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She sighed. “It was Mason Kilgore, a photographer I worked for in Montana before we came here. He used to take pictures of me when he was bored. He got the bright idea to send one in and pulled it out of his files.”
Travis picked up his burger carefully. “It was a bright idea, apparently. When’s the contest?”
She looked at him in surprise. “I don’t know. Since I don’t intend to participate, it really doesn’t matter.”
“You meant what you said the Fourth of July, huh?” He took a big bite of his burger, his gaze curious.
“Of course, I did,” she said indignantly. “Why on earth would I want to—”
“Niki!”
Dylan rushed across the room, the sharp urgency in his voice making her start. Whatever had him in an uproar was all to the good, though, since she’d been meaning to track him down for some straight talk ever since she’d seen him with that strange, and very attractive, cowboy on the Fourth of July.
He galloped up, his face actually pale beneath his wide-brimmed hat. She felt a rush of alarm.
“What is it, Dylan? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I practically did.” He tossed a newspaper onto the table, half-covering Travis’s plate. “Have y’all seen that?”
“Today’s San Antonio Sun? No.”
“Then take a look,” he almost yelled, stabbing his forefinger at the page. “I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t read it in the paper.” He shook his head in disbelief.
Heart in her throat, Niki leaned over the page and saw a photograph—a photograph of the cowboy she’d just been thinking about. Helplessly she looked up at Dylan, who nodded.
“Yep, that’s him—none other than Clay Russell, World Champion Cowboy, in the flesh. And fool that I was, I set right over there—” He pointed dramatically at a table. “—and talked to him and never had any the least idea who he was.”
“His name’s Clay Russell?” She was having trouble grasping this. Leaning over, she read the caption.
Clay Russell, official spokesman for Mother Hubbard’s Wild West Duds, was announcing details of the contest to crown the first Queen of the Cowgirls. There, among the list of finalists, her own name leaped out at her.
Incensed, she looked up to find both men staring at her. “How dare he do this!” she exclaimed. “My name’s still there and he knows I have no intention of taking part in that stupid contest. What part of ‘no thanks’ doesn’t he understand?”
Dylan frowned. “You really meant what you said about turning it down?”
“Why on earth would I say it if I didn’t mean it?”
The cowboy shrugged. “I dunno. I thought…” He darted a guarded glance at Travis, placidly munching while watching the goings-on with interest. “I thought you just wanted to be coaxed.”
Niki groaned. “Dylan Sawyer, you know me better than that.”
“Well, heck, Niki, a woman can always change her mind.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Now that you know Clay Russell’s involved…”
“That doesn’t change a darn thing.”
“I dunno, Niki.” Travis wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, his expression dubious. “This could be an awful good thing for the town, having you sashaying around the country as Miss Queen of the Cowgirls or whatever it is.”
“Et tu, Travis?” She gave him a reproachful look.
“Now, think about it,” he urged. “From what I hear, you’ll get money, prizes, fame, glamour….”
“I don’t want any of that.”
Dylan leaned forward. “You’ll get your picture took with Clay Russell,” he said. “That wouldn’t be none too shabby.”
Niki shivered. She didn’t want her picture taken with the handsome stranger who’d confused and unnerved her. Remembering his final words in light of this new information—I don’t think there’s anything here I really want—made her suppose he thought she wouldn’t have a chance of winning anyway.
Which should make her feel better but didn’t. She picked up her tray. “I don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “I appreciate your good intentions but the subject isn’t open for discussion.”
“But Niki—”
Undeterred, she went about her business, which lasted until the next customer entered.
“Have you seen the San Antonio Sun?”
That’s all she heard for the rest of her shift. By the time she turned in her apron and prepared to leave, she was heartily sick of all the gratuitous advice she’d been receiving, all of it the same: do it for us. Do it for the town.
Well, she wouldn’t! Not this time. She’d—
“Hey, Niki!”
She whirled to find Miguel Reyes, a cowboy she’d known ever since she moved to Texas, standing there grinning at her. She grinned back, but warily, waiting for him to ask if she’d seen that darned newspaper.
