A Bride for a Blue-Ribbon Cowboy. Judy Duarte

plopped onto the kitchen floor and trotted into the living room.

      Had Shep heard Blake’s truck?

      Cindy set down the tool and climbed out from under the sink.

      Yep. That was definitely an approaching vehicle. She brushed her hands against her denim-clad hips and hurried to the front door, where she spotted a black truck pulling a fancy horse trailer and kicking up dust as it headed toward the house.

      Recognizing the driver, she blew out the breath she’d been holding. Gosh, it was good to have Blake home in Blossom. And for more than a quick visit.

      Ever since he’d come to live on the ranch as a teenager, he’d become part of the family.

      Of course, as a ten-year-old who’d had her grandpa to herself for five whole years, Cindy hadn’t been too happy when fourteen-year-old Blake had first arrived. He’d been a surly adolescent in need of her grandfather’s guidance and a real thorn in her backside. But over the next few months, he’d evolved into a friend. And by the time he was ready to move on, he’d become the occasional romantic lead in the midnight dreams of a goofy preteen.

      But that was just between Cindy and her pillow.

      Blake, who’d always been a ladies man, was way out of a tomboy’s league—at least, in a romantic sense.

      But Cindy had a big favor she intended to ask of him, a favor she’d cooked up right after finding out he was coming home to stay for a while. And she wasn’t beyond begging, either. Unless, of course, he teased her about it. Then she’d be fighting mad.

      She swung open the front door, letting Shep dash outside with his tail a-waggin’ like crazy and barking to beat the band. But Cindy stood just inside the house, watching as Blake got out of a black, dual-axle Chevy pickup wearing a white shirt, black Wranglers and an expensive pair of boots.

      Boy howdy, that man was a looker. The kind that made a girl or a woman take a second gawk.

      And a third.

      He’d inherited the absolute best his German and Comanche bloodlines had to offer. And eight years on his own, riding the rodeo circuit, had hardened the boy right out of him and announced him all grown-up and more handsome than ever.

      As he shut the driver’s door, he adjusted his black Stetson, allowing the afternoon sunlight to glisten off coal-black strands of hair.

      Shep howled, and when Blake glanced at the doorway and spotted Cindy, he slid her a heart-stopping grin. “Hey, Sprout. What’s up?”

      “Not much.” She stood rooted in the doorway, fighting the urge to race outside and give him a great big hug—like she’d always done when she was younger. But now that she had reached the ripe old age of twenty-two and gotten a new attitude about a few things, she wanted him to see her as a woman, and not the awkward little red-haired girl of his youth.

      He carried himself with that lean, cowboy swagger and sauntered toward the porch, looking like a buckle bunny’s dream come true. And hers, too, if her pillow could talk.

      Blake gave Shep a hearty rubdown, then looked up at Cindy. “Hey, aren’t you going to give me a welcome-home hug?”

      “Sure.” She pushed open the screen door, letting it slam behind her, and met him halfway.

      As she tiptoed and wrapped him in a warm embrace, she savored the feel of his arms around her, the musky masculine scent of cologne that smelled as brisk and fresh as a mountain stream.

      She couldn’t help wondering if Robby Bradshaw’s hug would feel as nice. She hoped and prayed it would, but doubt niggled at her.

      Still, she knew better than to let her imagination get away from her. Some crushes, like the ones teenyboppers had on Hollywood movie stars and rock musicians, were just dreams to carry a young girl until someone more suitable came along. Someone who wasn’t out of reach and who would be happy to remain in Blossom and raise a family.

      Someone like Robby.

      As Blake released her, those whiskey-brown eyes that had always mesmerized her—if she’d let them—glimmered with sincerity. “You’re looking good.”

      “Thanks.” But she knew the difference between looking good and being pretty.

      Which brought her to the subject she wanted to broach. All she had to do was figure out how to slide it into the conversation as if it belonged there.

      As Blake strode toward the fancy horse trailer that looked brand-new, he said, “You have no idea how badly I need a little peace and quiet. I’m really looking forward to my stay here as a much-needed vacation.”

      “Good.” She was glad he’d be around for a while. Well, thrilled was more like it. In the past, he’d only come for brief visits. So two weeks seemed like forever to her, and it ought to be plenty of time for what she had in mind.

      She watched as he unloaded a chestnut gelding, the kind of mount a skilled cowboy deserved. “That’s a fine-looking horse.”

      “Thanks. He’s one of the best cutting horses in all of Texas. His name is Cutter.”

      She nibbled on her bottom lip as she tried to rustle up the courage to spring her request on him.

      “Blake, I…uh…want to ask you a favor.”

      “Sure. What is it?”

      That was easy enough. It sounded as if he’d made a commitment to help, and she hadn’t even told him yet.

      “Last winter, when Robby Bradshaw was home for Christmas break, I ran into him at Twin Oaks Lake, where he was fishing. And he…uh…” Ah, shoot. Robby hadn’t exactly spit out the words, yet somehow, she’d figured out what was on his mind. And his obvious interest in her had set off a flurry of excitement.

      Blake’s movements stilled. He tensed and his brow furrowed. His eyes hardened. “What the hell did that guy do to you?”

      “Oh, no,” she said, realizing he might feel the need to defend her honor or something, although it was kind of nice to think that he might, if she needed him to. “It’s just that he sort of…well, he’s in Colorado and will be graduating from CSU soon, and we’re probably going to go out on a date. And stuff.”

      “A date and stuff?” Blake arched a brow in a big-brotherly way.

      She kicked at the ground with the scuffed toe of her boot. “Well, it’s not like I have a ton of experience with men or with romance. You ought to know that. So I could use a little coaching on how to act around him. And since you’re such an expert on…well, that sort of thing, I figured you’d make a perfect tutor.”

      Blake couldn’t help the grin that stole across his face. Little Cindy Lou, with her red hair wrapped into a knot on her head, her flannel shirt rolled to her forearms and a black smudge across her freckled nose, was growing up. And she wanted him to give her some pointers about men.

      She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot. “Don’t laugh.”

      “I’m not laughing. I’m just glad to see that you’re finally interested in the opposite sex. That’s all.”

      “You, of all people, ought to know how tough it is for me. I can hardly remember my mother, let alone my grandmother.”

      “I know that, honey.”

      She’d never had too many girlfriends, either.

      Blake had never been sure if that was because she was stubborn and difficult to get along with, or if she felt some damn obligation to stick close to her grandpa and the ranch. Before Blake had come to live with them, the old rodeo cowboy and his granddaughter had been close. And more than once, Blake had suspected that Cindy had wanted to be the son Tuck had lost when her daddy died.

      It hadn’t taken Blake five minutes on the Tumbling T to realize the red-haired girl was a dedicated tomboy. But then again, maybe that was because she didn’t