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Authors: Nancy Martin

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BOOK: The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl
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“Don Ho’s!”
Carly couldn’t hide her astonishment. “You’ve been there?”
Hank suddenly began to choke and reached for his bottle of beer. After a calming swallow, he shook his head. “Uh, no, I’ve never been there. I must have read about it in a magazine, I guess.”
Carly studied him for a moment. “I don’t suppose there are many restaurants around here.”
“Not many, no.”
“You’re lucky Becky cooks so well.”
“Becky’s very talented,” he agreed. “Of course, during the winters here she has lots of time to practice. She loves it, though.”
Carly rested both her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “Tell me what you love to do.”
“Me?”
“Sure. What keeps you here at this ranch?”
“Um, well, the horses are—they’re exciting, I guess.”
“Exciting?”
“And cows. I’ve always...liked cows.”
Preferably medium rare,
Hank almost added. He had begun to sweat beneath his flannel shirt.
“I see,” Carly said, looking puzzled.
You’re about to crash and burn,
Hank thought to himself.
The whole restaurant discussion nearly gave you away. Now you just sound like an idiot
.
Determined to change the subject before he got into big trouble, he said, “Why are we talking about me again?”
Carly blinked at him over the flickering candle, her brows knit delicately. She appeared to be wrestling with exactly who the man across the table from her was.
Suddenly Hank could hardly choke down his food. His insides were knotted with tension. How was he supposed to keep up this charade?
I hate this ranch,
he wanted to blurt out.
Give me a dirty old city with a few coffee shops, a good barber and tickets to an occasional basketball game, and I’ll be happy as a clam. Let me climb Mount McKinley-just don’t make me talk about ranching anymore.
He couldn’t tell the truth, though. Not until the damned photographs were snapped and printed in some ridiculous calendar that Hank could only pray never found its way into the sight of anyone he knew.
Obviously, however, he wasn’t good at lying about the Fowler ranch. He had to come up with something else to talk about.
What had Becky advised? A distraction. Frantically, he remembered,
Maybe you’ll have time to cloud her vision before she sees too much.
He leaned on one elbow and said, “Why don’t we talk about you, Carly.”
“Me?”
“Sure. What are you really after when you chase down men and take their pictures?”
To Hank’s immediate satisfaction, Carly Cortazzo blushed.
“I...it’s my job, that’s all.”
“Your chosen profession,” he reminded her. “You must enjoy what you do.”
“Well, I—”
He met her uncertain gaze and held it with a long, slow smolder that caused Carly to gulp.
Aha, you’ve got her on the run.
“Tell me, Carly,” Hank went on, deepening his voice with shameless seductiveness. “Who’s the sexiest man you’ve ever photographed?”
Her stunned expression told Hank that she definitely hadn’t planned on having the tables turned.
“Well, they’re not necessarily sexy to me,” she finally blurted out.
“Surely one of them stands out in your mind, though?” he asked.
“Not one in particular, no.”
“Are you saying you’re impervious to the men you photograph for calendars?”
“Of course not,” she said quickly, bristling at his unspoken suggestion that she didn’t care for men at all. “They’re usually not my type, that’s all.”
“What is your type?”
Fortunately for Carly their conversation was interrupted at that moment by a distant howl that sounded far off in the darkness. The eerie cry broke the still night with nerve-shattering results.
Carly jumped and looked out into the darkness beyond the porch. “What was that?”
“I haven’t got the faintest—I mean, it was probably a wolf.”
“A wolf!”
“Sure, we get them around here once in a while.”
Her blue eyes were very wide as she stared into the dark night. “Are they dangerous?”
“Sure,” Hank drawled. “All wolves are dangerous.”
“Even lone wolves like you?” she asked, turning to gaze directly into his eyes.
“I’m not a loner—not exactly.”
“But you keep things simple where women are concerned.”
“Simple has its advantages,” Hank replied with a smile.
Three
F
resh air gave Carly headaches. At least, that’s what she told herself when she awoke the next morning and decided that a twinge in her forehead was probably the first sign of a major thumper.
Certainly her headache had nothing to do with a poor night’s sleep thanks to an overactive imagination.
Dreaming about cowboys and wild horses hadn’t given Carly her usual night’s rest. She had tossed and turned for hours, sweating profusely when she woke up with thoughts of Hank Fowler dancing in her unconscious mind. She had envisioned him strolling into her bedroom, scooping her up out of the covers and striding off into the wilderness with her naked body in his strong arms. After all, isn’t that what cowboys did with their women?
“He’s gorgeous,” she murmured to herself on a sigh, snuggling contentedly into the bedclothes. Those shoulders, that delicious mustache and his smoldery blue eyes!
Last night they’d talked for more than an hour on the porch, listening to the lone wolf howling in the distance. By candlelight, Hank’s rough-hewn features had looked as devastating as any Hollywood hunk’s, and Carly had gone to bed more infatuated than ever.
After that, her subconscious took over, and the resulting dreams had been deliciously erotic.
Too bad Hank hadn’t tried to kiss her last night.
If he had, Carly might have hog-tied the man and dragged him up to her bed.
But no such luck.
