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  “You and me—this isn’t a good idea,”

  Quinn muttered, fighting the need to pull Victoria into his arms.

  “Why isn’t this a good idea?” she asked, her voice a husky murmur in the hushed, expectant silence of the room.

  “Because you’re a safe, settled woman. And I’m not the boy next door.”

  “What makes you think I want the boy next door? Maybe I like dangerous men.”

  The grip of callused fingers tightened reflexively, his thumb stroked across soft cotton and found silky skin. His gaze flickered to her mouth and downward to her throat.

  “Not a good idea,” he murmured, distracted by the contrast of his work-roughened fingers, dark against her pale skin. “A woman is likely to lose her good reputation—and a lot more. This won’t work, Victoria. Find yourself a nice, safe man—and forget this happened.”

  Dear Reader,

  Happy 20th Anniversary, Silhouette! And Happy Valentine’s Day to all! There are so many ways to celebrate…starting with six spectacular novels this month from Special Edition.

  Reader favorite Joan Elliott Pickart concludes Silhouette’s exciting cross-line continuity ROYALLY WED with Man…Mercenary… Monarch, in which a beautiful woman challenges a long-lost prince to give up his loner ways.

  In Dr. Mom and the Millionaire, Christine Flynn’s latest contribution to the popular series PRESCRIPTION: MARRIAGE, a marriage-shy tycoon suddenly experiences a sizzling attraction—to his gorgeous doctor! And don’t miss the next SO MANY BABIES—in Who’s That Baby? by Diana Whitney, an infant gir1 is left on a Native American attorney’s doorstep, and he turns to a lovely pediatrician for help….

  Next is Lois Faye Dyer’s riveting Cattleman’s Courtship, in which a brooding, hard-hearted rancher is undeniably drawn to a chaste, sophisticated lady. And in Sharon De Vita’s provocative family saga, THE BLACKWELL BROTHERS, tempers—and passions—flare when a handsome Apache man offers The Marriage Basket to a captivating city gal.

  Finally, you’ll be swept up in the drama of Trisha Alexander’s Falling for an Older Man, another tale in the CALLAHANS & KIN series, when an unexpected night of passion leaves Sheila Callahan with a nine-month secret.

  So, curl up with a Special Edition novel and celebrate this Valentine’s Day with thoughts of love and happy dreams of forever!

  Happy reading,

  Karen Taylor Richman,

  Senior Editor

  LOIS FAYE DYER

  CATTLEMAN’S COURTSHIP

  For all the romance readers at Paperbacks Plus

  in Port Orchard, Washington, especially Joanne, Nikki,

  Renate, Sheila and Susan B.

  Books by Lois Faye Dyer

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Lonesome Cowboy #1038

  He’s Got His Daddy’s Eyes #1129

  The Cowboy Takes a Wife #1198

  The Only Cowboy for Caitlin #1253

  Cattleman’s Courtship #1306

  LOIS FAYE DYER,

  winner of the 1989-1990 Romantic Times Magazine Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best New Series Author, lives on Washington State’s beautiful Puget Sound with her husband and their yellow Lab, Maggie Mae. She ended a career as a paralegal and Superior Court clerk to fulfill a lifelong dream to write. When she’s not involved in writing, she enjoys long walks on the beach with her husband, watching musical and Western movies from the 1940s and 1950s, and, most of all, indulging her passionate addiction to reading. This is her twelfth published novel.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter One

  The Crossroads Bar and Grill was loud and rowdy when Quinn Bowdrie stepped through the archway, undecided if he wanted to stay or head home to the comfort of his bed. He leaned the point of one broad shoulder against the wall just inside the door, thumbs hooked in his belt, hands hanging idly while he looked over the Saturday night crowd. He didn’t see the blonde he’d noticed entering the bar earlier, but the room was packed with townspeople from Colson and ranchers from surrounding spreads. When he’d first seen her, he’d been tempted to push out of the Grill’s booth and follow her for a closer look, but the mouthwatering aroma of steak and baked potato had reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since noon.

