Cowboy Enchantment

chapter One


Erica Strong sauntered into the Last Chance Saloon and shimmied onto a bar stool. Her jeans revealed a rounded derriere, and her shirt was unbuttoned to show impressive cleavage. Just for effect, she reached up and unfastened one more button. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

The rugged cowboy on the next stool edged a little closer, his interested gaze straying to her throat and lower. He was perfect—strong chin, blade of a nose, sculpted lips—and on his head he wore a battered Stetson hat. She batted long eyelashes, stuck out her chest and waited for the inevitable invitation.

“Can I buy you a drink?” His voice was deep and sexy.

She slid off the stool, her breasts grazing his sleeve. “Yeah, cowboy,” she said as her heart started skipping beats. “I’ll have a margarita, heavy on the tequila.”

A slow smile lit his features, and his eyes held a lurking twinkle.

“I’ll have more than that,” he said. “What are you doing this evening? Are you up for a little fun?”

Rain pelted the taxi, and the windshield wipers scraped back and forth, back and forth. The cabdriver hummed tunelessly to himself, adding to the clamor of the usual New York rush-hour traffic. Unfortunately the saloon scene was only a daydream—a frequent and wistful daydream. And so was the cowboy.

“You want to get out here? Walk the rest of the way? The traffic, it cannot move.” The driver blinked at Erica in the rearview mirror and lifted his shoulders in an expressive shrug.

“No,” Erica said firmly. “I want you to take me to my office like I told you.”

“Okay, okay.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, bored.

Erica pulled her wet coat closer around her. She’d been unprepared for rain and was shivering now. She tried to summon up a repeat of the cowboy-and-saloon daydream, but it had slid beyond her reach. For a moment she hated reality and that there was no saloon, no cowboy and no cleavage.

Outside, the city loomed dark and gloomy, another watery and dank February day during which Erica had hopped from conference room to boardroom and taken innumerable calls on her cell phone from people who didn’t know who she was.

Correction. They knew who she was, all right. She was Erica Strong, a woman on the fast track to make partner at MacNee, Levy and Ashe, a Wall Street investment firm. She wore power suits and shoes that cost hundreds of dollars, lived in an expensive apartment soaring high above Central Park and flew business class, not coach. She employed a cleaning lady and flitted in and out of company parties at the Waldorf. Since she wasn’t much of a cook, she often ordered in from Curry in a Hurry, the Indian restaurant down the street. She should have been on top of the world.

But she was miserably unhappy.

After two cell-phone calls for her, the cab started to inch along. Finally it picked up speed and shortly thereafter swerved to a stop in front of the tall gray building that housed the offices of MacNee, Levy and Ashe, cutting off a limo whose driver opened the window, leaned out and cursed. Erica pressed a bill into the cabbie’s hand, told him to keep the change and realized he wasn’t listening. Instead, he appeared stupefied by the gorgeous blonde who was striding toward them on seemingly endless legs.

The blonde happened to be Erica’s sister, Charmaine, and when she spotted Erica climbing out of the taxi all wet and bedraggled, she waved. Charmaine protected herself with an elegant umbrella and perhaps an invisible waterproof armor. She wore a spiffy new raincoat of a particularly flattering cut, but then, Charmaine always looked wonderful. She was a world-famous model.

“Erica, hon! Haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I thought you were still in Hawaii.”

“We finished shooting early, and I got back last night.”

Erica, who’d twisted her ankle while jumping over the gutter, limped toward the portico. “Don’t hug me, Char, you’ll get all wet,” she warned. A passerby jostled her so that she narrowly avoided toppling into the street.

Charmaine laughed, a sound like little bells. Irritating little bells. But then, why wouldn’t she be happy? Charming Charmaine lived a charmed life.

“I’m supposed to get wet, silly. This is a raincoat. But let’s hurry inside. I have to tell you something.”

The elevator was mirrored all around, which only irked Erica all the more. The mirror unnecessarily reminded her that Charmaine was tall, svelte, lovely. She, Erica, was short, angular and skinny. Besides, her hair was a lank brown, which could easily be fixed, but if she bleached it, the upkeep would take time that she didn’t have to spare, and as for a perm…well, she’d never had decent results, no matter what the ads said. Next to her sister, who had a stunning tan, she looked pale and wan. Why, she was paler now than she had been moments ago when they’d stepped into the elevator. She was paling by degrees, and soon she would be transparent.

