Shotgun Vows. Teresa Southwick

be as bad as her brother’s reaction if she ran away with the wet-behind-the-ears cowboy.

      Mattie spotted him and stumbled slightly. Then the group continued on until she and her cowboy wannabes stood in a semicircle around him. The kids gave him odd looks, as if they’d been warned about him. She gave him an appraising glance. Saucy. The word described perfectly the way she was eyeing him. And it made him feel like he was a prize quarter horse ready to be put to stud.

      Two could play that game. “Something wrong, your ladyship?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

      “You tell me. Who are you and what have you done with Dawson Prescott?”

      He looked down at his scuffed brown boots, worn jeans, and long-sleeved, white cotton shirt. “What’s wrong?”

      “For starters, you’re not wearing your uniform. Where’s the white dress shirt, pin-striped suit, red power tie, and loafers with tassels?”

      “First of all, I draw the line at loafers with a tassel. Too froufrou. As for the rest, it’s hanging in the closet at home in Kingston Estates.”

      “Ah.” She nodded. “The large planned community in San Antonio for the fabulously wealthy.”

      “You make it sound like a communicable disease.”

      “If only it were,” she sighed.

      He glanced down at his boots. “I repeat, is there something wrong?”

      “You just look different this way.”

      “Different good? Or different bad?”

      “Different as in less like a stuffed shirt.”

      “Well, thank you, I think, your ladyship,” he said dryly.

      She thought he was a stuffed shirt? If he wasn’t on assignment for Griff Fortune, he’d show her a thing or two about stuffed shirts. But the fact was that he was here to fend off the other guys, not to teach her anything about men.

      She looked around. “I wonder where Ethan is. It’s almost ten. I did tell him nine-thirty.”

      “Actually you told him around nine-thirty. I talked to the foreman. He said he needed him for a job. Since I’m here to assist you with your charges, it didn’t seem necessary to replace him.” He glanced at the kids. The boys were eyeing him as if he had just torched their baseball card collection, and the little girl openly stared at him as if he walked on water. “I’m your only backup.”

      “That’s too bad,” she said. “I was looking forward to spending some time with him.”

      He felt only a slight twinge of guilt for his part in producing her disappointed look. At least, he thought it was guilt. It couldn’t be jealousy. He wasn’t interested in Mattie that way. Even if she were his type, she was too young. All he cared about was fulfilling his promise to her brother and getting himself off baby-sitting detail. If she found the cowboy type she was looking for, it wouldn’t be on his watch.

      But her reaction surprised him. Disappointment was a far cry from the explosion he’d expected. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

      And it didn’t much matter. If they got this show on the road pronto, maybe he could get in a couple of hours at the office later.

      “So where do we start?” he asked.

      “How about introductions.” She looked around at the kids and her gaze rested on the small redheaded girl with cornflower-blue eyes. “Ladies first. Katie Mansfield, meet Dawson Prescott.”

      He held his hand out and the girl, who looked about eleven years old, put hers into his palm, squeezing with a surprising strength. “Miss Mansfield, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

      “And this motley macho male crew are Nate Howe, Juan Castaneda, and Kevin Dolan.” She pointed to a tall, skinny blonde, then a husky dark-haired, black-eyed boy and a chubby guy with unruly brown hair. The boys appeared to be about the same age as Katie.

      One by one, they shook hands with Dawson. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

      “Now we need to find you just the right mounts,” Mattie said. “C’mon, mates.”

      She lead the way toward the barn, and Dawson’s gaze was pulled to the feminine grace of her walk. The hem of her plaid shirt hitched up a notch, and he got a better look at her curvy rear end. He couldn’t help wondering if she had a small waist and shapely hips to go with those dynamite legs. All the Matilda images he’d been fighting against—legs wrapped around his waist, twisted sheets and bodies entwined—flooded his consciousness with a vengeance.

      All those thoughts were at odds with her fresh-scrubbed face and the long blond braid hanging down her back. She was just a kid. And he was her chaperone—not her Casanova. He was abruptly drawn back to the present by a persistent tugging.

      “Don’t you just love her accent?” Katie asked Dawson. She took his hand and tugged him forward.

      “I do,” he answered. Oddly enough, he meant it.

      Inside the barn, Mattie walked down the hay-strewn aisle between stalls. She looked from side to side, tapping her lips thoughtfully. Stopping beside one, she said, “Juan, this one is for you. His name is Buck.” She continued on until she came to a black, beige, and white pinto. “Katie, this is Buttercup. She has a disposition as sweet as yours.”

      Dawson watched her pick out two more mounts for Kevin and Nate. Then she grabbed a bridle, handed it to him, and said, “Mr. Prescott is going to demonstrate bridling a horse.”

      She tapped her lip again. “He’ll show you on Buttercup. She’s very patient, but—” she gave the kids a serious look “—you must be very gentle with the animals. Treat them the way you would like to be treated. You don’t like it if someone punches or slaps you. Right?”

      Kevin nodded. “Juan and Nate do that to each other all the time when we line up at school.”

      Mattie glanced at the two who looked guilty. “But you’re not going to do that now. Are you, guys?”

      “No,” they said in unison.

      She looked at him. “Mr. Prescott, you’re on.”

      “Dawson.” He looked at the kids. “It’s all right to call me by my first name.”

      Mattie met his gaze. “He thinks Mr. Prescott makes him sound old,” she said conspiratorially to the kids.

      “He is old,” Nate said.

      “Do you think so?” she said, eyeing Dawson critically. “I guess you just have to get to know him. He doesn’t look so ancient to me.”

      Dawson gritted his teeth. He had no problem being gentle with Buttercup, but there was a certain smart-mouthed female who could use a dressing-down. He wasn’t ancient. But the part of him that disconnected from his wounded ego acknowledged that the kid was right. Compared to Mattie, he was old.

      He congratulated himself on controlling his temper, while Mattie led the way as they walked back to the multicolored Buttercup’s stall. When they stopped in front of the mare, she looked at the group with sweet, gentle brown eyes. Dawson hated to admit it, but Mattie was right to pick this animal to demonstrate on. Not only that, but being familiar with all the horses in the barn, he knew each one she’d chosen was sweet-natured and pliable. He realized why Lily Fortune had asked her to supervise the schoolkids. Mattie knew her stuff. And she was as good with the kids as she was with horses.

      “Okay, listen up, you guys—and ladies,” he added. He didn’t miss Katie’s pleased smile. Too bad his charm didn’t work to tame a certain impertinent Australian miss. “I’m going to show you how this is done, but before you try it, there’s something you have to do. Anyone have a clue what it is?”

      “Get a ladder for Katie?” Juan said to a round of laughter from his friends.

      “No.”