The fragrance of hot coffee penetrated Carly’s fogged brain at last, and she crawled out of the bed to check her wristwatch. Nine-thirty, California time. She had no clue what time it was in South Dakota, but the sun that streamed through the thin calico curtains seemed dazzlingly bright.
Groping on the nightstand, Carly discovered that her last pack of cigarettes was still empty. “Oh, damn.”
She fell back into the pillows and groaned. “Why did I come all the way out here just to frustrate myself? It’s obvious Hank Fowler thinks more about his horse than women—and now—no cigarettes!”
Grumbling, Carly climbed out of her bed and into her ancient pair of faded blue jeans. She added sneakers and a crisp white shirt purchased at an exorbitant price from a Western-style shop on Rodeo Drive. She fluffed her hair in the bathroom mirror and applied a light version of her usual cosmetic routine before grabbing a sweater and descending the narrow staircase of the Fowler house.
Today she left her red bandanna upstairs. She had a feeling it looked silly.
In the kitchen she found a note propped by the coffeepot. “If you’re awake before noon, join us outside.”
Smart mouth.
The note was signed in an illegible, but unmistakably confident scrawl that Carly assumed was Hank’s mark.
“If I’m awake before noon,” she muttered grumpily, her pnde stung. “What’s he trying to do? Challenge me to get up with the chickens?”
She poured a mug of coffee for herself and made a cursory search of the various kitchen drawers in hopes that the clean-living Fowler family might have stashed some cigarettes someplace. No luck. With a sigh she strolled out onto the porch to sip her coffee.
The sunlight was so blazingly clear that she fumbled in her shirt pocket for her sunglasses and put them on. The coffee, thick and strong, evaporated her headache at once.
The ranch was a hive of activity. Carly could see Becky riding a large black horse around the corral, separating cows that fled before her like frightened wrens. A handful of men stood around a battered horse trailer, laughing as they unloaded their saddled horses. Clearly, they had been hired for a hard day’s work, and they didn’t mind a bit.
Hank detached himself from the group of men and sauntered across the dusty yard to Carly.
“’Morning,” he drawled, coming to a halt and propping one boot on the bottom porch step. He was a vision of manliness in jeans and a red flannel shirt under a tight-fitting denim jacket. His gaze was clear beneath the brim of his hat. “You finally decide to join the land of the living?”
“I have a touch of jet lag,” she replied, trying to sound calm despite the sudden acceleration in her pulse. The man was just as gorgeous by daylight as he had been the night before. The morning sun filled his blue eyes with a devilish gleam, and the rough denim jacket clung to his broad shoulders like a second skin.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
Had he guessed the subject of her dreams by the guilty flush that rose to her cheeks? Carly hoped not. “Yes, very well,” she lied. “How about you, Mr. Fowler?”
“I think you could call me Hank by now. And we’ve known each other almost a whole day, right, Carly?”
She liked the way he said her name—half teasing, half caressing. “Right,” she said briskly. “And we’re going to get to know each other much better before it’s all over, Hank. I just need a few minutes to load my cameras, then we can get started on the test shots for—”
“Sorry. Today’s a bad day for me. As you can see, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Carly tried to hide her disappointment, then heard herself asking rashly, “Is there anything I can do?”
“You know anything about cattle?”
“I prefer filet mignon to strip steaks, if that’s what you mean.”
With a laugh he said, “But can you ride a horse?”
“Of course.” Then, realizing she might have just put her life in danger, Carly added slowly, “That is, if the real thing’s not too different from a carousel ride.”
Amused, Hank motioned her down the steps, then strolled beside Carly as they headed toward the corral. “It’s not very different, as a matter of fact. You just sit still and enjoy the rhythm.”
“Sounds easy enough,” she said lightly, wondering if he had a double entendre in mind. “Do you have a nice, quiet horse I could try?”
“You’re serious?”
Carly tossed caution to the winds. “Why not?”
“I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
“Oh, I’m tougher than I look,” she assured him. “I’d like to help today. Really, I would.”
“But—”
At that moment Becky rode up to the fence and reined her sweating horse to a stop. It was the same stallion Hank had been riding when he’d first appeared before Carly. A cloud of dust rose up and nearly engulfed Carly. She heard Hank cough.
“Hi,” said a perky-sounding Becky. “Sorry we can’t do the photos today, Carly.”
“No problem.”
Effortlessly Becky controlled her horse, which proceeded to snort and lunge against the reins. “Did I overhear you say you’d like to help today?”
“I’d love it!” Carly said.
Actually, she couldn’t imagine gallivanting around on a horse in all this dreadful dust and fresh air, but Carly didn’t want to let Hank Fowler out of her sight, now that she’d finally laid eyes on him.
Brightly she suggested, “Maybe Hank could look after me so I don’t cause any trouble?”
“Sure,” Becky answered, then suddenly faltered. “I mean—well, Hank’s going to ride out to look for strays today. Maybe you’d better stick around the corral just to—”
“Oh, I’d love to go looking for strays!”
“But—” Becky and Hank began almost in unison.
“Oh, I’ll be perfectly safe,” Carly interrupted before either of them could voice their objections. “Hank can take care of me, right?”
