A Cowboy's Temptation

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.”

“I’ll live.”

“Good to hear. But I’m a little busy right now.”

“Did I say talk? I meant I wanted to listen to your side of the situation.”

Darby stopped, and Seth stopped, too. She turned to face him, eyes narrowing in suspicion. The old adage that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was, applied in this case.

“Why?” she asked shortly.

“I’m interested in your concerns.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Then I’m interested in you.”

“No,” she repeated with finality. “You’re not.”

“Go ahead. Let’s hear your pitch.”

“I’m not going to waste my breath.” If he gave one whit about her concerns, he’d have listened to them long before now.

“How will you know it’s a waste unless you try?” he challenged.

“Let me tell you what I know,” she said. “You’re worried I might just pull it off. You know I have a lot of signatures, but you’re not sure exactly how close I am to six hundred. So ‘talking to me’ will accomplish one of two things. Either you’ll slow me down, making me one, two or ten signatures short or, and let me assure you this second one is a very long shot, you’ll talk me out of filing the petition.”

The expression on his face told her she wasn’t wrong.

“I said I wanted to listen,” he reminded her.

“Then I’m guessing you’re trying option number one. Your intent is to slow me down rather than talk me out of filing.”

“I’m not here to slow you down.”

“Mr. Mayor—” she canted one hip, resting a hand on her waist “—I believe politicians ought to at least be honest.”

She detected a hint of a grin.

“I really do want to listen,” he insisted.

“In order to understand me? Or in order to change my mind?”

His expression faltered once more, telling her that seven years of psychology hadn’t gone to waste.

“Both,” he admitted.

“I admire your honesty, sir.”

“You can call me Seth, you know. Everybody does.”

“Seth,” she repeated, and she saw a slight flare of awareness heat the depths of his eyes.

Uh-oh. Not good. This situation was complicated enough.

Then again... She pulled her thoughts together. Maybe it was something she could use. Maybe she could mess with his focus by pursing her lips or batting her eyelashes. Truly, she’d do anything for the mission.

She tucked her hair behind one ear, moistened her lower lip and subtly pulled her shoulders back, taking on a more provocative pose.

His eyes flared deep blue again, and she knew she was taking the right tack.

A petition, if she actually made the deadline, only got her to the point of a general vote. And winning a general vote meant convincing at least half the town to support her. Might it be easier to change the mind of the one man who could single-handedly stop the railway?

“Okay,” she told him. “I’ll listen to you.”

“Talk to me,” he corrected.

“That, too,” she agreed.

* * *

Seth couldn’t recall a sexier woman than Darby Carroll. Which was odd, since she was quite plainly dressed—blue jeans, a white top and a navy blazer. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup, and she didn’t appear to have paid much attention to her hair, simply pulling it back in a jaunty ponytail. A few wisps of auburn curled softly around her temple, but he’d be willing to bet it wasn’t on purpose. They’d likely worked their way loose in the breeze.

Her green eyes were clear and intelligent, flecked with gold. Her cheeks were pink, her lips dark and full, and her nose was straight in a perfectly balanced face. She wore a set of tiny blue stones in her ears, but otherwise no jewelry. Not unless he counted her rather large and serviceable watch with its worn leather strap. And he didn’t. She couldn’t have chosen it to make herself attractive.

They were sitting at a corner table in one of the refreshment tents. She’d surprised him by agreeing to split a syrup-drizzled funnel cake with their coffee, surprised him further by actually tearing off a piece and popping the hot, sticky confection into her mouth.

He couldn’t take his gaze off the tiny drop of syrup on her lower lip. Her tongue flicked out to remove it, causing a sharp reaction deep in his gut.

“Decadent,” she breathed with a smile, and the sensation hit him again. “Now, what’s this all about?”

For a split second, he couldn’t remember. Then he dragged himself back to business. This wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting. He had to stop thinking like a cowboy and start thinking like the mayor.

“I want to make sure I understand your concerns,” he responded, removing a chunk from his own side of the funnel cake. “Why, exactly, do you object so strongly to the railroad?”

