stocky, elderly was man toting liter-sized bottles of soda out of the back of the spiffed-up muscle car. But why was he dressed like a leprechaun playing in a polo match at the VFW hall?
Jensen parked and exited the truck.
The old man, wearing tight white jodhpurs on his short, bowed legs, waved him over. “Top o’ the morning to ya.”
As Jensen made his way to Mr. Murdock’s open trunk, the elderly man handed him a crate holding eight plastic bottles filled with bright neon-pink soda.
Jensen looked at the array of containers. What in the world was he doing with so much...? He glanced at the label. Caliente Pepper Fiz?
“Were they having a special at the grocery?” Jensen asked.
“They sure was, but not at the Superette here in town. I picked these up over at the discount drug place on the way to Lubbock. Seems they didn’t sell as well as storeowners hoped, so they were just sitting on a pallet out back, expiring in the sun.”
“Did they go bad in the heat?” That would explain the unnatural neon-pink color.
“I don’t reckon so. This here is their strawberry-cream-flavored line. The regular hot sauce flavored soda is pretty tasty, but no one seemed to like it much when they added the strawberries to the original mix.”
Jensen looked again at the label. These Texans and their food products could sure be inventive. “Hmm. You’d think they wouldn’t be able to keep hot sauce-flavored cola on the shelf.”
“I know,” Mr. Murdock said, not recognizing Jensen’s sarcasm. “Oh well, it’s the Caliente Company’s loss and our gain, right ol’ chap?”
Jensen was raised to be polite, but there was no bet in the world that would make him drink strawberry-cream-and-hot-sauce-flavored cola—let alone nearly fifty bottles of the wretched stuff. “Tell me why it’s our gain?”
“They make perfect targets, son. When your bullet hits one of these suckers, boom! Hot-pink juice explodes everywhere. Not only is it fun to look at, it saves the range master some footwork. He doesn’t have to run back and forth to measure the targets. And since that’ll be my job for this here competition, I figured I’ll save my legs for that upcoming dance contest.”
Just then, Amber stepped out of the ranch house cradling a rifle and a box of ammunition.
She looked just as serious as Wyatt Earp himself making his way to the OK Corral. Of course, Wyatt Earp didn’t look as sexy. Her snug jeans hugged her curvy hips, tempting a man to want to go out and buy her a dress... Or maybe some silky lingerie.
Jensen came to a complete stop, not even noticing the weight of the bottles in his arms as he watched Amber walk toward him. She wore a shiny silver belt buckle along a tiny waist a man could span his hands—
“Are you ready to get beat by a girl, Sir Jensen?” she asked.
He forced himself to pull his gaze away from her dangerous torso to her seductive brown eyes. And to be honest, if he was ever ready get bested by a girl, it was today. And it was this girl. Or rather, this woman. No doubt about that.
His throat worked to swallow, but his mouth was so dry he almost opened one of the discolored sodas and took a huge sip.
What a mistake that would be.
Back in London, he’d never been tongue-tied around the beautiful socialites and jet-setters who made up his social circle. Then again, they didn’t have anyone quite like Amber Rogers in the British Isles—or all of Europe, for that matter.
A hand smacked against his back, pitching him forward. “Keep it moving, son. I got an appointment with my podiatrist at one o’clock to see about my bunions. And if I win our bet, Helen said she’d go with me afterward to that remodeled movie theater over in Vicker’s Corners.”
Jensen picked up his pace, hoping Mr. Murdock wouldn’t miss out on his opportunity to squire Helen to the cinema.
Because there was no way Jensen was going to miss out on his own date with Amber. Instead he said, “I appreciate your vote of confidence.”
“Hell, son,” Murdock said. “I didn’t bet on you. I bet on our Amber over there.”
* * *
Amber’s hand held steady as she chambered the first, which was surprising since she’d caught the ways Jensen had studied the jeans she normally saved for when she wasn’t working on the ranch. At first, she’d thought he might be assessing her choice of clothing, since the uptight Brit was so stoic and difficult for her to read.
But riding the pro rodeo circuit provided her with plenty of opportunity to study the male species and their mating rituals. And there appeared to be one thing that applied to all men around the world. They couldn’t hide their sexual interest in their eyes.
Whether Jensen was wearing a top hat or a Stetson or no head covering at all—like today, with just the Texas breeze to ruffle his dark locks—the intensity in his gaze couldn’t mask his obvious physical attraction.
Nor did Amber want it to. It caught her off guard and made her tremble as she walked toward the makeshift range Elmer had set up alongside the barn. It even filled her head with intoxicating ideas of what that gaze could lead to. It also made her feel like a desirable worldly woman, one who hadn’t given up her career to breed horses at the family ranch in the middle of Texas.
She didn’t know what it all meant, but she certainly liked the way it made her feel, the way it made her walk a little taller and with a little more sway to her hips. And she’d be darned if she wouldn’t win this shooting competition and have a night on the town with him because in no time at all, he’d return to London, leaving her in Horseback Hollow, where she’d be forced to read about his dates—rumored or real—in all the tabloids.
She’d once dreamed of riding the rodeo, traveling the world and tasting all it had to offer. And she did accomplish her goal—sort of, given that she’d never made it outside the borders of North America. Jensen provided a glimpse into that lifestyle that she would never have. But Horseback Hollow and the Broken R had always been home to her. And when push came to shove, she’d always known she’d end up back here one day anyway.
And if that meant she had to shoot her best today to get a small taste of glamour for two nights at best, then that’s exactly what she would do.
So she lifted the stock to her shoulder, took careful aim at the Caliente soda bottle and squeezed the trigger.
“Hot damn!” Elmer shrieked as the neon pink liquid sprayed into the air.
Gram clapped politely from her seat off to the side. “Three more shots to go.”
Amber made all of them, blasting strawberry-cream-and-hot-sauce-flavored soda with each direct hit.
“That’s our girl!” The retired marine patted her back, then hurried out to place new targets for Jensen’s turn.
Amber passed the rifle over to her competitor and smiled.
“Well-done, Miss Rogers.” Jensen loaded the shotgun, took aim and shot through the bottle, blasting a spray of pink liquid. Then he turned