  Although Quinn often ate a meal at the Grill, he rarely socialized with his neighbors at the popular attached bar. Nevertheless, he decided to go next door to look for the blonde after he finished his dinner.

  The throng parted briefly, allowing him a glimpse of a familiar face on the far side of the room. Nikki Peterson’s auburn hair was a blaze of color beneath the bar’s low-wattage lights. She’d been actively pursuing his brother, Cully, for a good two months. But as far as Quinn was aware, his brother considered her strictly a friend. There were times Quinn envied his brother’s ability to enjoy women. Quinn himself had decided long ago that anything more involved than a rare one-night stand wasn’t worth the effort.

  The crowd shifted again, allowing a clear view of the woman who sat across from Nikki. She laughed and shook her head at something Nikki said, and the dim light glittered off the silvery fall of hair that hung just past her shoulders. There was an innate sensuality in her movements, and Quinn’s eyes narrowed as he continued to watch her, his attention riveted as everything male in him responded to the subtle female signals she was sending. She turned slightly to answer Nikki, and light fell over her face.

  Quinn stiffened and pushed away from the wall, his hands loosening their grip and sliding unnoticed from his belt. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from this distance and the dim light only gave a hint of a lush mouth and finely molded cheekbones, but it was enough to make him want to see more.

  His gaze slid lower, following the silvery hair where it fell across her shoulders, shimmering like pale silk against the soft peach of her blouse. The edge of the tabletop kept him from seeing all of her, but what he could observe of her aroused an insatiable need to view the rest of her. Unfortunately, his view was blocked when a man paused at the table. A brief moment later, the man held out his hand and the woman rose reluctantly from the booth, walking onto the dance floor, the man turning to follow her.

  Quinn all but snarled. Sam Beckman was a local rancher with a reputation for playing fast and loose with women. The pretty blonde was going to get hit on, hard.

  Hell, he thought with disgust. As pretty as she is, she’s probably used to men coming on to her.

  Common sense told him to go home but the sight of the woman dancing with Beckman made him stay. Quinn leaned against the wall, stuck his hands into his front pockets and watched Sam and the stranger.

  The music was fast and loud. Sam expertly swung the woman through a series of intricate steps, and she followed him with smooth ease. The dim light on the dance floor gleamed off her silvery hair as she spun and shifted, her lush mouth curved in laughter as she ducked beneath Sam’s arm and twirled away again. The song ended; without pausing, the band moved smoothly into a slow, bluesy tune, and Sam pulled his partner into his arms.

  Quinn’s gaze followed the couple as the rancher slow-stepped the blonde across the crowded dance floor toward the darkest corner of the room, the one closest to Quinn. His eyes narrowed, his body tensed as he watched the pretty stranger plant her hand against Beckman’s shoulder and push in an attempt to put space between them. Beckman resisted and forced her closer, bending his head to whisper in her ear. Quinn’s irritation moved a notch higher. The woman stopped dancing and pushed away from Sam, the frow
n on her face leaving no doubt that she wasn’t enticed by whatever he’d whispered in her ear.

  She hadn’t gone two steps away from him when Beckman, laughing, reached out and caught her arm, pulling her back into his grasp.

  That does it, Quinn decided grimly. He shoved away from the wall and strode onto the dance floor. It took only a few short seconds to reach the couple and tap Beckman on the shoulder.

  “What the…”

  “I’m cutting in.”

  Beckman’s surprise turned into annoyance. “Sorry, Quinn. I saw her first.” His hand tightened possessively around her arm.

  Quinn contemplated slugging the vain rancher on his picture-perfect jaw. He glanced at the woman and jerked at the heat that surged through his veins. She was even prettier up close. Her eyes were deep blue and snapping with anger. Quinn forgot what he’d meant to say to her. Fortunately, she wasn’t struck speechless.

  “I’m not a piece of merchandise.”

  The husky, annoyed feminine tone feathered shivers of awareness up Quinn’s spine.

  “I didn’t…” Beckman protested.