She swallowed. “Are you trying to be funny?”

“No.”

“It seems like you’re making a joke.”

“If I was making a joke, one of us would be laughing.”

“So I’ve been white noise for the past three weeks?”

“Excuse me?” This was going to be harder than he’d expected.

“You’ve pushed everything I’ve said to the background, ignored me?” She placed the remaining chunk of funnel cake back down to the plate, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “I don’t know why that surprises me.”

Seth found himself growing impatient. “Do you want to fight with me or talk to me?”

“I want to collect signatures.”

“That option wasn’t on the list.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do people really let you get away with being such a jerk?”

“Usually, yeah,” he admitted, realizing Lisa would be kicking him under the table if she were here. “But give me the benefit of the doubt for a minute. I want to hear what you have to say.”

Her green eyes darkened, but her voice went lower, more controlled. “I’ve told you in every way I know how. Trains are noisy, disruptive and dangerous. They will fundamentally change the character of Lyndon Valley forever.”

“For the better,” he couldn’t help but put in.

She clenched her jaw.

“They’ll pass through town, what, three, four, five times a day. For that minor interruption, we’ll see enormous immediate benefit and enormous future potential. Mountain Railway is willing to pour tens of millions of dollars into this project, and we’ll be the ones who win.”

“Is this what you call listening?”

He stopped, regretting he’d defaulted to speech mode. “Sorry.” He lifted his cardboard coffee cup and put it to his lips.

“It won’t just be three times a day.”

He’d allowed it could be four or five, but he stopped himself from pointing that out to her.

“It might be a dozen times a day,” she continued. “You know that line is going to eventually link up to Ripple Ridge. They won’t be able to resist that link because it cuts nearly two hundred miles off their northwestern interstate. You don’t think they’ll run their trains over the shortest route possible?”

There was a very likely possibility she was right. But Seth was surprised she’d dug that deep into the company’s future possibilities.

“That’s not in their plan,” was the best he could do as a comeback.

She shot him a look of disbelief. “Please tell me you’re capable of connecting the dots.”

“Trains run on schedules,” he said. “Can’t you plan your yoga classes and meditation during a quiet time, maybe do scrapbooking or some basket weaving when a train is due?”

“Gee, I hadn’t thought of that,” she drawled. “I could organize my life around trains. How tough could that be?”

He stayed silent for a moment, hoping against hope she wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Your ranchers are profitable without the railway,” she pointed out. “It’s a convenience, not a necessity.”

“Right back at you,” he responded. “Your hotel will survive with a railway. It’s a convenience to have one hundred percent peace and quiet, not a necessity.”

“It’s a necessity.”

“Why?” he challenged.

“Women come to Sierra Hotel to get away from loud, sudden noises.”

“It upsets their delicate sensibilities?” He knew he was being snarky, but the conversation was getting away from him. He wasn’t used to that.

She cracked her first real smile and sat back in her chair. “Yes. My clients have exceedingly delicate sensibilities.”

“Maybe they should work on that.”

“I’ll let them know you said so.” She gazed levelly into his eyes.

He got that he had amused her, that there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he couldn’t for the life of him guess what it was.

“Bottom line, Darby. The train is good for Lyndon.”

“Bottom line, Seth. The train is bad for Lyndon.”

He gauged the confidence in her expression, realizing what it had to mean, and realizing she was as worthy an adversary as he’d come across in a while. “You’ve got enough signatures, haven’t you?”

“I will have by tomorrow.”

“I could arrest you, you know. Have the sheriff lock you up. Hold you overnight on suspicion.”

“Suspicion of what?”

He could tell she wasn’t taking him seriously.

“Sedition. Rabble-rousing.”

She smiled again, shaking her pretty head. “And I could sue you and Lyndon back to the Stone Age.”

“You probably could.”

“I absolutely could.” She picked up the last chunk of the funnel cake before looking him in the eyes. “You’re a smart guy, Seth. And you know how to rise to a challenge. You don’t have to cheat to get there.”

“You’re pandering to my ego?” He couldn’t help but hope she denied it. And that hope made him realize he wanted her to have a decent opinion of him.

