

  A highly impractical hairdo, he thought, though he had to admit it was mildly pleasing to the eye.

  “You don’t look a thing like your old man,” Jake was saying to the woman. A chuckle rumbled from deep within his forty-two-inch chest. “Who would have thought that ugly old son of a gun could have sired a filly as beautiful as you?”

  Zoe rolled her eyes, shaking her head. After all these years, she was used to Jake’s outspokenness, but she knew it could put some people off. “You’ll have to forgive Jake, Brianne. He’s not accustomed to minding his manners.”

  Kent heard a laugh in response that sounded like warm honey, thick and rich as it poured over him.

  “Forgive him?” Brianne’s smile took in her entire countenance, as well as her audience. “I’m flattered. Jake obviously loves horses.” When she laid her hand on his arm, Brianne’s touch was familiar, as if she’d known Jake Cutler all her life. “That means I’ve just been paid a very high compliment. And I won’t tell Dad what you said if you don’t.” To seal the bargain, she winked at Jake. “But if you’re wondering, I’ve been told that I look like my mother.”

  Jake nodded. Brian Gainsborough had a broad, amiable face that brought to mind an overly friendly Saint Bernard or Newfoundland puppy. “That would explain why you’re pretty as a picture. You should be in front of a camera, not behind it.”

  “Oh, but I love being behind a camera.” She looked at the thirty-five millimeter on the coffee table, lying with the rest of her things that had been brought into the house. “I’ve always had a passion of photography. I’ve been snapping pictures since I was four years old.”

  Great, Kent thought. Just what the doctor ordered, an obsessive woman.

  The look on Zoe’s face was apologetic. “I’m afraid that Kent might need a little coaxing. A lot, actually,” she amended with a sigh. “This is a busy time of the year at the Shady Lady. There were a lot of calves born this spring—”

  Zoe knew she was making excuses, but she was trying to find some way to soften the blow in the event that Kent couldn’t be won over. There were times when there was no persuading him, no matter what. If not for Morgan, Zoe would have said that Kent was the most stubborn of her children.

  Zoe didn’t get far with her apology.

  “Wonderful,” Brianne enthused. “I’ll make the calves the focus of this section of the series.”

  When she saw the dismayed look on her hostess’s face, Brianne hesitated, wondering what she’d said wrong. And then she realized that Zoe wasn’t looking at her, but at the doorway behind her.

  Turning, Brianne caught her first glimpse of Kent Cutler. She wasn’t disappointed.

  The man seemed to be wearing half the ranch on his body and his clothes. And it looked damn attractive from where she was standing. What she saw beneath the layers of dirt and dust fit right in with the piece she was writing. Despite his less-than-pristine appearance, Kent cut a very romantic figure. A modern-day cowboy. The man was tall and rangy, with muscles that owed nothing to hours of pumping iron at any classy gym. They had obviously been built up over hours of honest, hard toil. His dark blond hair, long and curling at the ends, contrasted sharply with his deeply bronzed skin.

  But Kent Cutler’s eyes were his most startling feature. They were so outstandingly blue they demanded immediate attention.

  They certainly had hers.

  “Kent,” Zoe’s voice was just a tad reproachful, the way it had sounded to Kent when he’d arrived late and dirty at the dinner table as a boy. “You’re dusty.”

  Kent carelessly shrugged one shoulder, but kept his eyes trained on Brianne as if he expected her to strike suddenly, like a rattler.

  “The cattle didn’t seem to mind,” he finally said evenly.

  He entered the room slowly, like a mountain lion testing out terrain that had once been familiar but could prove dangerous nonetheless. He wasn’t exactly sure why he’d even bothered to respond to his mother’s summons. Probably because he had a soft spot in his heart for her. They clashed, as did he and his father, but at bottom the bond between Kent and his parents was strong. He’d never directly offend either of them by ignoring them, although this was one of those times he surely wished he could.

  “Why should they? You blend in perfectly.” Brianne snapped the photograph so quickly that it took Kent a second to realize that the flash before his eyes had come from her camera, and not her wide grin.

  Instinct had him blocking his face with his hand, but it kicked in too late. The damage had already been done. When he lowered his hand, Brianne made her move and shot another frame.

  “Do you have to do that?” He growled the question at her. The woman was faster on the draw than a nineteenth-century gunfighter.

  “Yes.” Momentarily satisfied, Brianne set the camera back on the table. “It’s my job.”

  He had the feeling she was talking to him the way she would to a slow-witted child. “To be annoying?” he challenged.

  Instead of reacting by taking offense, or snapping back at him, as he would have
expected any decent person to do, Brianne merely smiled in response. “No, to take photographs. The annoying part depends strictly on my subject.”

  He didn’t care to be smiled at. Not when his temper felt as if it had been rubbed raw. “I’m not your subject, Ms.—”

  “Gainsborough,” Brianne filled in quickly before either one of his parents could make the unnecessary introduction. If she was any judge of character, the dusty cowboy knew exactly who she was. “No, not entirely,” she allowed. “But in part, you are.”

  He drew himself up, a soldier going one-on-one with the enemy, certain of the victorious outcome. “Oh no, I’m not.”

  Zoe wet her lips. It seemed the older her son got, the more introverted and unreachable he became. It was all the fault of Brick Taylor’s daughter. Rosemary Taylor had turned her son against the whole sex. If it had been up to her, Zoe would have wrung the young girl’s neck before she’d have let her hurt Kent. He had never talked about it, but she knew all about the proposal and the flippant refusal that had met it.

  Still, that was no excuse for his rudeness now. “Kent can be a little difficult at times.” Zoe slanted a look toward her son. It was, she knew, a vast understatement.

  Jake saw the tiny lines of distress furrow between his wife’s eyebrows. He slipped a supportive arm around Zoe’s shoulders.

  “All her fault,” he told Brianne, but there was affection in his voice. Anyone who knew them knew Jake Cutler worshipped the ground his wife walked on. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.”

  Zoe raised her chin. “Like you ever raised a hand to any of them.”

  “Couldn’t.” He pretended to shrug helplessly. “They were all too fast, and besides, I was afraid of you.”