Chapter One
“Could you do me a huge favor?”
Those were the seven words that changed my life. Had Bob not asked me to fill in for him, I wouldn’t have met Blake Whelan…and had the sexual experience of my life.
I tapped a pen on my desk, intrigued by what this favor would actually entail. Bob stood in the doorway of my office, leaning against the jamb with his bifocal glasses pushed back high on his head.
“My son wants me to check out prospective colleges with him, and I’ve got this story to write and file by next week. Well, I can’t do both. You know how it is. Kids come first, so now I’m in a bind.”
I knew Bob often focused on sports-related articles and profiles, and I didn’t relish working on that type of story, but he was a sweet family guy, so I didn’t really want to turn him down.
“What’s the article about?” I said.
He must have anticipated that I’d at least consider taking the assignment, because he’d brought all the details with him. The next thing I knew he’d stepped inside my office, sat down, and was placing an open folder in front of me. I sorted through it to see Bob’s handwritten scribbles on several slips of paper.
“The last American cowboy,” I said, reading the heading.
“They’re a dying profession,” said Bob.
“Really? I never knew that. So you want me to call this…” I tried to decipher Bob’s penmanship but couldn’t.
“Blake Whelan. I’ve already arranged to talk to him in person, so all you need to do is go and interview him.”
“Just where does he live?”
“Montana, just north of Missoula.”
Oh, boy. I’d really set myself up for this one.
“So you’ll do it?” he asked.
The word no wouldn’t come out of my mouth. “I guess, if you’ve got no one else.”
“I don’t, and I’ll return the favor anytime you like. The flight and hotel are booked. You leave tomorrow morning and come back on Friday. That gives you three full days to visit his ranch, talk with him, see him in action, and snap some shots to accompany the story. Hope you don’t mind taking photos, because these days the magazine can’t afford to pay a photographer to tag along on an out-of-town assignment.”
Yeah, our ads sales had been down, and a few writers had even been given pink slips or offered early retirement.
I paged through all the notes Bob had made and his suggested angle for the story plus the questions he thought needed to be asked.
“Anything else I should be aware of before I head to the wilderness?”
“Not that I can think of. I know you’ll do a great job with this one. I had a feeling it was right up your alley.”
* * * * *
I had no idea what to pack for this trip. I’d never been to Montana and didn’t even know what a working ranch looked like. I imagined it was dusty and dirty, so I’d thrown some old jeans and sweaters into my luggage. I didn’t have any cowboy boots but decided I’d buy myself a pair during my trip. The hotel was better than I’d expected. It was equipped with a kitchen and Internet and had a swimming pool, a hot tub, and an exercise room. Once I was unpacked and had settled in, I decided to call the number Bob had given me for this last American cowboy.
“Hello. Blake Whelan speaking.”
Shit, he had a sexy voice for such an old guy.
“Hi, my name’s Fiona Spencer. I’m working on the article about you for American Lifestyle magazine in Boston.”
“I thought that was a guy named Bob.”
“He had another commitment, so I’m filling in. Hope you don’t mind dealing with a female writer.”
“Nope. In fact, I prefer it.”
At least cowboys weren’t sexist or, at least, this one wasn’t. I doodled on my notepad because, all of a sudden, hearing his deep voice had made me nervous, which wasn’t an adjective I ever used to describe myself, especially while I was on the job.
“I’d like to stop by your ranch tomorrow, so I can start interviewing you and
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