  Quinn and the blonde ignored him.

  “Do you want to dance with me or him?” He asked, his gaze holding hers.

  “You.”

  He held out his hand and she placed hers in his, palm to palm, and his fingers threaded possessively between hers. It wasn’t until he tugged gently and she stepped toward him that they realized Sam Beckman still had his hand wrapped around her forearm.

  Quinn turned his head, and his gaze pinned Beckman’s. “Let go of her,” he said softly. His tone was lethal.

  Beckman’s gaze flicked from Quinn to the blonde and back again before he glowered and released her. “Hell, Quinn,” he said truculently. “I didn’t even know you could dance.”

  “I can dance.” Quinn didn’t bother adding that he rarely practiced the social skill an old friend had taught him. He stared at Beckman for a full minute before the rancher shrugged, muttered under his breath, turned on his heel and left.

  Victoria Denning barely noticed when Sam Beckman left. She was far too busy staring at the man holding her hand. He was at least six feet tall, with broad, muscle-layered shoulders. The pearl snaps of his white cotton dress shirt were unfastened at the throat, the cuffs of the long sleeves rolled up to bare powerful forearms dusted with fine black hair. Faded denim jeans outlined muscled thighs and long legs; black cowboy boots covered his feet. He had a straight blade of a nose and high cheekbones; his mouth was thin-lipped and hard. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, and sea-green eyes inspected her from beneath black brows.

  Quinn read the same fascinated attraction in the woman’s blue eyes that was hitting him in subtly erotic waves. Every male hormone in his body was on alert, as he responded to a body that was seductively curved and the subtle scent of perfume and warm woman.

  Someone bumped him, and Quinn glanced behind him. Only then did he realize that he was standing still, staring at her, while all around them, couples swayed together to the music. He smiled wryly.

  Victoria caught her breath and forgot to exhale. The brief curving of his lips softened the austere, hard-boned lines of his face into heart-stopping handsomeness.

  “I guess we should dance.” He tugged her closer and slipped an arm around her waist, moving her easily to the slow rhythm of the music.

  Being held in the loose circle of his arms was like being encircled by live electrical wires. He turned her, his thigh brushing briefly against hers, and a shiver of awareness chased over her skin.

  “Thanks for rescuing me.” She smiled up at him. “I’m Victoria Denning.”

  “Quinn Bowdrie,” he answered. “You must be new in town—didn’t anyone warn you about Beckman?”

  “That he was an octopus?” she asked. His mouth tilted in a swift half smile. Once again she felt the kick of pure adrenaline rushing through her veins. “No, no one warned me. But then, no one told me that Colson has a resident white knight named Quinn, either.”

  He shot her a quick, disbelieving glance.

  “A white knight?” He shook his head firmly. “Not me, lady. That’s the last thing anybody would ever tell you about me.”

  “Really?” She tipped her head back and indulged her need to look at him. The shadows in the dark corner of the dance floor were broken by the flickering reflections of colored light from the mirrored globe hung in the center of the ceiling. The uneven light alternately illuminated and darkened his features. “Why not?”

  “You really are new in town, aren’t you? Wait a while,” he said brusquely. “You’ll find out.”

  “Why don’t you tell me—then I won’t have to wait.”

  Quinn briefly thought about telling her the truth—that Quinn Bowdrie wasn’t considered fit company for a lady. Especially not one who looked and smelled as well-cared for as she did. Especially not one who heated his blood just by smiling at him.

  Instead he decided to skirt the truth and buy himself a little time and a few more stolen moments of holding her in his arms, even if the chaste and proper distance he kept between them was killing him.

  “No. I think I’ll let you find out on your own. I’ve never had a woman call me a white knight,” he drawled easily. “I think I’d like to enjoy it for a while.”

  She laughed, the sound a low, throaty chuckle that eased over his skin like a caress.