“You look terrible,” said her sister, who had the regrettable tendency to be blunt.

“Thanks. That helps so much,” Erica retorted on a wry note. Her throat felt raw and her nose was congested, which could only mean that she was coming down with a cold. Another one.

Charmaine’s reply was instant and breezy. “Oh, I’m here to help. Wait’ll I tell you why I rushed over to see you.”

The elevator disgorged them onto the floor that housed McNee, Levy and Ashe, and on the way to her office, Erica brushed past two assistants and one records clerk without saying hello. She waited until Charmaine had followed her into her inner sanctum before slamming the door harder than she intended.

“Well, Char, you’d better make it quick. I’ve got an appointment fifteen minutes ago.” She shoved her glasses up higher on her nose, more a habit than a necessity.

Charmaine looked nonplussed. “What’s eating you, Erica? You seem awfully frazzled.”

Erica flung herself on her office chair and dug the bottle of aspirin out of her middle desk drawer. “It’s the same old, same old, Charmaine. Too much work, too little time. If I’d known it was going to be like this, I would have told Harvard Business School to take their MBA and shove it.”

Charmaine seemed thoughtful as she removed her raincoat and hung it on the coat tree behind the door. “What if I told you I have the solution for everything that’s bothering you?”

It was clear to Erica that Charmaine didn’t have a clue. Well, no one did—not her friends, not her other sister, Abby, not anyone. Truth was, Erica wanted to shuck her life like a snake sheds its skin. She wanted to stop being Erica Strong, investment banker. And she wanted to start being someone else, someone more exciting, someone soft and sweet and sexy.

In short, strange as the fantasy might seem, she wanted to be a cowboy’s sweetheart.

Ha! Fat chance of that in New York City. Fat chance of meeting the perfect cowboy anywhere, come to think of it. She looked like exactly who she was—Erica Strong, investment banker. Straight, mud-colored hair, now drying plastered to her head. Brown eyes behind big glasses. Fingernails bitten to the quick.

“Aren’t you interested?” Charmaine asked brightly.

“Okay, what is this marvelous fix-all you’ve got for me?” She sighed and popped an aspirin out of the bottle.

Charmaine grinned. “My friend Justine Farrell—you know, the former manager of the Razzmatazz Modeling Agency who discovered me all those years ago? Well, Justine offered me a free makeover at her ranch in California. At Rancho Encantado. Their motto is Where Dreams Come True. And—”

Erica’s head shot up. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that the dude ranch-health spa that’s become so famous? Where people claim they got more than a makeover, they got a life?”

“So I’ve heard. It’s supposed to be the site of a vortex, a place where the earth’s energy can be experienced in a soul-empowering way.”

Erica groaned. “Sounds too New Age for words.”

“Well, I’m not saying I believe in it.” Charmaine sounded defensive.

“I didn’t suggest that.”

“Nor do I believe in the Rancho Encantado ghost.”

“Why would you want to go there? It’s not like you need a makeover.” Charmaine was wasting too much of her time and Erica was becoming impatient.

“I can’t go. The agency’s sending me to Aruba, and we’re going to shoot in two weeks, which is when Justine has an opening. The ranch is booked clear into next year, and…well, Erica, I want you to go in my place.”

For an instant, only an instant, Erica considered it. She’d love to get out of the city for a while. She’d like a chance to kick back and enjoy herself as she hadn’t in ages. The very words Rancho Encantado spilled across her mind like the balm of spring sunshine, magical and soothing and full of promise.

“I went to Jamaica a couple of months ago,” Erica said.

“That was no vacation. That was a working conference. You packed your laptop, you took your cell phone and you worked twelve-hour days.”

“I can’t leave here now,” Erica said abruptly. “There’s a meeting in Kansas City in a few weeks that I can’t miss.”

“Blow off the meeting.”

