Nancy Martin - The Cowboy And The Calendar Girl

“Thank you.”

“The window props open if you like fresh air at night.”

“What an novel idea.”

“No fresh air where you live?”

“In Los Angeles? We have smog, not air.”

“I see. Well, the bathroom’s the door opposite.”

“Thanks.” She turned away from the window and stood facing Hank just eighteen inches away in the small room. “I’d like to fix my makeup before dinner.”

For a moment Hank forgot about risking his life in a roundup. Carly had the pale, peaches-and-cream skin of a pampered English lady—unusual for a California native. That creamy skin stretched down an elegantly long throat and plunged to the softly rounded curves of her breasts. Hank thought about tracing the line of her throat with his thumb just to test the delicacy of her skin, but banished the idea in favor of an indirect compliment instead. “You won’t need makeup out here, Miss Cortazzo.”

She heard the double meaning laced in his murmur and slanted a wry smile up at him. “I need makeup no matter where I am, Mr. Fowler. It’s my link to civilization.”

He laughed. He liked her, and decided it was safer not to discuss civilization. “Supper’s ready when you are.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Hank lingered another moment, inhaling her fragrance, enjoying the light in her eyes and wondering what made her so damn tempting. She was good-looking and clever—a combination he enjoyed very much.

He hoped to hell she wasn’t so clever that she’d see through his masquerade too quickly.

Remembering to keep up appearances, Hank tipped his hat and drawled, “Welcome to the Fowler ranch, ma’am. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Then he left the bedroom and thumped down the steps. Charlie growled at him. Hank growled back, then hurried to the kitchen. He cornered his sister there. Becky was just hanging up the phone as he arrived.

In a hushed whisper he demanded, “What the hell have you gotten me into, Becky?”

“I’m sorry!” Becky hissed back, trying to keep her voice down so they wouldn’t be heard from upstairs. “How was I supposed to know a buyer was coming this week?”

“When’s he coming?”

“Day after tomorrow. We only have one day to round up all the cattle.”

“Did you get in touch with Fred?”

“He already left for his vacation in Disney World!”

“Then who—” Hank saw the expression on his sister’s face and felt the cold claw of dread grab his heart. “I can barely sit on a horse, let alone get it to do anything but run away with me! You’ve got to find somebody else to help, Beck.”

Becky folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against a shelf full of preserved peaches. “It’s going to look awfully suspicious to the calendar lady if you don’t saddle up and work the ranch, cowboy.”

“Then we need to come up with a plan—a logical reason why I’m not trying to get myself killed in a stampede.”

“You’re not as bad at ranch work as you think you are,” Becky soothed. “Heavens, you were riding before you were three years old!”

“And getting thrown off every pony within five hundred miles. I hate horses, Becky, and they know I hate them. Now it’s a conspiracy thing with the whole species.”

“We can’t tell the calendar lady who you really are. She specifically wants a cowboy, and we don’t get the money unless you come through.”

“Maybe I could break my leg or something. That would keep me out of harm’s way.”

Becky shook her head and frowned. “Too wimpy.”

“Wimpy! A real cowhand would work with broken bones, is that it?”

“Probably. Think of something else.”

He groaned. “Like what?”

Becky snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. I’ll send you to look for strays! All you have to do is leave the ranch and stay gone for the whole day.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere! You can ride over the nearest hill, take a paperback book out of your saddlebag and read while the rest of us break our backs!”

“What happens if the horse runs away with me again?” Hank grinned as Becky blew an exasperated sigh. “Okay, okay, I can manage to stay in the saddle for a few hundred yards, I guess.”

“Good. The alternative would be to distract the calendar lady.”

“Distract her?”

Dryly, Becky added, “Of course, that wouldn’t be too hard, by the looks of things.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The two of you can’t take your eyes off each other.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Hank prided himself on his ability to resist women when the situation merited.

Becky looked delighted at having annoyed him. “Your tongues are practically hanging out.”

“Not true!” Hank flushed, hating the idea that he’d been so obvious.

Becky breezed out of the pantry and started to work on supper. “And she thinks you’re the sexiest thing since colored underwear.”

Hank followed his sister into the kitchen and couldn’t help asking, “You think so?”

Becky took a container of premixed biscuits out of the refrigerator, cracked it open and proceeded to line the biscuits up on a cookie sheet. “Believe me, big brother, you could distract Miss Cortazzo with one hand tied behind your back.”

Hank considered the situation. Yep, there was something exciting happening between himself and Carly Cortazzo. He found her very attractive. And according to Becky, the feeling might be mutual.

Trouble was, as far as Carly was concerned, Hank was supposed to be a tough cowboy.

Hank, however, preferred to live within walking distance of a subway system, fine restaurants, a good newsstand and at least one modern art museum. But every week he got out of the city to climb. Rock climbing was his passion. Fresh air, rock and ice. Those elements kept him sane. He wasn’t a trail-mix kind of guy, of course. No, he could appreciate fine dining. But now and then he needed to test himself. Hacking out a foothold in any icy cliff made him feel alive.

Hank shook his head. “If I get close to her, she’s going to see I’m no cowpoke.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she’s smart, dammit! Any fool can see I’m not Roy Rogers!”

Becky slid the tray of biscuits into the oven and bumped the door closed with her hip. “Did you get a look at her clothes?”

“Well, sure. They looked great.”

“That’s just it. She’s dressed to look good. Even you knew enough to bring your oldest, warmest clothes out here. She’s a complete dude!”

“Surely she’ll see through me.”

“Maybe you’ll have time to cloud her vision before she sees too much.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” Becky said, lifting the lid on the stew pot and giving the contents a quick stir, “you ought to take her out to the hay barn and see what develops.”

“My allergy to hay?”

Becky laughed and replaced the lid on the pot. “You’re determined to despise this place, aren’t you?”

Putting his arm around Becky, Hank said fondly, “I just know I don’t belong here, Beck.” Looking down into his sister’s tight expression, he felt his heart soften. “But you do, so let’s do everything we can to keep the old family homestead.”

Becky gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, Henry.”

“Call me Hank. I’m starting to like it.”

Becky laughed and punched his shoulder.

Dinner was ready by the time Carly came downstairs with her makeup freshly applied and a red bandanna around her throat just to get into the spirit of things.

“Dinner smells delicious.”

“It’s beef stew,” Becky said proudly, busy at the stove with plates and a ladle. “I grew the vegetables myself.”