  “Hmm. A mystery man.” Victoria glanced up at him, and her breath lodged in her throat. The muscled arm circling her waist had slowly tightened until her body just brushed his as they swayed to the slow beat. Each breath she took drew in the faint, clean aroma of soap and spicy aftershave. Victoria was accustomed to men looking at her with interest, but the undisguised male heat deep in Quinn’s eyes made her skin tighten and warm. Her nerves shivered with awareness, all her senses on overload, and she searched for something to diffuse the charged silence. “It’s true that you’re not wearing a suit of armor—I’m guessing by your clothes that you’re not a storekeeper, either.”

  “Nope.”

  “Hmm. Maybe a rancher?”

  “How did you guess?”

  His expression was solemnly surprised, but his green eyes lit with amusement.

  “It might have been the jeans and pearl-snapped Western shirt,” she answered. “But the real giveaway was the cowboy boots.”

  “Uh-oh.” He glanced at his feet. “Corral dirt and hay on the soles?”

  Victoria’s gaze took in the polished but worn black leather.

  “No. Unlike boots worn by cowboys in Seattle, yours actually look like you wear them regularly.”

  “Seattle? Is that where you live?”

  “Yes. Until a week ago. I’m staying with my aunt and uncle temporarily. But as soon as I find an apartment to rent, I’ll be an official resident of Colson.”

  “No kidding? What brought you to Colson?”

  “Allergies,” Victoria answered, her voice husky from the effort to breathe normally when he turned her smoothly to the music, his thigh sliding briefly against hers. She lifted her gaze to his and found she couldn’t look away. The sound of the music and the crowd around them faded. At the advanced age of twenty-seven, after the usual round of dating and one semiserious involvement during college, Victoria found herself confronted for the first time by an overwhelming, mind-scrambling, female reaction to a male. Her skin felt flushed; her heart was beating twice its normal rate; her breath came faster as she took short, shallow breaths and with each inhalation, drew in the distinctly male scent of aftershave warmed by body heat.

  “Allergies?” Quinn said disbelievingly. He took a slow, thorough inventory of her body from the top of her silky head to her small feet. “That’s hard to believe. I’ve never seen anyone who looked healthier.”

  Victoria, who had perfected the art of squelching interested males with one well-aimed, frigid stare, felt his sea-green gaze stroke over her as if he’d brushed his hand up and down her body and realized with
amazement that she was blushing like a teenager.

  “Thank you, but unfortunately, it’s true,” she managed to get out. “I have severe allergies.”

  “Really? To what?”

  “Almost everything that grows in and around Seattle,” she answered promptly, “especially pine trees and Scotch broom.”

  “What’s a Scotch broom?” Quinn asked. He didn’t really care, but he wanted to keep her talking. The slightly husky tones of her voice feathered over his skin in soft, enticing strokes.

  “It’s not a real broom,” she laughed, her blue eyes lighting with amusement. “It’s a plant.”

  “Then why do they call it a broom?” he asked, bemused by the way her whole face lit up when she smiled.

  “I have no idea. It was planted along the Washington State highways years ago. It spread like wildfire and now, every spring when it blooms, thousands of allergy sufferers, like me, are absolutely miserable.”

  “Well, we don’t have Scotch broom here, so you should be safe,” he commented. “At least from the plant life.”

  His mouth tilted in a lazy grin while his gaze moved slowly over her face to fasten intently on her mouth. That hot green stare returned to meet hers with such blatant intent that Victoria caught her breath.

  She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was dangerous. Not to mention the fact that he was clearly a cowboy, and she’d learned not to trust the breed during summers spent in Colson as a teenager. But being held close to him was so exhilarating that her blood fizzed as if she’d had an infusion of champagne bubbles. She hated the lack of control over her life that her health had forced her to accept. She’d opted for serious and safe all her life; suddenly she was tired of safe and sane. Besides, even her cousin, Lonna, had told her she needed to lighten up and learn to have fun.

  So when Quinn’s arm tightened a fraction, gently urging her closer, Victoria allowed it, giving in to the need to feel the heat of his body against hers. She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sensual woman, but Quinn stirred and heightened an awareness of her own body and an irresistible curiosity for the feel of his that she couldn’t deny.