“Fat chance. This is the first time we’ve come up against Rowbotham-Quigley for a lucrative piece of business with Gillooley, a satellite communications company, and R-Q will be sending in their best team. Or at least their best team since their numero uno team leader went on a leave of absence.” Rowbotham-Quigley was one of the prime investment-banking firms in the city, and MacNee, Levy and Ashe was still building a reputation. If her firm could snare the Gillooley contract, it would be a major coup, not only for MacNee, Levy and Ashe but for Erica herself.

“So?”

“Plus, I’ve got a stack of work in preparation for the Kansas City presentation.” She waved her hand over the papers on her desk.

“Erica, Erica,” Charmaine chided, sitting on the edge of the desk. “There’s focused, and then there’s over-focused. You, my dear, are the latter.”

“This job requires a lot of hours.”

“Can’t you think it over? Must you turn down every opportunity to enjoy yourself? It’s almost like this job is a punishment. I can’t for the life of me understand why you think you deserve to be unhappy.”

Charmaine would never understand. There was no use trying to explain the constant day-to-day pressure, the need to keep on proving herself, the sense of failure if she fell short of expectations.

“Don’t you have to pack for Aruba?” Erica said uncharitably. “Isn’t there somewhere you’re supposed to be?” She rooted around in her briefcase for an energy bar and ripped off the wrapper.

“Yes. I’m supposed to be right here trying to talk some sense into your head. Rancho Encantado may not change your life, but it could change the next couple of weeks. Why is that bad?”

Erica sighed. “It’s not, although a change in my life wouldn’t be unwelcome.” She finished the energy bar in a couple of munches and tossed the wrapper in the trash can.

Charmaine slid off the desk and stood frowning at her with her arms folded across her chest. “What’s this all about, Erica? You’ve never said that before.”

Erica ran a hand through her hair in an attempt to fluff it.

“I think I hate my job. I don’t like my hair. And I’m coming down with a cold.” She sneezed to prove her point.

“Bless you.” Charmaine reached for the box on the credenza and handed her a tissue. She frowned. “Erica, how much vacation have you banked?”

Erica, blowing her nose, tried to think. “Oh, a couple of weeks at least. I stopped thinking about taking time off when it became clear that I’d never be able to get away.”

“Give yourself a week to get over this cold, inform the powers that be that you’re going on vacation, and hie thee to Rancho Encantado. You said you don’t like your hair. They do makeovers, Erica. They’ll pamper you and feed you properly and fix up your wardrobe. Besides, you love to ride. They have horses.”

“Char,” Erica began, but the images brought on by her sister’s description of Rancho Encantado were too alluring to banish; a new hairdo sounded wonderful, and a wardrobe fix sounded even better. And it was a ranch, after all. It had been ages since she’d been on a horse. She wondered if there were cowboys.

Charmaine slapped a plane ticket down in front of her. It seemed to glow with light from within, and Erica’s eyes widened.

“I’ve already bought your ticket. Now I dare you to tell me you’re not going,” said Charmaine.

“I don’t know, Charmaine. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

“Don’t you ever do anything on impulse? Wouldn’t it be fun to have fun? You’ve given McNee, Levy and Ashe what could have been the best years of your life. If anyone gives you a hard time, tell them to stuff it.”

It was the “could have been” that stopped Erica from protesting again. She was thirty-two years old. She’d given up expecting to be married or to have children, and she’d seldom traveled except on business. She had so far fulfilled none of the fantasies that had sustained her through her youth, and maybe she never would. Her life was slipping by, and she was wasting it on meetings and phone calls and reports. She had become a professional success, but her personal life was edging toward failure. The thought was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

She hid them by getting up, walking to the rain-streaked window and blowing her nose again. She had composed herself by the time she turned to face Charmaine, and in the moment her eyes met her sister’s, it occurred to her in a lightninglike flash that sometimes ordinary times called for extraordinary action.

“What…what time does that flight leave?” she asked unsteadily, eyeing the ticket on her desk.

Her sister let out a giant whoop and ran to wrap Erica in an impetuous hug.

“I never thought you’d go!” Charmaine said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to persuade you.”

Erica smiled thinly and returned the embrace. But already she was planning ahead to the one thing she wanted out of this vacation: to meet the perfect cowboy and indulge herself in a madcap fling.

Of her life fantasies, that one was the most precious of all, and Rancho Encantado might be her last chance to make it happen.