“I’m being honest,” she responded.

It was ridiculous, but his chest tightened with some kind of silly pride. “I’m not going to cheat.”

That earned him another smile. “Which means I’m going to win.”

* * *

“Five hundred and ninety-seven,” Darby told Marta who was sitting at the computer in the great room at Sierra Hotel. It was eleven-fifty, and they only had ten minutes left to file the petition electronically. “How could we come so close, only to miss?”

They should have worked a little harder, put up a few more posters, run another radio ad, or somehow made their pitch more compelling.

Marta swiveled in the desk chair, her gaze calculating. “If it was me,” she began slowly.

Darby waited.

“I’d go ahead and add three more signatures.”

“You mean forge them?”

“Nobody real, just scrawl something illegible along the line. I’m sure they’d get lost in the crowd.”

“That’s illegal. Not to mention immoral.”

Marta gave a little shrug. “Risk-benefit analysis. If they double-check each and every signature, they’ll throw them out. If they don’t, we get a referendum.”

“I don’t think I could ethically do that.” Darby had experienced too many situations where people claimed the end justified the means. It never did.

“Okay, how about this. Six hundred is a lot of signatures to manually count. Are you sure we got it right? Could you have been off by one, maybe two?” She glanced at her watch. “We have seven minutes to file the petition. There’s no time for a recount. Are you absolutely, one hundred percent positive on the number?”

Darby thought about it. Okay, that was plausible. How accurate could the true count be?

“I’m sure the people at City Hall are going to double-check when they get it,” she cautioned.

“True,” Marta agreed. “But if we don’t file, it’s a definite no. If we do file—” she hovered a finger over the computer keyboard “—we could get lucky. A long shot is better than no shot at all.”

“You’ve scanned all the pages?” Darby asked.

“A few are a bit blurry, making it, you know, maybe a little hard to get an accurate count.” Marta gave her a conspiratorial smile.

“This’ll never work,” said Darby, even though she was reluctantly smiling back. Could they possibly fudge their way through? Their subterfuge wouldn’t make the final decision. It would only give people a chance to vote.

“As a fallback, we’ll try for a dozen more signatures tomorrow. I double-checked. The exact wording on the regulation is: ‘A petition filed at least twenty-four hours before permit implementation. The petition must be endorsed by at least six hundred residents of Lyndon City.’ It doesn’t say the six hundred residents must have endorsed it prior to the initial petition filing.”

“That has to have been the spirit of the rule,” Darby said, coming to her feet to read the screen. Had Marta found a loophole?

“It’ll take a judge to say for certain,” said Marta. “And, in the meantime, if the railway gets bad press, they might rethink their commitment to the Lyndon Valley route.”

Darby moved up behind Marta’s chair. “You’re frighteningly devious.”

“Just thinking things through.”

“I’m glad you’re on my side.”

“I’m always on your side. Here goes nothing.” Marta clicked Send on the screen.

They both watched as the cursor flashed across the screen. At eleven fifty-eight, it flashed “Sent.”

“Do you suppose he’s still up?” asked Darby, picturing Seth in the mayor’s mansion. In her imagination, he was in blue jeans and a plaid shirt. She liked him better that way, relaxed and laid-back. When he dressed up in his suit, he seemed to get more uptight.

“I’m sure he’s still up,” said Marta. “I’m guessing he’s swearing a blue streak about now.”

Darby found she could easily picture that. “Wine?” she asked, breathing a sigh of temporary relief.

They’d done all they could do for tonight, and she definitely needed to wind down before she tried to sleep.

“Sounds easier than making margaritas,” Marta agreed, naming their favorite drink. “You want to do a swim first? I’ve been either sitting or standing still most of the day. I need to stretch my muscles.”

“Sure,” Darby easily agreed. She’d sleep even better if she got some exercise.

Early in the summer, she’d tethered a floating dock half a mile out in the lake for guests to use. Floodlights from the yard would illuminate their way, and it was a full moon tonight, which would give them even more light.

“Three miles?” she asked.