Cowboy Enchantment Read online

  * * *

  Are you craving a massage and manicure? Wouldn’t you love to go horseback riding with a handsome cowboy?

  Don’t you want to get away from the worries of the world?

  If you’ve said yes to any of these questions, you’ll love Pamela Browning’s exciting new miniseries:

  RANCHO ENCANTADO

  An enchanting spa where you not only get a makeover, you also get a life!

  COWBOY ENCHANTMENT

  A frenzied businesswoman escapes to the spa and fantasizes about loving a cowboy. When the man of her dreams appears, will this shy heroine find the courage to go after what she wants?

  BABY ENCHANTMENT

  A lovely journalist wants to write about the enchanting spa, but has a little secret she’s keeping. Love is the last thing on her mind, until a rugged ranch foreman looks her way….

  * * *

  COWBOY ENCHANTMENT

  Pamela Browning

  Pour mi esposo caro,

  who first showed me the delights of the California desert.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Pamela Browning grew up near the Atlantic Ocean and saw her first desert only a few years ago. That was when she knew she had to write a book that fit the setting, and thus RANCHO ENCANTADO was born.

  She has never met a talking cat, but she knows what her cat Melissa would say if she ever found herself in the middle of a desert.

  “Wow, what a great sandbox!”

  Pam loves to hear from her readers. You can e-mail her from her Web site at www.pamelabrowning.com.

  Books by Pamela Browning

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  101—CHERISHED BEGINNINGS

  116—HANDYMAN SPECIAL

  123—THROUGH THE EYES OF LOVE

  131—INTERIOR DESIGNS

  140—EVER SINCE EVE

  150—FOREVER IS A LONG TIME

  170—TO TOUCH THE STARS

  181—THE FLUTTERBY PRINCESS

  194—ICE CRYSTALS

  227—KISSES IN THE RAIN

  237—SIMPLE GIFTS

  241—FLY AWAY

  245—HARVEST HOME

  287—FEATHERS IN THE WIND

  297—UNTIL SPRING

  354—HUMBLE PIE

  384—A MAN WORTH LOVING

  420—FOR AULD LANG SYNE

  439—SUNSHINE AND SHADOWS

  451—MORGAN’S CHILD

  516—MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABY

  565—THE WORLD’S LAST BACHELOR

  600—ANGEL’S BABY

  632—LOVER’S LEAP

  788—RSVP…BABY

  818—THAT’S OUR BABY!

  854—BABY CHRISTMAS

  874—COWBOY WITH A SECRET

  907—PREGNANT AND INCOGNITO

  922—RANCHER’S DOUBLE DILEMMA

  982—COWBOY ENCHANTMENT*

  * * *

  FROM THE DESK OF ERICA STRONG

  MACNEE, LEVY AND ASHE

  THINGS TO DO:

  8 a.m. breakfast meeting

  Conference call at 11

  Prepare for the Gilhooley account

  Pick up suits at the dry cleaners

  Become a cowboy’s sweetheart…

  * * *

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Prologue

  Near the California-Nevada-Arizona border, 1910

  The dry desert air has preserved the scroll well, though the ink has faded to brown.

  “What is it?” asks the young rancher, who cannot read a word of Spanish.

  “Ah,” answers the elderly priest with a twinkle in his eye. “It contains an old legend telling the reason we call this place Rancho Encantado—the Enchanted Ranch.”

  The rancher shuffles his feet in the dust. “Well, Padre Luis, we thought it was a pretty name,” he replies. His bride waves fondly from the window of the old adobe hacienda, one of several buildings on their newly purchased spread in the desert area known as Seven Springs.

  “A pretty name? Yes, I suppose it is. But this place received that name because good things happen here. Unusual things, unexplained things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Just…things. But they are things that touch the soul.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s good of you to tell me. But this legend of yours sounds like so much guff.” The rancher is eager to escape the loquacious priest, who arrived unexpectedly to hand over the land deed and the Spanish scroll. He is glad for the school and hospital that Padre Luis founded here, but he and Betsy have no need of the school yet, and he hopes they will never need the hospital.

  The priest seems eager to explain. “The legend came about because of what happened at Cedrella Pass. A lot of people died there when the West was being settled. A Shoshone woman took it upon herself to reverse the curse.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. So are you telling me there’s something special in the water?”

  The priest raises his eyebrows. “Quizas. Perhaps.” He smiles mysteriously and winks. “But more likely, it’s something we always carry with us, something wonderful, something within the human heart.”

  While the rancher is mulling over this pronouncement, the priest heaves his bulk up onto his mule. “Remember, this is a special place,” he says.

  The rancher stands watching as the rotund priest rides down the long driveway toward the dusty track that serves as a road. Then, with a shrug, he rolls up the parchment and heads for one of the outbuildings, unused at present except for storage.

  He’ll toss the parchment scroll into one of the old trunks there. Then he’ll forget about it. He has a ranch to run, after all, enchanted or not.

  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 w
as 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 th
e 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.”