Trish Milburn: Her Perfect Cowboy

Liam opened the door and allowed Blake and Verona to go out ahead of him. But then he hesitated before following them and met India’s eyes. He held the door with one hand and his bag of wet clothes with the other. “It was nice to meet you. And thanks for the use of your dressing room.”

“You, too, and no problem.” She nodded toward the bag in his hand. “You might want to hang those up in your truck so they don’t sour.” Needing to escape his gaze, she dipped below the front counter to retrieve a couple of wire hangers. “Here. I’ve got more of these than I can use.”

Liam took a step forward and accepted the hangers. “Thanks.” After a momentary pause, he nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”

She nodded back then watched as he walked out the door, said something to Verona and Blake then crossed the street to drop off his clothes in his truck. She noticed he just tossed everything into the backseat, not taking the time to hang his wet clothes. She rolled her eyes and forced herself to look away, to refocus on the order form for some 1920s flapper-style fashions.

But no matter how much she tried to make herself focus on work, her thoughts kept going back to that glimpse of naked legs and the indisputable fact that the sexiest man she’d seen in a long time had been fully naked mere feet from her. And it didn’t seem to matter that he was nothing like her dream guy.

* * *

LIAM’S STOMACH FELT AS IF it were going to consume itself by the time the waitress at the Primrose brought his plate of chicken-fried steak with a heaping order of fries. The coffee and stale doughnut he’d downed that morning as he left Fort Worth were long gone.

“Thank you,” he said to the waitress.

She gave him a shy smile before leaving the table.

“Don’t look now, but I think you have another fan,” Verona said as she gestured toward the waitress.

“She’s a waitress. Being friendly is how they make good tips.” And what did she mean by “another,” anyway? Was she referring to herself? Because she surely couldn’t mean India. They’d parted on friendly terms, but he couldn’t imagine a woman like her giving him a second glance. Well, maybe a glance but nothing remotely serious. He’d learned that the hard way.

Still, there had been that unexpected moment in the truck earlier.

“I think you underestimate your appeal, Mr. Parrish.”

“Verona, let the man eat his lunch,” Blake said, his voice part teasing, part gentle scolding.

Verona swatted Blake playfully on the arm, drawing a laugh from her successor at the tourist bureau.

Thankfully, the rest of their conversation veered toward the rodeo, life in Blue Falls and how the rain would barely make a dent in the rainfall deficit. But no matter how the conversation twisted and turned, he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to India Pike. One would think he’d learned his lesson with women who wore dainty, hundred-dollar shoes and then were surprised when they didn’t hold up to a little uneven terrain. Give him a good, solid pair of boots any day.

But damn if he couldn’t get the image of her striking, pale blue eyes and wavy black hair down to her shoulders out of his mind. Not to mention the curves of her body as he’d held her in his arms. What had possessed him to pick her up like that, anyway?

“Can I get you all some dessert?” the waitress asked from his side almost as soon as he’d finished his last fry.

“What kind of pie do you have today, Gretchen?” Verona asked.

“Pecan, lemon, rhubarb and chocolate fudge.”

“You all enjoy,” Blake said as he stood. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

Liam reached across the table to shake the man’s hand again. When he was left with just Verona and the waitress, he had to resist the urge to fidget.

“None for me, thanks,” he said.

“Now you can’t leave your first visit to the Primrose without some of its famous pie,” Verona said. “I think it’s actually against the law.”

Gretchen nodded her agreement. “At least a night in jail.”

Knowing better than to try to defy two women who had their minds set, he said, “In that case, I’ll take a slice of pecan to go. I’ve got to get back to Fort Worth.”

He didn’t know if he actually saw a flicker of disappointment on Gretchen’s face or if Verona’s suggestion of an attraction was making him see things that weren’t there. Whatever it was, it was gone in the blink of an eye.

“And for you, Verona?” Gretchen asked.

“I feel like lemon today. And get me a slice of the chocolate fudge for India. It’s her favorite.”

Gretchen nodded and headed off to retrieve the pie.

“Too bad India couldn’t join us,” Verona said. “At least I can get her some pie for the work she’s doing on the rodeo.”

Liam made a noncommittal sound.

After Gretchen brought them their to-go boxes and Liam picked up the bill, they headed out the front door. Verona pulled out her phone and looked at the display.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I have to run.” She looked at the take-out containers in her other hand then glanced down Main Street. “Could you drop off India’s pie on your way back to your truck?”

Liam got the sneaking suspicion he was being maneuvered, but Verona was just so nice as she did it. How could he say no without looking like a jerk? Besides, it would only take him a few extra seconds, and then he could hit the road north.

“Sure,” he said as he took the box she offered.

Verona squeezed his free hand. “Thank you, dear. See you soon.” And then she was off, almost as if she wanted to make sure she was gone before he could change his mind.

Liam stood on the sidewalk watching her hurry away and couldn’t help but laugh. He was pretty sure if he looked up dynamo in the dictionary, Verona Charles’s smiling photo would be right there next to the definition. With a shake of his head, he turned and started down the sidewalk.

The moment he stepped inside Yesterwear, that flowery, female scent hit him again. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to go back to Fort Worth smelling like a bouquet. Thank goodness he didn’t have to go to the office—or, heaven forbid, a rodeo.

India wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He was about to just set the pie on the front counter and leave when he heard a loud grunt from farther back in the store. Concerned that she might have managed to injure herself with no one around to help her, he strode past the changing area and racks of frilly clothes. More grunts, louder now, led him to the back of the building where he spotted India, now barefoot, shoving large boxes across the floor toward a storeroom.

“Need some help?”

India yelped so loudly that Liam couldn’t help but laugh. Wrong move, judging by how she straightened and shoved her fists against her hips.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“I thought you were gone.” And didn’t she sound as if she wished he was.

He lifted the take-out container. “Verona asked me to drop off a piece of pie for you.”

Her stance softened a little. “What kind?”

“Chocolate fudge.”

“I swear it’s that woman’s aim to make me fat.” That still didn’t keep India from walking up to him and taking the container holding said pie.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

He noticed she didn’t meet his eyes as she uttered a quick thanks. As she took a step toward the front of the shop, he placed his pie on a low, glass-topped table in front of two cushy white chairs and headed toward the pile of boxes.

“What are you doing?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder. “Being chivalrous?”

Her eyebrows bunched together, eliciting a smile from him.