Page 22 of Love’s Silver Bullet

“And real bronc busting, too, eh Boss?” More chuckles rose over Clint Keller’s jibe, the cowhand who’d beaten Blaze in last year’s statewide rodeo bronc-busting contest, seldom letting anyone forget he’d been the one to end Blaze’s winning streak.

“Excuse us.”

Jake glanced over his shoulder to where Maggie and Sheridan waited for Angus and Gert and him to rise from their seats so they could pass.

“Where you ladies going?” Blaze said with a furrow above his nose. “The show’s about to start any minute.”

Maggie arched a brow. “Not that it’s any of your business, husband,” she said with a teasing smirk, drawing laughter and catcalls from the cowhands, “but Sheridan and I need to use the necessary before the show starts.”

Jake rose to let the ladies scoot by, heat sparking through every limb when Sheridan’s calicoed derriere brushed past his body.

“Sorry, Jake,” she said in a husky whisper that joined forces with the confounded spark that scorched through his body, upping his blood pressure by several degrees. His lips compressed in a tight smile.

Not as sorry as I am.

Blaze groaned. “For crying out loud, Maggie—why didn’t you ladies attend to that earlier, instead of waiting until the show is ready to start?”

Sheridan lifted on tiptoe to pinch Blaze’s cheek as she passed by. “Goodness, big brother, you should know better than anybody that Maggie is brilliant, opting to avoid long lines by skipping out now, when everybody else is rushing back to their seats.”

Shoving his Stetson up, Blaze cut loose with another groan. “Dad-burn-it, Maggie, now I’ll have to escort you—”

Maggie spun around, a sharp brow jagging high. “I beg your pardon, Brendan Zachary.” Amused jeers and chuckles rose among the cowhands as they shuffled back to their seats, Maggie’s schoolmarm use of Blaze’s given name a gentle mix of both threat and reprimand. “But I assure you, husband, that your eighteen-year-old sister and I are perfectly capable of escorting ourselves to and from the necessary. So, I suggest you head back to your seat, darling, before the show begins.” She reached up to brush a conciliatory kiss to his lips. “We’ll be right back.”

Lips pursed, Blaze shifted his gaze to Sheridan and back, settling into a mulish press as he issued a warning with a stern point of his finger. “So help me, Maggie Donovan, if you aren’t back in ten minutes, I’m sending in the cavalry.”

“Yes, sir,” she said with a snappy salute, tucking her arm through Sheridan’s to lead her away as she blew him a kiss over her shoulder.

Blaze gusted out a noisy sigh. “Women!” he muttered as he watched them navigate the incoming crowd like two trouts on a leisurely paddle upstream. His smile took a hard slant as he looked down at Jake. “Remind me again, old buddy, just why I’m married and you’re not?”

Jake slid him an easy grin. “Because I’m smart and you’re not?” he quipped, not believing it for one solitary moment because Maggie was a true blessing in Blaze’s life, and everyone knew it. He rose to allow Blaze to pass on his way back to his seat, slapping his best friend on the back. “And because you couldn’t help but fall in love with one of the most amazing women either of us have ever seen?”

A sheepish grin glided Blaze’s lips as he gave Jake a wicked wink. “Yesirree. And the perks aren’t bad either, if you know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, Jake thought with a grim smile, refusing to dignify Blaze’s taunt with a comment. He had enough trouble keeping his mind off the perks of loving a woman.

None of which he had a right to, deep feelings for Sheridan or no. He grunted. Yeah, tell that to my dreams …

Applause delivered him from his wayward thoughts as the sold-out audience shot to their feet to cheer the start of the parade.

Ten minutes later, a spitball bounced off Jake’s nose, and he didn’t have to guess who shot it. He knew Blaze had been timing the girls’ absence as closely as Jake, so jaw tight, he turned to acknowledge his friend’s signal. Blaze motioned toward the back of the tent.

Affording his best friend a curt nod, Jake rose to head toward the row of outhouses lining the far end of the field. With a tug of his Stetson to shield his eyes, he made his way to the tree line, where a scattering of folks milled about in front of skillfully constructed privies the show obviously put up and tore down in each city. He scanned to find the girls, and when he saw them making their way back to the arena, his pulse picked up pace along with his gait.

Who the devil are they talking to anyway? Barely stopping, he kicked at a cactus in his way, sights set on a tall, fancy-dressed cowboy talking to Maggie and Sher, aiming to send him on his way. Fingers trigger twitchy, he squinted hard, wondering who in the Sam Hill this unwelcome intruder was. He offered a tight smile and a nod to the butcher and his wife in passing, obviously on their way back from the latrine.

He frowned when he heard Sheridan’s laughter, peeved that Maggie and she appeared to be smiling up at the dandy like he was Buffalo Bill himself. Only this stranger was cleanshaven and well-dressed, leather booths shined up so bloomin’ well, they practically gleamed along with the gold studs on his hat, glinting in the sun. Well, whoever this snake of a rustler was, Jake intended to make darn sure he moved on to rustle somebody else’s girls, because these two ladies were spoken for.

One by his best friend in marriage.

His scowl deepened. And the other by a man in his dreams.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So, you really and truly work for Buffalo Bill?” Sheridan asked, certain she had stars in her eyes as she peeked up at the handsome cowboy, hand shielding her face to block out the glare while she silently swooned. Without question, Mr. Clay Morgan was one of the most exciting men she’d ever met, and the fact he was a sharpshooter trainer for Buffalo Bill was just diamond-studded silver spurs on full-grain leather boots.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he said with a tip of his black Stetson with gold studs on the band, the twinkle in brown eyes the color of melted milk chocolate—her favorite!—pert near melting her.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mr. Morgan,” Maggie said evenly, head tilted in curiosity, “if you work for Buffalo Bill, then why are you out here instead of performing in the arena?”