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A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy
Blossom County Fair
By Judy Duarte Thorndike Press
Copyright © 2006 Judy Duarte
All right reserved. ISBN: 9780786290833
When Blake Gray Feather agreed to compete in the upcoming rodeo, the Blossom County Fair Board had practically danced in the town square.
After all, Blake's fame and his local-boy status would bring in the crowd — and the revenue — they desperately needed. And since the rodeo was the kick-off to the fair, they hoped the community enthusiasm and attendance would carry over.
But Cindy Tucker had her own reasons to be excited. The good-looking cowboy with the rebel grin would be staying at the Tumbling T with her and Grandpa for a couple of weeks.And that's all she needed to put her plan into motion — a plan that had been stewing since the first of the year. Or maybe even beyond that, if truth be told.
Several times throughout the morning, she'd wandered into the living room, peered out the big bay window and searched the long graveled driveway that led to the ranch house.
But Blake had yet to show up.
She really ought to be helping Grandpa fix the south fence, but she'd been so eager to see Blake that she'd puttered around the house all morning, doing the odd jobs she'd been neglecting. But at least she'd finally fixed that leaky valve in the toilet tank and replaced thelightbulb in the hall closet. And now she was removing the cracked P-trap under the kitchen sink.
As she adjusted the wrench, Shep, the cattle dog barked, then got up from where he'd plopped onto the kitchen floor and trotted into the living room.
Had Shep heard Blake's truck?
Cindy set down the tool and climbed out from under the sink.
Yep. That was definitely an approaching vehicle. She brushed her hands against her denim-clad hips and hurried to the front door, where she spotted a black truck pulling a fancy horse trailer and kicking up dust as it headed toward the house.
Recognizing the driver, she blew out the breath she'd been holding. Gosh, it was good to have Blake home in Blossom. And for more than a quick visit.
Ever since he'd come to live on the ranch as a teenager, he'd become part of the family.
Of course, as a ten-year-old who'd had her grandpa to herself for five whole years, Cindy hadn't been too happy when fourteen-year-old Blake had first arrived. He'd been a surly adolescent in need of her grandfather's guidance and a real thorn in her backside. But over the next few months, he'd evolved into a friend. And by the time he was ready to move on, he'd become the occasional romantic lead in the midnight dreams of a goofy preteen.
But that was just between Cindy and her pillow.
Blake, who'd always been a ladies man, was way out of a tomboy's league — at least, in a romantic sense.
But Cindy had a big favor she intended to ask of him, a favor she'd cooked up right after finding out he was coming home to stay for a while. And she wasn't beyond begging, either. Unless, of course, he teased her about it. Then she'd be fighting mad.
She swung open the front door, letting Shep dash outside with his tail a-waggin' like crazy and barking to beat the band. But Cindy stood just inside the house, watching as Blake got out of a black, dual-axle Chevy pickup wearing a white shirt, black Wranglers and an expensive pair of boots.
Boy howdy, that man was a looker. The kind that made a girl or a woman take a second gawk.
And a third.
He'd inherited the absolute best his German and Comanche bloodlines had to offer. And eight years on his own, riding the rodeo circuit, had hardened the boy right out of him and announced him all grown-up and more handsome than ever.
As he shut the driver's door, he adjusted his black Stetson, allowing the afternoon sunlight to glisten off coal-black strands of hair.
Shep howled, and when Blake glanced at the doorway and spotted Cindy, he slid her a heart-stopping grin. "Hey, Sprout. What's up?"
"Not much." She stood rooted in the doorway, fighting the urge to race outside and give him a great big hug — like she'd always done when she was younger. But now that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two and gotten a new attitude about a few things, she wanted him to see her as a woman, and not the awkward little red-haired girl of his youth.
He carried himself with that lean, cowboy swagger and sauntered toward the porch, looking like a buckle bunny's dream come true. And hers, too, if her pillow could talk.
Blake gave Shep a hearty rubdown, then looked up at Cindy. "Hey, aren't you going to give me a welcome-home hug?"
"Sure." She pushed open the screen door, letting it slam behind her, and met him halfway.
As she tiptoed and wrapped him in a warm embrace, she savored the feel of his arms around her, the musky masculine scent of cologne that smelled as brisk and fresh as a mountain stream.
She couldn't help wondering if Robby Bradshaw's hug would feel as nice. She hoped and prayed it would, but doubt niggled at her.
Still, she knew better than to let her imagination get away from her. Some crushes, like the ones teenyboppers had on Hollywood movie stars and rock musicians, were just dreams to carry a young girl until someone more suitable came along. Someone who wasn't out of reach and who would be happy to remain in Blossom and raise a family.
Someone like Robby.
As Blake released her, those whiskey-brown eyes that had always mesmerized her — if she'd let them — glimmered with sincerity. "You're looking good."
"Thanks." But she knew the difference between looking good and being pretty.
Continues...
Excerpted from A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy by Judy Duarte Copyright © 2006 by Judy Duarte. Excerpted by permission.
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