A Cowboy's Temptation Read online

  Some of her clients were high-value targets of the country’s enemies. Many were irreplaceable to their organizations. And most represented an investment of millions of dollars in their personal recruitment and training. Clustering them together required a certain level of secrecy and discretion.

  “Yeah, I get that,” said Marta.

  “We have to stop the railway development without giving ourselves away.”

  “I can have an anti-railway website up and running for us in an hour,” Marta offered. “Stop-the-evil-railroad.com.”

  “Too on the nose,” Darby returned, buying into the idea. “Save-our-pristine-wilderness.org.”

  “Stop-noise-pollution-in-Lyndon.”

  “That one’s not bad.” Darby nodded her agreement.

  A website was certainly a good place to start. Lyndonites couldn’t make the right decision if they didn’t have accurate information. At the very least, she had to convince them that holding a referendum was in everybody’s best interest. What was the point of democracy if the majority didn’t get a chance to make decisions?

  “We can put all your facts and figures out there,” said Marta. “Charts, graphs, you name it. And we can print up flyers and deliver them door to door. We could target the women close to him in his life. His parents moved away when they retired, but his sisters are in town. Abigail’s pregnant.”

  Darby couldn’t help but admire the way Marta’s mind worked. It didn’t matter what the topic, she automatically cataloged, reviewed, analyzed and predicted.

  “You mean pregnant with a baby who might one day get hit by a train,” Darby continued the thought.

  “Or whose delicate little eardrums might be ruptured by one hundred fifty decibels of train whistle.”

  “Doesn’t his sister Mandy have a baby boy?”

  “One year old now.”

  Darby surprised herself with a grin. “Those are some really great ideas.”

  “Thanks.” Marta smiled in return.

  “Seth Jacobs, here we come.”

  * * *

  Seth was beginning to realize he might have underestimated Darby Carroll. It was obviously a bias on his part, one he’d never admit to his sisters or his cousin, but it hadn’t occurred to him that a woman so incredibly gorgeous and sexy would also be so incredibly efficient.

  Staring at the glossy anti-railway poster on the bulletin board in the front office of City Hall, he couldn’t help remembering her at the Davelyns’ barn raising. Those eyes had been her most startling feature, wide and deep green, lashes dark. But they were by no means the only thing that made her beautiful. Her skin was creamy smooth. She had a sleek mane of auburn hair that cascaded partway down her back. And her compact body seemed as toned and healthy as they came. She gave the impression of coiled energy, like she might spring to action at any moment.

  He reached out and tugged the poster down, gazing at the breadth of her handiwork. It was outrageous and impressive at the same time, encouraging Lyndon citizens to demand a referendum.

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to do that,” said Lisa Thompson, arriving at his right shoulder. Lisa was his cousin, advisor and chief of staff.

  “It’s my bulletin board,” Seth returned.

  “It’s the city’s bulletin board,” she corrected. “And citizens are permitted to post notices for seven days.”

  “Not when it’s hate speech.”

  She scoffed out a laugh. “It’s perfectly legal to hate the railroad.”

  Reluctantly accepting her argument, he handed Lisa the poster. She waggled her finger in an obvious reprimand of his behavior.

  “We’ve had a dozen more phone calls on the topic this morning,” she told him as she repegged it to the large corkboard.

  “For or against?”

  “A mixed bag. Darby Carroll may well get enough signatures for the referendum. You have to admire the woman’s tenacity.”

  “Tenacity is not exactly what I’m looking for in a woman.” Seth would hardly call it her best feature.

  “Excuse me?” Lisa raised her brows. “Did I detect a note of sexism there?”

  “Stand down, cousin,” Seth quickly backpedaled. “I’m not looking for it in a man, either.”

  “Do I need to reinstate our gender sensitivity lessons?”

  “No. Please, no.” Raised on the range, Seth was hardly the most enlightened of males, but he could be politically correct when it was required.

  “I was thinking you’re a lot alike,” Lisa observed.

  “Who’s a lot alike?”

  “You and Darby Carroll.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She took a step backward. “Don’t shoot the messenger, boss. But you have been known to take a stand on certain subjects and flatly refuse to back down.”

  “I do for the good of the city. And the railway is absolutely for the good of the city.”

  “I don’t disagree.”

  “Then why are we arguing?”

  “I’m only saying she’s a worthy adversary.”

  Seth didn’t need a worthy adversary, particularly not a beautiful one with distracting green eyes. He needed a little smooth sailing.

  He’d been mayor for nearly a year now, and he’d discovered there were opponents to literally every initiative. And it was always the craziest of his detractors who took the time and trouble to call City Hall or write to the newspaper. He swore he couldn’t change the toilet paper color in the men’s room without a barrage of resistance.

  “How long until the rail right-of-way permits are in place?” he asked Lisa.

  “The public has one more week to comment.”

  His attention went back to the poster. “And if she gets enough signatures on the petition?”