Too bad, really. Miguel was one good-looking guy, and just as nice as he was cute. She’d actually been thinking lately that she might want to go out with him…. She wasn’t too crazy about cowboys as a rule but her choices were limited and she did sometimes get lonely for a little male companionship.
“Got a minute?” he asked, twisting his hat between big, competent hands.
“Yes.” Niki said cautiously. Now he’d ask her if she knew who the stranger at the picnic had been and she’d have to go through the whole song-and-dance again.
“Uh…would you like to go to the movies with me Friday night?”
“Miguel, I’ve been all through this and—” She stopped short. “What did you say?”
“I asked you to go to the movies with me Friday. Any chance?”
“There’s always a chance,” she said lightly, trying to catch her balance again. “But Friday…that’s not good for me.”
“Why not?” Miguel asked softly. “Got to wash your hair or something?”
Niki felt hot blood rush into her cheeks. “No, of course not,” she protested, but he’d hit the nail right on the head. “I…uh…have to help with the dude talent night at home. I’m sorry…”
And she really was, sorry she hadn’t yelled “Yes!” at the top of her lungs. Now it was too late.
Watching Miguel make his way through the barroom, she sighed. If she didn’t quit turning down men who wanted to date her, they’d eventually quit asking.
Or maybe not. She didn’t view many of them as favorably as she did Miguel and some of them had come back so many times she’d lost count.
Unbidden, a mental picture of the stranger—Clay Russell, she knew his name now—flashed before her eyes. He didn’t look as if he’d ask anyone for anything.
He probably didn’t have to, she thought darkly. He was probably fighting the girls off with a stick.
Not this girl; never this girl.
3
IT TOOK CLAY more than two weeks to make it back to Hard Knox because he and Eve agreed that it wouldn’t be a good idea to let Niki Keene know they were out to get her, so to speak. To cover their tracks, Eve arranged a tour for her star asset: stops at all the other eleven finalists’ hometowns for meetings with the contestants, photos to see how they looked with Clay, and interviews to make sure they could “talk.”
She reasoned that if they created a big enough public hullabaloo, Niki would feel obligated to cooperate even before they got there.
Hell, Clay thought philosophically, it was worth a shot.
As a result, he hit Hard Knox on a Saturday afternoon in late July, this time amidst much fanfare and ballyhoo. A reception committee met him at the edge of town and led him to the park where he’d skulked on the Fourth of July. There the mayor waited. Almost before Clay could climb out of his pickup truck, the park began to fill with curious and eager citizens of all ages.
Escorted to the bandstand by the rotund chief of police, he was met by the beaming mayor. Behind her, a couple of photographers hovered, fingering the cameras draped around their necks. One would be in Eve’s hire and the other was doubtless from the local newspaper.
The mayor nodded happily. “Rosie Mitchell,” she said, grabbing his hand and shaking it with both of hers. “Welcome to our fair city, Mr. Russell.”
“Call me Clay.” He looked around for Niki and spotted her sisters almost at once but the reluctant contestant herself was not in evidence. “Uhh… I don’t seem to see—”
“That’ll wait.” Rosie hauled him to the edge of the platform and held up her hands for attention. “Folks, I’d like y’all to meet Clay Russell, World Champion All-Around Cowboy. Let’s give him a big ol’ Hard Knox welcome!”
At her urging, everyone applauded, some politely but most with enthusiasm. Clay acknowledged their welcome with a smile and a friendly wave but his thoughts were elsewhere, with a certain blue-eyed black-haired malcontent.
When the applause died away, he tried again. “Mayor Mitchell, I don’t see our contestant anywhere. I hope Ms. Keene—”
“Yes, yes, we’ll talk about that,” Rosie said. “But first—”
One of the men loitering nearby rushed forward, carrying a large gilt key.
“The key to the city,” Rosie said expansively, offering it to Clay with a flourish. “We’re mighty proud to welcome you to Hard Knox and hope you’ll stay around long enough to appreciate lots of good old-fashioned Texas hospitality.”
Somewhat taken aback, Clay accepted the key to the accompaniment of more applause. About eighteen inches long and made of balsa wood, it glittered with brilliant metallic gold paint. A bright blue ribbon streamed from the shaft.