“Well,” Becky said, hesitantly glancing at her brother.
“I don’t know.” Hank exchanged looks with Becky. “I’m going to be pretty busy today.”
“I’ll stay out of trouble,” Carly pleaded. “You won’t even know I’m around. Please? Can’t I go with you?”
“Why not?” Becky asked. She gave her brother a meaningful stare. “I’ve hired a few other guys to help out. We can handle things around here, I guess. Take a picnic, Hank. It might be fun.”
“But—”
“Go on. Show Carly around the old homestead you love so much.”
Hank felt panic rising up around his ears. Suddenly he wanted to strangle his sister. “But, Becky...”
“The boys and I can handle things around here. You go up into the hills and see what turns up.”
“Sounds wonderful!” Carly cried, looking as starry-eyed as any city-bred greenhorn on her first day at the dude ranch. “I’ll go see about a picnic, if you’ll find me a suitable horse, Hank.”
“Perfect plan,” Becky said, looking pleased with herself.
Hank watched Carly turn and jog toward the house, and his dismay faded. Her beautifully curved backside looked great in jeans.
Maybe spending the day with her wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Becky leaned down from the saddle to murmur in her brother’s ear. “It’ll be fun. I promise. Besides, she’ll just be in the way around here today.”
“Don’t try to make it sound like you’re looking out for her safety,” Hank growled. “You’re just getting me deeper and deeper into trouble—and you’re enjoying it!”
“I think you’re going to like this kind of trouble,” Becky predicted. “C’mon. I’ll find you some gear and a couple of horses.”
“A couple of ancient ones, please,” Hank said, following his sister.
Half an hour later, Hank found himself holding the reins of two animals that had been humanely retired to the Fowler ranch after long lives cutting cattle elsewhere. Becky had a soft heart for old horses—no doubt one of the reasons why her finances were always such a mess.
“This one’s Laverne,” Becky said, patting the speckled neck of a sad-looking Appaloosa. “And this one’s Buttercup. Which one do you want?”
“They both look like they’re on their last legs.”
“Oh, you’ll be surprised how much life they’ve got left. Just don’t gallop them for hours.”
Hank eyed the two prospects and decided Buttercup was at least capable of supporting his weight. Laverne looked as if a trip to the glue factory might be a mercy, but Becky wouldn’t hear of such a thing and assured him Laverne was capable of carrying Carly.
He struggled to saddle the two horses, and Carly came bouncing back from the house with a picnic lunch wrapped up in a canvas satchel. She had added a sweater and a down-filled vest to her ensemble and looked like a city slicker ready for a trail ride. Hank dutifully added her picnic to their overstuffed saddlebags.
“Why do we need all this stuff?” he whispered to Becky when she added more gear to Buttercup’s load.
“You never know what might happen,” Becky murmured back.
“You don’t suppose Laverne’s going to kick the bucket on this trip?” Hank asked, nervously watching as Carly petted the Appaloosa’s spotted nose.
“I was thinking more along the lines of you getting lost,” Becky retorted. She jerked her head to indicate Carly. “Help her into the saddle, hero.”
“This is so exciting!” Carly cried as Hank boosted her up onto Laverne. She didn’t notice as Laverne let out a gusty sigh of resignation. Fortunately Carly also didn’t seem to grasp the elderly condition of either one of the horses Becky had selected for them.
Hank took his courage in hand and hauled himself into Buttercup’s slippery saddle.
Despite all the years he’d spent in the great outdoors, Hank had never mastered the art of riding and tended to spend most of his horseback time hyperventilating. He was athletic enough in other sports, but the skills required for sitting on a moving horse continued to elude him. Long ago he’d decided it was probably a mental block brought on by some psychological reasoning that only a few decades of psychotherapy could fix.
But instead of seeing a shrink, he just stayed away from horses.
This time that wasn’t possible.
Becky gave Carly a few quick instructions about riding Laverne and made Carly practice some turns around the corral. Satisfied after several minutes, Becky nodded and opened the gate. “You’re a natural,” she called to Carly.
To Hank, Becky whispered, “Nobody could fall off Laverne even if they tried. But Buttercup—well, you’d better be a little careful with her. She has a stubborn streak.”
Hank groaned. With trepidation, he urged Buttercup after Laverne as Carly headed out of the ranch gate. He ignored his sister’s big grin and concentrated on balancing in the saddle. Silently, Hank prayed he could get through the day without breaking any bones.
Passing through the gate, Buttercup gave an almost frisky swish of her tail as if she were happy to be setting off on an adventure. Hank clutched the saddle horn to keep his balance and cursed under his breath.
Heading away from the ranch, Carly inhaled a deep gulp of South Dakota air. The morning had turned deliciously warm, and the air was so clear it almost hurt to breathe it. From astride her horse, Laverne, Carly could see for miles, and the country was exquisitely beautiful.
“I could get used to this.”
“Beg pardon?”
Carly stammered, not realizing she’d spoken aloud and that Hank was just a few paces behind her. “I...I was just thinking, well, as long as a person has to live someplace, it might as well be as pretty as this.”
BOOK: The Cowboy and the Calendar Girl
7.34Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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