  “Then it takes sixty days to hold a referendum. That will delay execution of the permits.”

  Seth could see all his well-placed plans blowing up in his face. “Has anyone been in touch with Mountain Railway? Have they heard about this?”

  “I talked with the president yesterday,” Lisa said.

  “And?”

  “And, on the one hand, they’re used to these kinds of protests. On the other hand, they’re beginning to think this particular protest has legs. And they weren’t expecting it.”

  “Should I call and try to reassure him?” Seth asked.

  Lisa shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “If Darby gets the six hundred signatures?”

  “Then you should definitely call him.”

  “Just once,” Seth complained as they made their way up the marble staircase toward his private offices, “just once, I’d like something to be easy.”

  “Oh, poor boss,” she mocked as they walked side by side. “Did you expect them to love you?”

  “I expected them to be sane.”

  “Why would you expect that? You were here during the election campaign.”

  Seth cracked a smile at that observation. “I know the vast majority of the citizens of Lyndon are smart, reasonable, hardworking people. Why can’t any of those ones ever write, call or come out to meetings?”

  “They’re busy working and raising their families. They’re expecting you to run the city for them. That’s why they pay you.”

  He cut through the executive reception area and into his private office. The room was big and airy. A bay window arched out on one side, overlooking the river and the town square. The riverbanks were a little muddy from a recent storm and flood, but the fall colors were brilliant: reds, yellows and greens, stretching their way up the Rocky Mountains.

  He moved to the window to take in the view.

  Darby was on a ridiculous crusade. A hundred and fifty decibels. The figure was irrelevant. Nobody but the rail-yard workers would b
e right next to the train when it blew its whistle. And they’d be wearing hearing protection.

  Train whistles were hardly newfound, cutting-edge technology that needed to be tested and studied. And the danger of collision was no different here than the danger of collision anywhere else in the country. Lyndon citizens encountered trains as close by as Fern Junction. They all seemed to come back alive.

  “Maybe you should talk to her,” said Lisa, coming up beside him.

  “And say what?”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. Maybe you should listen to her.”

  “You think she’ll change my mind?”

  Lisa was talking nonsense. She was as much in favor of the railway as anyone else in Lyndon. She’d read the research. She knew what a boon it would be to local businesses.

  “Often, people just want to be heard.”

  “She’s being heard all over the damn town.” The woman had taken out radio spots.

  “She needs to be heard by you,” said Lisa.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m your boss.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  “You are the most insubordinate employee in the world.”

  She broke into a grin. “I thought we’d established that months ago.”

  Seth considered her suggestion. “Do you think I made a mistake?”

  “In fighting Darby?”

  “No, in running for office in the first place.”

  Part of his rationale for leaving his brother, Travis, to manage the family ranch alone was that from the mayor’s seat he’d be able to make the kind of changes the ranching community needed. But so far, all he’d done was get dragged into petty squabbles. Every significant change he’d campaigned on was bogged down in controversy or red tape, or both. Worse still, he was realizing how hard it was to represent the entire city, balance needs, balance agendas. He couldn’t simply lobby for the ranchers.

  “You’re a great mayor,” Lisa assured him.

  “I wanted to be an effective mayor. I wanted to solve the water-rights issue and get the railway into Lyndon. I wanted to make life better for our neighbors.”

  “You’re doing everything you can.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “At least you’re trying.”

  “This isn’t third grade. We don’t all get a ribbon for showing up.”

  “Quit wallowing in self-pity.”

  He arched a brow.

  “Cowboy up, Seth. So you’ve hit a setback. Big deal. What’s your next move?”

  For about the thousandth time, he found himself capitulating to Lisa’s reason. As usual, her initial advice was right.

  “I need to talk to Darby Carroll,” he admitted.

  “You need to listen to Darby Carroll.”

  “That’s what I meant.”

  “Just make sure you remember it during the conversation.”

  Two

  The Valley Fall Festival attracted the who’s who of Lyndon Valley. Set in the city’s main park next to the river, it was everything from a craft fair and a farmers’ market to a family picnic, complete with amateur athletics and fun-filled competitions.

  This was Darby’s third year attending the event, but today it was about more than just fun. She was chatting with the people, passing out flyers, directing them to the “stop the noise pollution” website and, most important, gathering as many signatures as possible on the petition. Midnight tomorrow was the deadline to file, and they needed nearly a hundred more signatures to guarantee the referendum.

  Marta was making her way through the stalls of the farmers’ market, while Darby was in the tiny midway, hoping to meet a few concerned mothers putting their children on the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel.

  “A little harder. A little higher,” came a deep, familiar, male voice.

  Darby twisted her head and spotted Seth Jacobs, perched on a makeshift platform above a water tank, coaxing the teenage boy who was throwing a baseball at a target to dunk him. The mayor was bone dry so far, and the short lineup of women and preteens looking to take their turn didn’t seem to pose much of a threat.

