The Last Cowboy Standing. Barbara Dunlop

older brother, Seth, had recently been married, and he’d committed his next three years to working on the Lyndon Valley railway project. Responsibility for the family’s Colorado cattle ranch now rested completely on Travis’s shoulders. Faced with that looming reality, he’d discovered he had a few wild oats left to sow.

      “You could make a lot of money on the circuit,” said Corey.

      Travis let himself fantasize for a minute about going on the road as a professional bull rider. The image was tantalizing—to be footloose and fancy free, no cattle to tend, no ranch hands, no bills, no responsibilities. He’d ride a couple of times a week, hit the clubs, meet friendly women. There were no bleak, dusty, hick towns on this particular rodeo circuit. It was all bright lights and five-star hotels.

      For a moment, he resented the lost opportunity. But he forcibly swallowed his own frustration. If he’d wanted to be a bull rider, he should have spoken up before now. While his brother and sisters were all choosing their own life paths, Travis should have said something about leaving the ranch. But it was too late. He was the last Jacobs cowboy, and somebody had to run the place.

      A small crowd had gathered in the middle of the arena to celebrate his win. He unzipped his flak jacket to circulate a little air. Then he accepted the prize buckle and the check from the event manager and gave a final wave of his hat to the crowd.

      Mind still mulling what might have been, he turned and fell into step beside Corey, their boots puffing up dust as they moved toward the gate.

      “How long have you been on the road?” he found himself asking the bullfighter.

      “Nearly ten years now,” Corey responded. “Started when I was seventeen.”

      “You ever get tired of it?”

      “What’s to get tired? The excitement? The adventure? The women?”

      Travis stuffed the check in his shirt pocket. “You know what I mean.”

      “Yeah, I know. When I get tired of the wheels turning, I go back to the folks’ place in New Mexico for a while.”

      “Ever tempted to stay there?” Travis was trying to reassure himself that life on the road got old, that all men eventually wanted a real home.

      Corey shook his head. “Nope. Though, last trip home, there was this pretty red-haired gal living down the road.”

      Travis chuckled at the yearning expression on Corey’s face. “I take it she’s calling you back to New Mexico?”

      “Not yet, but likely soon. She’s got some kind of a bullfighter fantasy going on inside that head of hers, and she’s decided I’m the fire she wants to play with.”

      Travis burst out laughing.

      Corey grinned and cocked an eyebrow.

      “No pretty women calling me back to my hometown.” There was nothing calling to Travis except cattle and horses.

      Though, for some reason, his thoughts moved back to Danielle. But she wasn’t from his hometown, and she sure wasn’t any young innocent. She was twenty-eight, only a year younger than Travis. She was a graduate of Harvard Law, a practicing lawyer and probably the smartest, most sophisticated woman he’d ever met. She also flat out refused to give him the time of day.

      “Think of that as another reason to go on the road,” Corey countered.

      “I’m on the road right now,” said Travis. There wasn’t a reason in the world he couldn’t be footloose for the next few days. He’d earned it, and he had a check in his pocket just itching to get spent.

      “That you are.” Corey clapped him on the back. “Let’s hit the clubs and show off that new buckle of yours. I bet there are dozens of gorgeous ladies out there just dying to hear how you rode the bull a full eight seconds, and how I saved your life in the arena.”

      “Is that how you’re going to play it? That you saved my life?”

      “Damn straight,” said Corey.

      * * *

      There were two men in the world Danielle Marin wanted to avoid. Unfortunately, both of them had turned up in Vegas.

      She was attending an international law conference, so she’d been on alert for Randal Kleinfeld. It seemed likely the wunderkind D.C. attorney would show up for a lecture by his university mentor Stan Sterling. But Travis Jacobs had come out of left field, literally.

      She’d been blindsided when the announcer called his name at the bull riding show, then mesmerized when the bucking bull burst from the chute. Travis made it look effortless, as if he’d been born on the back of a Brahma. That he’d won should have come as no surprise to her. When it came to all things ranching and rough stock, Travis was a master. Stone-faced and rugged, tough and no-nonsense, he was the absolute antithesis of the smooth-talking, urbane Randal.

      Show over, and back at the conference hotel with her friends, Danielle couldn’t help but ponder the differences between the two men. Travis sticking in her mind, she took a bracing swallow of her vodka martini.

      “That’s the spirit, Dani,” called Astra Lindy from across the table, raising her cosmo in a mock toast.

      “I told you it would be fun,” said Nadine Beckman as she accepted a frozen Bellini from their waitress.

      The four women were less than a mile from the bull riding arena, relaxing in the lobby lounge. The temperature was mid-seventies, a light breeze blowing in from the hotel pool and the gardens.

      “It was a blast,” Odette Gray agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Cowboys have the sexiest butts.” She’d gone with a light beer.

      The other two women laughed. Danielle smiled, keeping her expression lighthearted, even as she called up a mental image of Travis walking away. It simply wasn’t fair. How could so much sexiness be wrapped up in such an exasperating man? And what kind of character flaw made her want him?

      She took another healthy sip of her drink, regretting that she’d let her three friends talk her into the bull riding excursion. It had seemed like a harmless diversion after a full day of conference topics like Comparative Legal Systems and Cross Border Taxation. And it should have been a harmless diversion. Who could have predicted that Travis Jacobs would choose this week to leave Lyndon Valley and show up in Vegas?

      “I’d do a cowboy,” Nadine brazenly declared.

      “In a heartbeat,” Odette agreed.

      “Up close, they’re dusty and crude,” Danielle pointed out, speaking to herself as much as to the other women. “They talk slow, use short sentences, very small words.”

      “Crude can be sexy,” said Nadine. “And the dust washes off.”

      Sadly, deep down in her secret heart of hearts, Danielle agreed. She’d once seen Travis after he’d cleaned up. The result had made her gasp for breath, and put her libido into overdrive.

      “Dani knows cowboys,” said Astra. “She spends a lot of time in Colorado.”

      “I wouldn’t call it a lot of time,” Danielle corrected.

      Truth was, she avoided Lyndon Valley as much as possible. The Jacobs spread was right next to the Terrell ranch. And Caleb Terrell was one of her major clients. He lived in Lyndon Valley only part-time, so she could usually arrange to put in her hours for Active Equipment at his Chicago head office or at her own law office on the Chicago River.

      “Caleb’s a cowboy,” said Astra. “He doesn’t use small words.”

      “I was generalizing,” Danielle admitted.

      On a night like tonight, she needed to take every opportunity to remind herself there was a world of difference between her and Travis Jacobs. She was closer to Randal in background, values, temperament and, of course, profession.

      She’d