“I’m overwhelmed,” he said. “Thank you all for this nice welcome. Now if I can just meet our contestant—”
“You can meet everyone!” Rosie waved expansively to the crowd. She added in a joking tone, “Now don’t y’all push and shove, folks.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I’m sure you’ll all get to shake the hand of our honored guest—maybe even get yourself an autograph.”
And that’s what happened for the next hour and forty-five minutes. Not once did Niki Keene show her beautiful face, nor did her sisters join the line of autograph seekers. In fact, after a while they wandered off.
This did not portend well for the success of his mission but he wouldn’t let that little quibble get him down. It was in his own best interest to get Nikki to compete, so compete she would.
OVER AT the nearly empty Sorry Bastard Saloon, Niki strove in vain to ignore what she knew was going on outside. She wanted nothing to do with the duplicitous Mr. Russell but neither did she want to be rude. Maybe if she simply stayed away, he’d take the hint.
But she couldn’t forget the words he’d said on the Fourth of July: nothing I want here.
Definitely an insult.
Cleavon, working behind the bar, waved her over. Rosie was definitely the more popular member of that duo but Niki had always been fond of her other boss, too.
Tall and thin, he’d wrapped the white bar apron around his skinny body a couple of times. As always, his long brown hair was pulled back into a wispy ponytail that drooped at the nape of his neck.
Flopping a towel on the bar, he leaned forward. “Why don’cha just go on over to th’ park?” he urged plaintively. “It’s gonna look real funny, you not bein’ there with that big rodeo cowboy comin’ all this way to see you.”
Niki felt her spine stiffen. “Don’t start on me, Cleavon,” she begged. “Please.”
He sighed. “I won’t, but you showin’ up would sure save Rosie’s bacon. She’s out there makin’ a fool of herself and hopin’ against hope you’ll do this one little bitty thing for the town.”
Niki rolled her eyes. “That’s what you said when you talked me into taking that Cowboy Dream Girl title. Cleavon, I’m twenty-seven years old which is too old for all that beauty contest nonsense. I’m afraid I’ve done just about all the little bitty things I can for this town.”
With a wave, she moved away to wash down tables that didn’t need it. She’d taken only a couple of steps when the door opened and her sisters walked in. With a groan, she bowed to the inevitable and went to meet them.
“What’ll it be?” she asked cheerfully, just as if they were regular customers. “Cleavon’s got a special on the Sorry Burger, if you’re hungry.”
Dani and Toni exchanged exasperated glances and Dani said, “All we want is you, Nik—out there acting nice.”
“This is as nice as I get these days.” Niki spun away.
Toni jumped in front of her. “Rosie’s dyin’ out there, trying to act as if everything’s all right. She was so sure you’d change your mind.”
“Just because I always have before, after being brow-beaten and bullied for a couple of weeks? I’m sorry but I can’t do that again.”
“But this guy is cute.” Dani joined the offense. “I mean, really cute. At least come out to meet him and let the photographers take a couple of pictures. ”
“What part of no way, never, forget it don’t you people understand?” Niki wrung her hands together. “This is making me crazy! My own sisters…” She let her voice trail off mournfully.
Dani, seemingly undeterred, fixed Niki with a level gaze. “Okay, we tried. If you really don’t want to do this, I don’t suppose we should give you any more flack about it.”
“But on the other hand…” Toni tried to turn the tide.
“No, really,” Dani said sanctimoniously. “I guess Niki’s happy in her own little rut. Far be it from us to try to shake her out of it.”
Toni frowned. “I wouldn’t say she’s in a rut, exactly.”
Dani’s brows soared. “No? She works at the ranch and here and that’s it. She doesn’t date—”
“I certainly do,” Niki said huffily.
“When’s the last time you had a date?”
“I…I don’t know. When’s the last time you had sex? Oh—!” Niki clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was way out of line.”
“This morning about six.” Dani’s expression was challenging. “And I liked it!”
“I’m sorry,” Niki said again, miserably. What had possessed her to say such a thing? Sex wasn’t a topic often on her mind….
“I repeat, when’s the last time you went out on a date?”
“Who was it with?” Toni chimed in, apparently catching on.