  Too bad. She would have loved to see him go under.

  She couldn’t help musing that it was unfortunate the City Council Chambers didn’t have their own dunk tank. The mayor got out of hand at a meeting: boom, down he went.

  She smiled at the visual, temptation rising within her.

  She knew it would be wrong to give in to her fantasy. This wasn’t the time and place to take out her frustration. She had far more important things to do.

  Then again, she could afford to blow ten minutes. And if Seth had to head home and change his clothes, she’d have the festival and the citizens all to herself.

  It made perfect, strategic sense. Get the adversary out of the way, even if it was only temporarily.

  While she talked herself into it, her feet were already taking her toward the dunk tank. She fished into the pocket of her blue jeans and produced a five-dollar bill. For that, the woman at the kiosk handed over three softballs.

  Darby was confident she’d only need one.

  She took her place in the lineup, fifth back, behind a short, teenage boy who was obviously a friend of the one who’d just failed to hit the target. Behind him were three women, all in heels and dresses, each of them obviously here to flirt with Seth, not to embarrass him.

  It didn’t take him long to spot her. He glanced to the balls in her hand, and his expression faltered.

  She flashed him a confident smile, tossing one of the balls a couple of feet in the air and catching it again with one hand. She knew she shouldn’t enjoy this. But there was really no point in fighting her feelings. She felt a buzz of adrenaline come up in anticipation.

  He gritted his teeth.

  The teenage boy came close but didn’t hit the bull’s-eye.

  The three women all giggled their way through pathetic attempts.

  Then it was Darby’s turn.

  “Mr. Mayor,” she greeted.

  “Ms. Carroll.”

  “Ready to get wet?”

  “Give it your best shot.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  It was far from the first projectile Darby had thrown. She’d played a lot of softball while stationed on bases and overseas. More significant, in basic training, she’d been a great shot with a rifle.

  He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans, sneakers instead of his usual leather boots—probably a good idea—and a blue plaid shirt, with the sleeves rolled up over his tanned forearms.

  “You might want to take off your hat,” she advised.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  He settled the Stetson more firmly on his head, and their gazes locked.

  Adios, Seth Jacobs.

  She switched her attention to the target.

  “Don’t get nervous,” he taunted, voice loud and staccato, as if he was trying to psych out a batter. “Don’t want to miss. Don’t want to choke.”

  But Darby had spent enough time in a war zone that his shouts weren’t going to faze her.

  She drew back her arm, pivoted at the elbow and drilled the ball in a straight line.

  It hit straight on. The target pinged. The crowd gasped. And Seth’s eyes widened a split second before he plunged into the tank.

  The crowd squealed and clapped.

  “Well, I guess that’s it for our brave mayor,” came a woman’s voice through the tinny loudspeaker. “Round of applause please, ladies and gentlemen. Next up is Carla Sunfall, our very own Miss Wheatgrass.”

  Darby watched Seth surface. He gave her a fleeting, dark look, before smiling gamely and waving his hat to the crowd. He climbed the
ladder out of the tank while two men reaffixed the platform and helped Miss Wheatgrass up to her perch.

  Darby turned and handed her spare softballs to the young man behind her.

  “Good luck,” she told him.

  He grinned, likely just as thrilled to have Miss Wheatgrass take the platform as he was to have two extra chances to throw.

  Darby left the midway and headed for the baseball field. It had been temporarily turned into a sports track with white paint delineating various lanes and quadrants. There, the organizers were hosting everything from three-legged races to egg tosses. Again, she expected to find mothers with young children who might share her concerns on safety and noise pollution.

  “Nice throw,” came Seth’s voice.

  She glanced at him as he drew up beside her, matching her strides. They were out of the main action now, between the backs of the game stalls and a low chain-link fence, where the generators hummed and fans blew heat out of the stalls. The shouts of game players and the electronic buzzes and pings were dampened by the makeshift walls.

  “You’re looking a little damp, Mr. Mayor.”

  His shirt was plastered to his broad chest, the soaked fabric delineating the definition of his muscles. His hair was wet, curling darkly across his forehead, and the sheen on his face seemed to accentuate his rugged, handsome features.

  Her mouth went dry, and the sun suddenly felt hotter on her head. Her body launched a traitorous rush of hormones, and she didn’t dare glance at the fit of his blue jeans.

  “All for a good cause,” he responded easily, and she couldn’t help being disappointed by his equanimity.

  He nodded to her clipboard. “How’s it going?”

  “Almost there.”

  “Deadline’s tomorrow.”

  “Really?” she drawled. “I hadn’t thought to check.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  She gazed up and down his body. Oops. Bad idea. He was one sexy specimen of a man. She gave herself a mental shake. “Aren’t you going to change your clothes?”

  “I’ve been wet before.” His smooth, deep tone added an edge to the comment.

  She deliberately ignored it. “It can’t be very comfortable.”