“Don’t make it a habit,” Steve had warned, barely holding on to his temper before he’d slammed out of the swinging doors of his kitchen.
Steve hated calls on his cell at the end of a long day at his ranch to come pinch hit at the Shiny Pony Bar and Grill. He hated being dependent on irresponsible kids like Amos. He wanted out of the restaurant/bar business. The sooner, the better! Not that the Shiny Pony didn’t coin money, but it took management. Hell, he wouldn’t have a ranch if it weren’t for this place. There was big money in a trendy bar, but if Steve wasn’t here all the time, his help got creative. Real creative. Either they didn’t show or cash, booze and food evaporated into thin air.
A vision of Madison—blond, golden with pain-filled eyes—arose before him. God, she’d looked great this morning in that white silk suit with her golden hair swept sleekly back from her thin face.
Steve signaled Jeff, his number-one bartender, for a beer. After a beer, or maybe two, he wanted a woman, preferably a brainless, buxom brunette with a bad-girl body she knew what to do with. Next he wanted to take all his phones off the hook, read his book about ancient Greek wars and get a good night’s sleep, preferably alone, so he’d be fresh for his meeting with the governor tomorrow morning. If that was ruthless, he had his reasons—reason.
Madison.
Not that Steve was in a rush to pick up a bimbo. Truth to tell, such women bored the hell out of him. After all, he was supposed to be the intellectual in his family. The smart triplet. He dreaded the preliminary flirtations and idiotic maneuvers necessary to bed such a woman.
Hey, smart triplet, idiocy and boredom equal self-preservation.
Still wearing his jeans, work boots and sweat-stained Stetson, he leaned back in the tall, dark booth while he grimly eyed the pretty women clustered around little tables and booths. When a beautiful young brunette at the bar, who was braless in a tank top, smiled at him, he frowned until he saw Jeff flying toward his table with a frosty mug of Corona.
“Here you go, boss. Three slices of lime just the way you like it.”
“Thanks.”
Steve squeezed the limes and then took a slow swig of beer. The familiar knots in his muscles meant he was exhausted from a long day at his ranch, followed by his stint of playing stand-in cook after Jeff had called him. After signing papers at his lawyer’s office, where he’d seen Madison, Steve had spent the morning arguing with construction crews about the delays in the restoration of his historical ranch house. At noon his meeting with his architect and contractor had been tense, to say the least.
In less than six months he would be hosting the big, prestigious, annual Hensley-Robinson Awards Banquet because this year the governor had chosen to honor Ryan Fortune, who just happened to be Steve’s good friend, distant cousin and mentor.
His damn house had to be ready. What could he do to make James, his laid-back, good-ol’-boy contractor, who liked to hunt and fish at least once a week and every sunny weekend, understand that?
Then there was Dixon. Dixon was turning into a helluva pest. Steve had wasted the afternoon in the hot sun watching men survey the pastures of his legendary ranch, the Loma Vista, because Dixon, his neighbor to the east, was disputing the one-hundred-year-old fence line between the properties.
Dixon had wanted to buy the ranch himself. He’d given Steve trouble about the title ever since Steve had bought the place from old Mel Foster.
Not that Steve wanted to rehash his day. Hell, he wanted to forget it. He’d intended to celebrate an anniversary of sorts and a victory and then to party with the lady of his choice.
The Shiny Pony Bar and Grill was now his, all his. As of this morning, no more meetings with Larry Cabot, his former partner and former best friend. Betraying best friend, he reminded himself. No more Madison Beck, either. He was done once and for all with her, even if she was his ex-fiancée, whom he’d loved. Hell, she’d broken his heart exactly one year ago to the day.
Would he ever forget standing at the altar, waiting for her, all eyes drilling him while “Here Comes the Bride” was played for the fifth time?
Steve forced a deep breath. Finally he could close the book on the sorry chapter of his life in which Cabot and Madison had starred.
Steve had told everybody who would listen that he resented her for jilting him for Cabot, his former college buddy, who’d been born with more money than God, as had four generations of Cabots before him.
So why did he ache every time he even thought about Madison? Because she was lovely and so vulnerable, he still worried about her. Because she needed to be told and shown constantly that she was beautiful and loved. Cabot was too arrogant to tend to anyone’s needs other than his own.
Steve had wanted to take care of her for the rest of their lives. Her parents had died when she was eight, leaving her to grow up poor and abandoned. Underneath her glamorous facade, she’d been a scared little girl in need of love. He’d been determined to make her feel safe. As it had turned out, money represented real security to her.
Cabot and he had owned a couple of restaurants with bars downtown. Steve had bought out Cabot’s interest in this place while selling him his own interest in the Lonesome Saloon, which, unfortunately, was just across the street. From time to time, he would probably run into Cabot. Only, now they wouldn’t have to speak or work together. He probably wouldn’t see much of Madison anymore.
Even as his heart ached, Steve’s mouth twisted. “Cheers,” he growled in a low voice as his callused hand tightened on the handle of his mug.
“Goodbye, Madison.” With a supreme effort he lifted his mug and willed her to stop haunting him.
One day at a time. One night at a time. That had been his mantra ever since his screwed-up wedding day. His triplet brothers, Miles and Clyde, who ribbed him about everything, still hadn’t dared to even breathe Madison’s name in his presence or mention the wedding. Jack, his older brother, whom Steve had idolized as a child, had suffered too much heartbreak himself to ever embarrass Steve about his.
Steve glanced toward the long-haired brunette at the bar in the tight red tank top. The skinny blond kid who was standing beside her kept edging his drink closer to hers. If Steve wanted her, he’d better get a move on.
To hell with her.
“No woman will ever turn me into a chump like that again,” he vowed aloud, addressing the brunette, who smiled at him and batted her lashes even as she leaned against the kid, nudging his bulging bicep with her breast.
To hell with her. The last thing Steve would ever do was pick a fight with a paying customer over a woman.
Steve glanced away—straight into the haunted eyes of a smoldering golden-haired, golden-skinned babe, who at first glance seemed an exact replica of Madison.
Run!
She stared straight into his eyes and held them and him perfectly still for an endless moment.
His pulse quickened.
No blondes, you fool.
He told himself that smart guys learned from their mistakes.
Smart or not, his blood coursed through him like a molten rush. Blondes, not to mention Madison clones, were no-no’s, and the little voices in his head began shouting all the familiar warnings.
The blonde crossed her long legs and then uncrossed them, very very slowly. Her black spandex skirt was so short, he got a glimpse of matching black lace panties.
Mesmerized, Steve let his gaze crawl up her legs. When she oozed forward on her bar stool, her glossy red smile widened. He could not stop staring at her—at her lips, at her body. He kept hoping against hope she’d shift her position on that damn stool and uncross and cross those gorgeous legs again. He wanted more of those thighs and