the nearest available bachelor.
Since his two brothers and every other member of the notorious Lost Boys were now officially spoken for, Cole was the only one still on the market.
The biggest catch this side of the Rio Grande or so the local About Town reporter had just scribbled on her pad during an interview a few minutes ago. No doubt tomorrow’s headline in the local Sunday paper. As if things weren’t bad enough already. Once tomorrow hit, he would be even more sought after than a hot, fresh-from-the-oven biscuit at a no-carbs convention. Every woman in town would be trying to drag him to the weekly church picnic.
While he liked a good barbecue as much as the next guy, he had no intention of showing up with any woman. That would be like hanging a sign on his back. Ready, willing and marriageable. He was none of the above, especially with less than four weeks until the national saddle-bronc championship. He was this close to winning another title—the title that would put him in the record books and solidify a spot in the saddle-bronc Hall of Fame—and he didn’t need any distractions. Even more, he wasn’t the marrying kind any more than his no-good, no-account father had been. The difference was, Cole had no problem admitting it.
Not that anyone seemed to believe it.
Despite the fact that he’d spent the past hour doing his damnedest to beef up his bad boy image and kiss goodbye his husband potential. He’d sucked down a few shots and danced it up with as many women as possible. But then his calves had started aching and his stomach had grumbled, and so he was here.
And so was she.
Nikki Barbie wasn’t wearing her usual black leather miniskirt or tight T-shirt, but she still looked every bit as sexy. She had long blond hair, bright blue eyes and a curvaceous body that did the Barbie name justice. Dark eye makeup emphasized her blue eyes and gave her that “come and do me” look. Pale pink lipstick plumped her already full lips. Everything about her screamed sex, which suited him to a T.
When he had his game face on, that is.
But he wasn’t beefing up his image at the moment. He was hiding from it.
Cole pasted on his most charming grin and hid the cake plate behind his back.
“Hey there, sugar.” He summoned his best panty-dropping drawl. “Nice dress.” He winked and went the extra mile to lay it on thick. “Or it would be if there was a lot less of it.”
“In your dreams.”
He grinned. “Every night.”
* * *
If only.
The thought struck Nikki just as Cole smiled again, and heat spiraled through her.
A crazy reaction considering Nikki was an ice queen when it came to men like Cole Chisholm. He dropped lines faster than a cow dropped patties. She knew it because she dropped a few of her own when she was out in public. Just to keep her image in check and her mother at arm’s length.
But it was useless flirtation that didn’t really mean anything, and no way should she actually be blushing because of it.
Because of him.
“Are you eating cake?” Nikki noticed the speck of frosting at the corner of his mouth.
He looked as if he wanted to deny it, but instead he finally shrugged. His right arm came around, revealing a crystal plate and a half-eaten piece of fluffy white cake. “Nothing wrong with a man enjoying a good dessert.”
Her gaze shifted to what looked like a large glass of chocolate milk sitting on the hay bale next to him. She arched an eyebrow. “A Back Burner? A Brown Cow? A Russian Six Shot?” She ticked off a few alcoholic drink possibilities because this was Cole Chisholm, of all people.
Wild.
Wicked.
Reckless.
He grinned. “You know it.”
“Which one?”
“The first one.”
Something about the way he said the words roused her suspicion. She stepped toward him, grabbed the glass before he could snatch it out of her reach and lifted it to her lips. “You’re drinking plain old chocolate milk,” she said after a quick whiff.
“Says you. I’ve got a ton of Everclear in there, sugar. That’s why you can’t smell it.”
“No, you don’t.” Understanding dawned. “You’re hiding in here so that no one will see you drinking chocolate milk and eating plain old wedding cake.”
“Darlin’, there’s nothing plain or old about this cake.”
“It’s vanilla. No filling. Plain.”
“And just what would you have done differently?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a chocolate ganache with a raspberry-liquor filling. A little crème fraîche on the side.”
“You’re a food snob.”
“I am not.” She averted her gaze. “I like a plain old piece of cake as much as the next person. I’m just not hungry right now.” Her gaze met his again. “Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Which is?”
“You’re hiding.”
“Says you.” He glanced past her. “No one saw you come out here, did they?”
“You are hiding.”
“It’s called self-preservation. There’s something going around out there and I don’t intend to catch it.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Strep? Flu? Meningitis?”
“Mary Lou Harwell.” He shook his head. “She won’t leave me alone.”
“She’s young and nice and pretty. Trust me, you could have worse problems.”
“She wants me to father her children.”
She shrugged. “No one’s perfect.”
He grinned and her stomach hollowed out again. “So what’s the big deal with the cake and the milk? I could see if you were eating bean sprouts or quiche or something equally unmanly, but it’s just cake.”
“It’s cake and whole chocolate milk. As in wholesome.” His mouth drew into a thin line and he shook his head, as if he’d already said more than he wanted to.
“And Cole Chisholm can’t be wholesome?” she heard herself ask. As if she didn’t already know the answer. She’d spent more than one night with a beer bottle full of ginger ale back at the honky-tonk.
Cole didn’t seem as if he wanted to talk, but then he finally shrugged. “I’ve got an image to think of.” He walked back over to the hay bale and retrieved his plate.
“So chase the
